Name: Donovan Monaghan

Occupation: The Banished Son of the House Monaghan

Age: 27

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight

Race/Species: Human

Appearance: Unlike his nearly-saintly brother, Donovan was always a problematic child, and it shows. Though the two share a striking physical resemblance, Donovan's skin is a bit on the lighter side, as well as his hair, cut short and kept that way for as long as he can remember. His body is covered in seemingly a thousand little scars - remnants of rough horseplay in youth, and a testament to numerous battles in adulthood.

Though one might call him a handsome man, his appearance never truly comes to notice, hidden underneath a dark scowl he seems to wear on his face nearly all the time. He stands tall, but there's a certain slouch to his shoulders, that separates him from the norm. One might say he appears much like a tiger, laying low and preparing to jump on unsuspecting prey.

Where his twin has raven hair, Donovan's is a rich, chocolate color, not kept long enough to reveal if he inherited the family curl to it or not. And where Elias' eyes are a clear silvery-blue, his are darker, grayish-green color, often compared to an overcast sky.

Built for combat, Donovan is perhaps a bit slower than his brother, but is a a bit bulkier and a heavier hitter than Elias. Overall, if one did not look at their faces too closely, you'd never even say they are related. However, there's no denying that in close detail, the two men are spitting images of each other.

Personality: The shunned, unwanted son of the Monaghan family, Donovan was only allowed to keep his last name due to poorly managed bureaucracy, but is not allowed to use it for any personal benefit, nor can he call upon it to exercise any right to his family's fortune and estate.

Jealous at his brother, and more than a little resentful at his family's treatment of him, Donovan has grown into a bitter and cruel man, with little love for the splendor and decorum his holy brother was practically bathed with. Set apart and cast aside as very young boy, he grew around less than savory crowds and soon picked up their patterns of behavior, sorting out his arguments with fist and sword alike, caring little for anyone's comfort, but his own.

As the years went by, he got a bit better at masking this volatile, cruel side of him, at least to the point of being able to pass for a decent man for short periods of time. However, sooner or later, his true colors inevitable start showing, and the charade never lasts long.

Abilities/Skills: Being more at home in a bar fight, than at the battlefield, Donovan has developed a fighting style one could hardly call fair. He always hits first, and is not above exploiting his opponent's weakness, if it means he'd end up on top.

Skilled with a sword and shield, he acts as the front unit for the band of mercenaries he belongs to, and he can take a hit which would deck most of his companions. Though he usually takes mercenary jobs to pay for living expenses alone, caring nothing for any eventual glory that might come his way, he has a special penchant for the jobs that pay well for taking out members of Nobility. He'd never admit it, but with each fat Lord he kills, he pictures his father's face on the corpse, and every screaming widow does sound awfully like he imagines his mother would scream, once he left her with naught but a memory of her wonderful husband, and her beloved, raven-haired son.

History: There's not much that Donovan remembers of his childhood, besides the vague conviction that, for the longest time, he was the sole son of the Monaghan family, as far as he knew. He remembered seeing Father and Mother on occasion, kept in the separate wing of the villa, as he was, cared for by a single nanny and an armed guard in front of his door. But, he thought not much of it, for that was the only life he had known.

That is, until one night, he had caught the nanny asleep and the guard far drunker than he ought to be on duty, little Donovan sneaking out of his room and set to wander the villa. Amazed at how big the place actually was, and wondering why he was not allowed to move around like this in the daylight as well, he could suddenly hear soft voices, recognizing his mother's among them.

Following the sound, he soon crept upon a door set ajar, and peeked through, into a room, softly lit by the fireplace and candlelight, the room having a big bed, with wooden pillars and white, brocaded curtains. With colorful carpets and large windows, and a gold-rimmed table, with some sort of game set on aboard atop it. Two people sat at the table - his mother, and an unknown boy, with dark, curly tresses, both in their nightclothes, and giggling over something the boy had said, as he moved the odd game figure across the board.

Confused by the discovery of this unknown child, who looked to be about Donovan's age, just sitting so casually in their house, and his mother treating him as she had never treated Donovan, the boy took a step back and the wooden floorboards underneath his foot creaked, making both the mother and the boy look towards the door.

Standing up, his mother reached the door first, and swung it open, gasping when she saw her son standing there. But, instead of at least asking what he was doing there, his mother screamed for the guards, Donovan soon finding himself back in his - in comparison - very poorly furnished room, and with the door locked. Mother did not come to see him, but his father did, the next morning, only to declare that Donovan is to go away and ever return.

A few hours later, he was packed up into a carriage and with one last look towards the villa, he could see that dark-haired boy, with a face identical to Donovan's, pressing his hands to the glass, as he watched Donovan being carted away into the unknown.

It was only a bit later, when Donovan realized he was being sold to another family, in a way, the family being far poorer than what he saw at his parent's house. And now, they were being paid to take Donovan in and keep him there until adulthood. And as he grew, Donovan slowly came to learn about his parents, from odd rumors and hearsay he caught from the people, living far from the Monaghan villa.

Stories were told about "that Monaghan boy". The prodigy. The golden child. The little Lordling, already so handsome and bright, that he'd surely surpass his father, not for long now. And the hate that came with the realization that this splendid child was not him, but some sort of an imposter, was difficult to describe, or contain.

Vowing that, one day, he'd be strong and self-sufficient enough to ride back to his family estate and finally point the finger at the vile usurper overtaking what was rightfully his, and thus reclaim all the lands and titles that belong to him by the right of blood.

Other information: TBA