Post by Sir Agron Esa on Nov 5, 2009 10:30:13 GMT
Name: Agron Esa
Age: 21
Sex: Male
Class: Nobility
Character History:
“My Lord Bayard,” his chief advisor and a knight of his kingdom said. “There is news from Deira. Your sister has born the Lord Agronus a son.”
Bayard put down the goblet that had been raised half way to his mouth. “Indeed?” he confirmed, “that is news most welcome.” He shifted the base of his goblet a tiny distance to the left and a servant appeared from the discreet shadows of a pillar to refill it.
“Tell me,” Bayard said, signalling for his companion to take a seat and waiting for the servant to provide his friend with a goblet of wine. “What has she called the child?”
“Agron,” the knight replied, uncomfortably, “after his father.”
“Out of the question,” Bayard declared, slamming his goblet down with a force that rang out in the echoing hall of the Mercian Castle. “It is an ill omen indeed to name a son of Mercia after a goddess that raught such slaughter and death. I will not have it.”
The knight ran his tongue across his lip but remained silent.
“No, he shall have a name of my choosing,” Bayard paused to think. “And of course he must be raised in Mercia. Send out your men with gifts befitting the birth of a Mercian duke and inform the Lady Elaine that she must move at once to the house at Hwicce.
“And if she refuses?” Sir Bromheld hardly needed to ask but wanted to make sure he was on the same page as his king.
Bayard said nothing for a moment and then gave a sharp nod. “Do it discretely.” He commanded and his voice was low and deadly. “If my sister can trace it to men of Mercia then she will never willingly return.” They were speaking of killing the Lord Agronus of Deira, if his hold proved too strong over his wife and son. Bayard was a brutal but practical man. This child was the current heir of Mercia and he would have him where he could control and influence him. It was his right.
A year later Bayard’s wife bore him his first of three sons and he lessened his intensity over his nephew.
The four boys grew up together, enjoying an amicable rivalry. They were educated together and trained in fighting together, they spent much of their youth accompanying hunting parties and stocking up the royal larders. It has been the dream of all of them to one day become Knights.
“To be thrown into the dungeons,” King Bayard fumed, throwing his goblet across the hall. He had called a council the moment he had arrived back at The Court after the eventful trip to Camelot that had been intended to cement their peace treaty. What of that treaty now? That was what this council had been gathered to discuss.
“My Lord, we cannot declare war upon Uther,” Sir Bromheld confirmed what everyone knew but was sensibly not mentioning in front of their enraged king. They could not possibly hope to win a war at the present. The years of discord between the two kingdoms had taken its toll on the Mercian army and Bayard did not have the assortment of allies that Uther had. Very few foreign nobles were sending him their sons to be trained as Mercian knights.
“I think,” one of the elders bravely piped up, “that we should offer Uther an esteemed token. Let him know there is now ill will on account of..."
“Ill will,” Bayard roared, considering this the most marked of understatements as to what he felt towards the Pendragon King.
“Perhaps one of your sons could complete his knighthood in Camelot?” the elder began. He hurried on when he saw the outrage on Bayard’s face, “or the Lord Agron?” he suggested, and sighed in relief when the anger of his Lord lessened slightly.
“You wish for me,” Bayard began, his voice low and soft and the most threatening any of the council had ever heard, “to send my sister’s son, my nephew whom I have loved as my own, to Camelot to be corrupted by that vile… to be swayed against me, for what? To pander to Uther’s pride,” he spat. “I will not!” He declared.
“Camelot has some of the finest knights in Albion,” Sir Bromheld spoke up. That this was an empirical fact was the only thing that saved him from a night in the dungeons. Arthur was undefeated in tournaments and there was a reason that noblemen from all over Albion sent their sons to Camelot.
Bayard sighed and sank into his thrown chair, defeated. “The Lady Elaine would not forgive me,” he said, though he had committed far worse crimes against her for which she should hate him. She was simply not aware of them.
“Agron is an honourable man,” Bayard pointed out, though his council was well aware of this too. “If he swears allegiance to Uther’s son then should we find ourselves at war with Camelot again he will not return to us. Would you have my sons kill their cousin on the battle field?” He looked around his table, meeting the eyes of each of his advisors in turn, and glaring when they looked away.
“We do this to avoid just such an occurrence,” a wizened wise man said. “Uther would never dare attack the kingdom’s of his knights.”
“So instead of vengeance I must suffer a further indignity and loss,” Bayard summarised, “this is the opinion of my council?” He waited for a response but the great hall was silent. The seconds were agonizing as he assessed the expressions on every face, desperately looking for someone at least who had doubt. There were none. He stood.
“So be it.”
Appearance: Agron has the build of a warrior having spent his youth riding and hunting. He has broad shoulders and a muscular torso that poses an assortment of battle scars but none that cause him any pain or trouble with movement. Agron is a bearded man, which he keeps short and neat, with blonde hair, which he lets grow down the back of his neck and is usually rather straggled and unkempt. He has blue eyes. His hands are callused from sword work. Agron is usually attired in a thick shirt and, depending on the weather, a jacket, with trousers and boots. There is always a belt with a sword hanging from his waist though he tends not to wear armour unless training. He does have robes and armour of the Mercian insignia but rather wisely does not wear such items idly in the Kingdom of Camelot.
PB: Rupert Young
Character: For a child destined to be a pawn of his uncle, Agron is a remarkably cheerful, optimistic and good-natured young man. He had the love and indulgence of both his mother and uncle and the companionship of his cousins the Princes of Mercia. He was treated as equal to the young royals and wanted for nothing.
It was his dream from as soon as he knew such men existed to be a knight and as such he has always strived to be a man worthy of such a title. He seeks to be honourable above all things. He is modest and dignified, obedient to his superiors and courteous to all women. Agron has been taught, rather ironically by his uncle, to at all times speak the truth, and to persevere to the end of any enterprise begun.
Ironically it is the moral codes that have been instilled in him by his uncle and the knights of Mercia that will ensure that if he should become a knight of Camelot he shall never again be under the power of Mercia, familial loyalties will become secondary to that of his King, Uther.
Strengths:
Weaknesses:
Weaponry Skills: Agron has some rough knowledge of most weapons and also some experience, having grown up with three rowdy cousins, in the art of improvisational fighting (ie. using whatever you can get your hands on to fight of your opponent). He is only half trained though and will need to start right from the beginning and perfect the basics if he even hopes to reach knighthood under the tutelage of Prince Arthur and his Knight.
His favourite form is definitely swordsmanship though and it is probably the field that he is most proficient at. From a youth of hunting, the crossbow was something he had to master with great precision but he is not nearly as competent with the long bow, or long-distance target based archery. Archery on a horse is a real disaster waiting to happen.
RP sample: The journey on horseback was long and arduous from the Mercian Court to the Castle of Camelot but the scenery was exquisite. Camelot had within its borders some of the finest mountains to gaze upon and huge expanses of forest. Still Agron rode. Mounted upon a dapple-grey mare that had been a gift from his uncle at his coming of age. He was also laden down with further gifts from the Court of Mercia to the King of Camelot.
Bayard had been rather furious at this but the Lady Elaine had insisted. He was giving the kingdom one of his own, what more could they want? But Elaine persisted, that if she must lose her son to the kingdom of Camelot then she wanted to have the piece of mind that he was safe there that he was thought well of him. It seemed sending him with gifts for their King was her idea of having Mercia and by extension, her son, appear favourable.
Carrying such precious cargo also made him, as a single rider, an estimable target for bandits, should they know he was on his way, but so far no one had approached him and the only people he had stopped for had been peasants along the road who had been only to keen to point him in the direction of Camelot City.
When the castle came into view Agron son of Agronus, a Lord of Deira, smiled, because it was magnificent and he was proud to be petitioning to call this his home. He would miss his cousins and his mother but this was an adventure of the likes he had dreamt of.
Agron brought his horse to a stand at the gates of Camelot and announced his name to the guards that blocked his passage. A message had been sent on ahead of his arrival. Now to see if Camelot would accept him…
Age: 21
Sex: Male
Class: Nobility
Character History:
The Court of Mercia (21 years ago)
“My Lord Bayard,” his chief advisor and a knight of his kingdom said. “There is news from Deira. Your sister has born the Lord Agronus a son.”
Bayard put down the goblet that had been raised half way to his mouth. “Indeed?” he confirmed, “that is news most welcome.” He shifted the base of his goblet a tiny distance to the left and a servant appeared from the discreet shadows of a pillar to refill it.
“Tell me,” Bayard said, signalling for his companion to take a seat and waiting for the servant to provide his friend with a goblet of wine. “What has she called the child?”
“Agron,” the knight replied, uncomfortably, “after his father.”
“Out of the question,” Bayard declared, slamming his goblet down with a force that rang out in the echoing hall of the Mercian Castle. “It is an ill omen indeed to name a son of Mercia after a goddess that raught such slaughter and death. I will not have it.”
The knight ran his tongue across his lip but remained silent.
“No, he shall have a name of my choosing,” Bayard paused to think. “And of course he must be raised in Mercia. Send out your men with gifts befitting the birth of a Mercian duke and inform the Lady Elaine that she must move at once to the house at Hwicce.
“And if she refuses?” Sir Bromheld hardly needed to ask but wanted to make sure he was on the same page as his king.
Bayard said nothing for a moment and then gave a sharp nod. “Do it discretely.” He commanded and his voice was low and deadly. “If my sister can trace it to men of Mercia then she will never willingly return.” They were speaking of killing the Lord Agronus of Deira, if his hold proved too strong over his wife and son. Bayard was a brutal but practical man. This child was the current heir of Mercia and he would have him where he could control and influence him. It was his right.
A year later Bayard’s wife bore him his first of three sons and he lessened his intensity over his nephew.
The four boys grew up together, enjoying an amicable rivalry. They were educated together and trained in fighting together, they spent much of their youth accompanying hunting parties and stocking up the royal larders. It has been the dream of all of them to one day become Knights.
The Court of Mercia (the present)
-shortly after the events of ‘The Poisoned Chalice’-
-shortly after the events of ‘The Poisoned Chalice’-
“To be thrown into the dungeons,” King Bayard fumed, throwing his goblet across the hall. He had called a council the moment he had arrived back at The Court after the eventful trip to Camelot that had been intended to cement their peace treaty. What of that treaty now? That was what this council had been gathered to discuss.
“My Lord, we cannot declare war upon Uther,” Sir Bromheld confirmed what everyone knew but was sensibly not mentioning in front of their enraged king. They could not possibly hope to win a war at the present. The years of discord between the two kingdoms had taken its toll on the Mercian army and Bayard did not have the assortment of allies that Uther had. Very few foreign nobles were sending him their sons to be trained as Mercian knights.
“I think,” one of the elders bravely piped up, “that we should offer Uther an esteemed token. Let him know there is now ill will on account of..."
“Ill will,” Bayard roared, considering this the most marked of understatements as to what he felt towards the Pendragon King.
“Perhaps one of your sons could complete his knighthood in Camelot?” the elder began. He hurried on when he saw the outrage on Bayard’s face, “or the Lord Agron?” he suggested, and sighed in relief when the anger of his Lord lessened slightly.
“You wish for me,” Bayard began, his voice low and soft and the most threatening any of the council had ever heard, “to send my sister’s son, my nephew whom I have loved as my own, to Camelot to be corrupted by that vile… to be swayed against me, for what? To pander to Uther’s pride,” he spat. “I will not!” He declared.
“Camelot has some of the finest knights in Albion,” Sir Bromheld spoke up. That this was an empirical fact was the only thing that saved him from a night in the dungeons. Arthur was undefeated in tournaments and there was a reason that noblemen from all over Albion sent their sons to Camelot.
Bayard sighed and sank into his thrown chair, defeated. “The Lady Elaine would not forgive me,” he said, though he had committed far worse crimes against her for which she should hate him. She was simply not aware of them.
“Agron is an honourable man,” Bayard pointed out, though his council was well aware of this too. “If he swears allegiance to Uther’s son then should we find ourselves at war with Camelot again he will not return to us. Would you have my sons kill their cousin on the battle field?” He looked around his table, meeting the eyes of each of his advisors in turn, and glaring when they looked away.
“We do this to avoid just such an occurrence,” a wizened wise man said. “Uther would never dare attack the kingdom’s of his knights.”
“So instead of vengeance I must suffer a further indignity and loss,” Bayard summarised, “this is the opinion of my council?” He waited for a response but the great hall was silent. The seconds were agonizing as he assessed the expressions on every face, desperately looking for someone at least who had doubt. There were none. He stood.
“So be it.”
Appearance: Agron has the build of a warrior having spent his youth riding and hunting. He has broad shoulders and a muscular torso that poses an assortment of battle scars but none that cause him any pain or trouble with movement. Agron is a bearded man, which he keeps short and neat, with blonde hair, which he lets grow down the back of his neck and is usually rather straggled and unkempt. He has blue eyes. His hands are callused from sword work. Agron is usually attired in a thick shirt and, depending on the weather, a jacket, with trousers and boots. There is always a belt with a sword hanging from his waist though he tends not to wear armour unless training. He does have robes and armour of the Mercian insignia but rather wisely does not wear such items idly in the Kingdom of Camelot.
PB: Rupert Young
Character: For a child destined to be a pawn of his uncle, Agron is a remarkably cheerful, optimistic and good-natured young man. He had the love and indulgence of both his mother and uncle and the companionship of his cousins the Princes of Mercia. He was treated as equal to the young royals and wanted for nothing.
It was his dream from as soon as he knew such men existed to be a knight and as such he has always strived to be a man worthy of such a title. He seeks to be honourable above all things. He is modest and dignified, obedient to his superiors and courteous to all women. Agron has been taught, rather ironically by his uncle, to at all times speak the truth, and to persevere to the end of any enterprise begun.
Ironically it is the moral codes that have been instilled in him by his uncle and the knights of Mercia that will ensure that if he should become a knight of Camelot he shall never again be under the power of Mercia, familial loyalties will become secondary to that of his King, Uther.
Strengths:
- Eager, enthusiastic and ambitious. Knighthood is his goal, dream and purpose. He is a man with self belief.
- He is unendingly loyal.
- He is very personable. He enjoys the company of his peers, likes to socialize, and is interested in getting to know people.
Weaknesses:
- He has in the past been easy to manipulate; possibly he remains so.
- He has a somewhat less than savoury uncle to whom he is very loyal and rather oblivious to any of his shortcomings.
- He is impatient in his pursuit of the glory and honour of knighthood. Rushing on before he is fully trained and will no doubt get him at the very least humiliated but probably also injured.
Weaponry Skills: Agron has some rough knowledge of most weapons and also some experience, having grown up with three rowdy cousins, in the art of improvisational fighting (ie. using whatever you can get your hands on to fight of your opponent). He is only half trained though and will need to start right from the beginning and perfect the basics if he even hopes to reach knighthood under the tutelage of Prince Arthur and his Knight.
His favourite form is definitely swordsmanship though and it is probably the field that he is most proficient at. From a youth of hunting, the crossbow was something he had to master with great precision but he is not nearly as competent with the long bow, or long-distance target based archery. Archery on a horse is a real disaster waiting to happen.
RP sample: The journey on horseback was long and arduous from the Mercian Court to the Castle of Camelot but the scenery was exquisite. Camelot had within its borders some of the finest mountains to gaze upon and huge expanses of forest. Still Agron rode. Mounted upon a dapple-grey mare that had been a gift from his uncle at his coming of age. He was also laden down with further gifts from the Court of Mercia to the King of Camelot.
Bayard had been rather furious at this but the Lady Elaine had insisted. He was giving the kingdom one of his own, what more could they want? But Elaine persisted, that if she must lose her son to the kingdom of Camelot then she wanted to have the piece of mind that he was safe there that he was thought well of him. It seemed sending him with gifts for their King was her idea of having Mercia and by extension, her son, appear favourable.
Carrying such precious cargo also made him, as a single rider, an estimable target for bandits, should they know he was on his way, but so far no one had approached him and the only people he had stopped for had been peasants along the road who had been only to keen to point him in the direction of Camelot City.
When the castle came into view Agron son of Agronus, a Lord of Deira, smiled, because it was magnificent and he was proud to be petitioning to call this his home. He would miss his cousins and his mother but this was an adventure of the likes he had dreamt of.
Agron brought his horse to a stand at the gates of Camelot and announced his name to the guards that blocked his passage. A message had been sent on ahead of his arrival. Now to see if Camelot would accept him…
