Name: Donathon Varius
Title: Ser Donathon Varius
Occupation: Syliran Knight
Race: Human
Age: 30
Birthdate: 482AV, 11th of Summer
Knighted: 510AV, 42nd of Spring
Languages: Common (Fluent) |
For a man of thirty years, Donathon is strong and hardy. His arms are thick and broad, a reward for years of using them in various tasks. He has been primarily trained for speed and precision over brute strength and power, and the shape and weight of his body proves such. He is toned overall, and his body is so defined that nearly every crevice and muscle protrudes from his person. The ratio of muscle to fat is great, and there is little fat on Donathon's entire body. His temple is not without ruin, however. His years at battle have left him scarred, and many cover his body; each reminding him of past events, each scar with their own tale to tell. A particular set of scars is the lashings that cover his back, though even Donathon has no idea how he came to get them.
Donathon's face is rather smooth for all the battles he has fought. While he does possess several smaller scars among it, it is far cleaner in appearance than his back and torso. His jaw is strong, generally dotted with growing hairs. Don makes sure that he grooms himself regularly, removing a beard before it grows out of proportion. The only time a beard even appears upon his face is when he is out of the city, roaming the wilderness or otherwise. It is during these times when he becomes out of reach of a mirror, and is unable to keep his face clean. His hair atop his head is completely juxtaposed to his beard, and is generally long and brushed, with a middle part.
His eyes are a piercing green, gazing out from behind a thick brow. His stare is one of wisdom and experience, and one cannot help but notice the strength Donathon carries; in both posture, poise and even facial expressions. There is an aura of strength that lingers about him like flies, and one that cannot help but be noticed whenever someone is around him. Donathon is a battle-hardened fighter, and this can be seen through both appearance and the way he carries himself. |
Honor. That is the word that Donathon lives by. Without honor, you have nothing. It is the words of Tyveth, God of Honor, and it is the words that Donathon will follow to his dying breath. He is all about honor, about good morals, born to protect the innocent and banish the corrupt. Donathon would never break a promise, and any oath that is made is an oath that he will keep until fulfilled. He regularly goes out of his own ways to help others, not for payment or prostitutes, but for the sheer satisfaction that he has done a little more good in the world. He is all about correcting the wrongs that others make, and shining a lantern of hope through a dark age. In retrospect, Donathon is the epitome of all that is good in Mizahar.
He is kind, always willing to help others, always speaking to people with respect and referring people by their proper titles. He is always with mercy, always providing a window of opportunity at redemption; for those who need it. Yet, even Don knows that some are far beyond it, and offers swift deaths to those who are placed under that category. He would never make a person suffer, and will be as swift as he can, always providing a clean kill. Donathon's intentions of aiding the innocent sometimes end him up in such situations, and he is faced with the execution of wrongdoers. Whilst it is not something he prides himself on, he does it for the good of Syliras, and the Knights Order. Donathon knows it is a kill or be killed world, and sometimes killing is the only path that can be chosen in certain situations. He chooses it only when he must, or only when his own life is in great jeopardy.
Donathon values loyalty and comradeship, and believes that a good comrade is stronger than any steel. Whilst generally an open and friendly individual, it is sometimes hard to grasp the trust of Donathon, as he believes that there are many capable of betrayal and treachery. He is not impossible to gain the trust of, yet it does not come with no effort either. When his trust is gained, Donathon becomes more loyal than a dog, and would undoubtedly go out of his way to protect or aid a friend, gladly putting his life at risk in the process. There is nothing he would not do for somebody he cares about, as he values them as much as he values his own life. |
Donathon was born into a family of commoners in the city of Syliras. His father was a hunter, a man who regularly ventured into the Wildlands to kill beasts, claim their pelts and return them for a lump sum of mizas. His mother was a retired nurse, a woman who was entwined in her reading. She had little time for Donathon as a child, even though she was never away from home. She had always been too busy with her books, and his father too busy with his hunting. Because of this, the boy was left somewhat alone in the world, forced to live a life of solitude, even though he was constantly within his mothers company. At age six, Don crafted himself a sword made of wood, and ventured around the city. He soon ran into a group of children his age, and they formed a group.
The group was nothing more than a few friends that ran freely around the city, fighting each other and looking up to anyone that was brave and noble. Each had their own heroes, and each hero belonged to the group of Syliran Knights. Eventually they came to a conclusion and made a pact: before they all died, the group would all become knights and serve the realm. They began training vigorously day in and day out, never resting. Donathon was barely home, and even when his father was home, he was not. The relationship between the was shattered, and both of his parents constantly worried about his safety and well-being. But that didn't stop the young renegade. He continued to train for years on end, until he was too old to be hanging around with wooden swords anymore.
Hired as a blacksmiths apprentice for a short amount of time, Don was forged his own steel blade. He nurtured the creation like it was a new born child, and regularly polished and sharpened it; so it would never dull, or blunt. His friends had all gained their own jobs, yet there was still that spark, the childhood pact remained strong. They all aspired to become knights, though the aspirations were hidden beneath a visage of the common life. When Bran, one of Don's oldest friends, suggested they travel into the Wildlands, to see the world beyond the wall of the city. Excited and scared all the same, Donathon and his friends began a trip that would change their lives. They each hired a horse with the money they had raised, and rode out into the great wilds.
Only a day transpired before they fell into trouble, trouble that would inevitably split the group for the worse. A group of highwaymen attacked the teenagers, killing two of them in nearly an instant. Donathon and his other three friends managed to escape, yet only ran deeper into the vast wilderness. It opened his eyes to how quick a life could end, and what exactly awaited within the world beyond the wall. Yet, the death of his companions only made him stronger. He took a sacred blood vow on the night of their death, that he would truly become a knight and put an end to corruption in the land. As another day passed, the group ran into a stag, who they tried to kill for food. The stag wounded Bran, the oldest of the group, and he died of the injury a day later. Now down to only three, the teenagers were forced to high-tail it back to Syliras. They arrived safely, yet their lives were changed forever.
Ever since his return, Donathon has taken nothing for granted, and spent nearly each and every day preparing himself to become a knight, and put an end to the evil that plagues the lands. Finally, at the age of Twenty-eight, after being a squire for almost three seasons, Don was inducted as a Knight of Sylira, and completed the goal that all his friends still work towards. He prides himself on his title, and will do everything in his power to follow the Knight's code.
Don has devoted himself to the Knights Order, and will serve them until his dying breath. |
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by Don on June 13th, 2012, 10:42 am 
