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Email: richdog_24@hotmail.com

Description Edit

Age: 53
Ht: 5'9" & Wt: 160 lbs.
Build: He’s got an older man's build: hunched back, tough, leathery, tan skin, hardly fit to wield a hoe much less a sword. He's lead 53 years of a hard life, so his features have aged prematurely. His hair is almost completely white, his frame slowly becoming more and more frail. However, his limbs retain some measure of hidden strength, although given his present life, he won't retain it for much longer.
Hair: Grey
Eyes: Green
Personality: Where once stood a proud, cool, commanding man of average height and strong build now stands the empty husk of the man past, broken and lowered beyond the point of retrieving what was lost. He is truly a man of new beginnings looking for something to help develop his new life, so he's become submissive and almost timid, although if roused to great anger shards of his previous personality tend to surface.

History Edit

It was a cold day at the Panrael household out in the country outside of Caemlyn. All his life, and he liked to think he'd lived several years. Dovan had strived to keep his family together and to maneuver his house's prestige and standing in Andor, but all he had really succeeded in was pushing his family away and dooming his house to generations of debt and humiliation. All he ever wanted was the best for his family, to feed them, to clothe them, to love them.

The last of the servants carted by with their bleary eyed children wrapped up in warm blankets, their eyes, filled with shame and accusations, fixed upon the broken man who stood silently weeping outside his once great estate.

"Father," called his oldest son who was bedecked in Dovan's old armor from his days of serving in the Queen's Guard. The boy hopped down from his horse and arrogantly swaggered to him, the metallic smell of resentment preceding each heavy step. It was obvious his oldest of four children had never before worn armor by the way some of the pieces hung precariously, perpetually on the verge of slipping off his shoulder or coming unfastened at his hip and chest, but Natan didn't let it bother him. Dovan wondered if he should feign ignorance of his decision to leave. He decided against it and also against fixing his son's armor. Let whatever army took him in know that he was untrained from the first time they lay eyes on him. Maybe that way, he'll at least get the training he needs to stay alive in battle. "I'm leaving. I've told mother and said my farewells to my brother and sisters. I'm going to join the Band of the Red Hand."

"I wish you lu-" Dovan began sadly, but his son was quick to cut him off.

With fury in his eyes and contempt in his voice, the young man hissed, "Save me your wishes, father! Had I need of them, I would have told you farewell. I've merely come to tell you I'm leaving. And that there's nothing you can say or do to stop me.

"You have run House Panrael into the ground while ignoring your family. Do you know how many nights I cried myself to sleep wishing you would come in and tell me good night? Or that you loved me?" The boy paused waiting for some response. Dovan wanted to tell his son how much he loved him, but for the first time he realized that he didn't love his son, and finding that out at that moment broke his heart even more. More salty tears, more silent sobs. "No, father, save your wishes. Save your wishes and your lies! I have no need of them where I go. The Light burn your eyes, father! Blood and bloody ashes, how I've hated you all my life. And now here you stand, a broken, sobbing old man who's not worthy of my time just as I wasn't worthy of yours. Bear witness to what you've sired father: a bitter hateful man driven away from his family by his own cold-hearted father! The Dark One take your soul." With that said, Natan turned and mounted his horse that Dovan had given him as a child, the horse a poor weak-kneed thing who should have been let out to pasture years ago, and rode off down the road without looking behind.

Dovan sank to his knees, his chest aching with the grief he had called down upon himself. His mind raced with ways to escape this daunting fate, but no solutions surfaced and he sobbed all the harder for it. Eventually, his wife rode by driving his last horse drawn carriage, and his heart broke again at having to see his own wife drive her own carriage. "My dearest," she said piteously. "It is time to leave here."

"Where are we to go?" he asked, wiping the tears from his face, but it mattered not for new tears quickly replaced them. "Where can we go where the creditors won't find us?"

"To the Dragon Reborn, my love," she said, nodding her head as she always did when she had set her mind to something. "The Dragon Reborn breaks all ties, and that means that following him will break us of our ties to this place, to this debt. Come. I've gathered the last of our food, clothes, and money, and we have just enough to buy passage to Tear. Let us be on our way."

"But our House!" Dovan protested. "Our life! We can't just leave it all behind like this."

"We can and we will," she said sternly. "Now, my love, it is time for us to depart. Sit with me, please. We have much to discuss on our way to Caemlyn's port."

Carefully and as quickly as his old bones would let him, Dovan climbed up to sit beside his wife who dried his tears with a kerchief hidden up her sleeve and kissed him sweetly, then their journey was underway. Who knew how the old, broken man could serve this man the Dragon, but something inside him knew that whatever it was, the Light willed it so and Fate could not be beguiled. Steadily, grimly the Dovan, his wife, and his three children wound their way through the hilly countryside of Andor, angling away from the blood red orb of the sun, rising on a new day for the man and his family. Dovan offered up a quick and silent prayer that his life would change for the better and vowed then and there never to let his ambition come between him and his love of his family. It truly was a new day, and a glorious day for new beginnings.

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