Desmond Dragelion

Full Name: Desmond Dragelion
Alias: "Des"
Age: 24 || Twenty Four
Birthday: Summer
Race: Hylian
Occupation: Beast / Animal Handler and Researcher
Pronouns: He / Him
School of Magic: Farore ⚡
Twilight Beast Form: Euraiser ( Dog )



Positives:
        ✓ Reserved
        ✓ Level-Headed
        ✓ Helpful
        ✓ Mostly Polite
        ✓ Adaptive
        ✓ Curious


Negatives:
        ✖ Anxious
        ✖ Poor Emotional Management
        ✖ Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
        ✖ Quick to Anger
        ✖ Low Self Esteem
        ✖ Naturally Intimidating



Desmond looks rough around the edges and honestly he is.

His life has certainly had its ups and downs with their effect on him remaining. Desmond, for the most part, is fairly relaxed and stoic. Chaos is a rather traditional part of his life at this point so a lot of surprises doesn’t shake him. From any fights to animals freaking out to sudden guests: he’s fairly level headed in handling stresses. However, he is an anxious mess. He’s always on edge to understand when the other shoe is going to drop and when things will get out of control. His levelheadedness comes partially from experience and partially from being so stressed out he goes numb. And whether he admits it or not, he’s a problem.

Of course, in his own ways, he tries to handle it. Whether it’s actually working out outside of work, to the bottle, to the chase of adrenaline, to a horse ride - he’s always doing something. He’s got a lot of energy from one end or another and he’s always raring to do something with it. And while that was useful as a kid, it’s gotten him into a spot of trouble more than once. Add the stress and poor management and you’ve got something of a firecracker. Desmond tries to bite his tongue and manages to keep it mostly under control around the people he knows can make life worse for him, but that bottle has broken more than once.

When someone actually gets to talking to him, Desmond is a sweetheart. He tries to be rather attentive to those around him because he’s rather aware of both his family's reputation as well as his own appearance. He's more than willing to lend a hand when necessary. It’s other people helping him that’s gotten him as far as he has, and it’s helping other people that’s kept their family in such good standing. Desmond rarely denies a requested favor, but he will tease that he’s owed something - usually food will suffice, sometimes something special if the favor was large enough. Besides, helping people out both gives him something to do and people to talk to.

Additionally, working often in the capital city has given him quite a bit of politeness. Desmond knows well the behavior he has to keep if in court or in the presence of those of a variety of status. His behavior can adapt rather quickly based around who he is talking to. He can go from a straightforward employee to nobility to joking around and relaxed around maids and knights. No matter their status, however, Desmond tries to keep an air of respect. Everyone is a person, after all, they all have a soul. They deserve basic decency - and oftentimes that means a proper apology when he’s been rude or did something wrong.

He’s most definitely a work in progress, but the man is trying.
After all, he’s got large shoes to fill.


Desmond is a rough looking individual at first look. His constant work outside, with rough and tumble creatures, and heavy equipment has gotten him to look roughed around the edges. He has what a lot of people call a “resting [keese] face”, with an expression that consistently looks like he is annoyed or glares when it’s kind of just his face. However, when he gets the chance to actually control his expression he has rather soft features. A gentle smile and something between amusement and mischief running through a feline-like gaze.

A tuft of blonde hair on his head and amber eyes give off a familiar appearance. When the sun is high in the sky, his eyes can appear more reddish-brown and hair more platinum, while they shift to darker hues of chocolate and dirty blonde around dusk and dawn. If he actually controlled his facial expressions, he’s been told that he has a familiar face - which he personally chalks up to the fame of his brother and the average appearance he thinks he has. A pointed nose and high cheekbones finish off his features.





Desmond was that kid.

That kid who was always running around trying to find something to entertain himself when all the chores had been completed ( or sometimes, ignored ). Desmond always wanted to see something, to do something, to be something. Being on the farm back home was a great use of his energy, a day of work being one of the few things that could quell his rambunctiousness. If you could actually get him to do the work when it came to anything but ensuring the animals got their time in the fields. The boy was practically a herding dog on his own, lacking only in speed.

Perhaps running was all he was good at. For when the monsters turned their faces in their villages direction, it was all they told him to do. It was all he did. His legs carried him through the village buildings and gates until his legs felt like they would break off. Desmond admittedly doesn’t take the memory with grace: to have run so far, without even the ability to find his siblings and bring them with him. And for the longest time it was what haunted his heart and plagued his psyche. Especially as through the haze of adrenaline still running through, even as the monsters had been and gone, he was unable to find even a modicum of their existence. No bodies he could identify, no traces that a child could translate as their life remaining.

And what was a child to do? He had come too early for people to return to find what was left of their homes and too late to be of the people recovered. A child wandering through the valleys he had never seen and taking shelter in trees until daylight came. No confirmation on his family or connections, left to make his own way until he became an adult. Trying to find someone to take a chance on him until he could finally make it on his own.

That had been the plan, anyway.


Desmond had hated himself for going down to thievery. He had not known how far he had gone from the village, only that his body ached and his stomach rumbled. The theft hadn’t meant to be big - just enough to get him a meal and maybe a room, even if it was the corner of a barn. But of course, fate wasn’t ready to be kind quite yet.

A wicked smile of a man bringing the boy by the scruff of torn shirt fabric, demanding payment when both knew well he had no money. A ring that supposedly had much greater value than a child could fathom was stolen and retrieved, leaving only a sin to be repented. But the devil himself didn’t treat sinners well - despite the hypocrisy of a sinner punishing sinners. So what was he to do? Well like most unpaid debts, it had to be paid. And for a child with too much heart and too much defiance in his gaze, the man had known just how to punish him.

When people spoke of duels, of war, it had always sounded much fancier than he thought. A turn based game with little blood outside of a fade to black line. Desmond hadn’t been thrown into a pit with the expectation of his reality. There was no training, no fairness, no tales to tell. It was die or be saved by a sponsor's call before you could.

Desmond, however, had been a peculiar favorite of frequent visitors. A child who fought with an untethered anger and living by spite alone - defying the master of the ring any chance he got. Even when the older fighters left him broken in the corner, he stared at them with an anger that dared them to take a step closer. Always standing back up, even when his legs would threaten giving out.

Time had lost its meaning there. Each day, week, month had been a routine: training only broken by fights, sleep, and food. Spars weren’t uncommon in the rings back rooms, of fighters crossing paths by happenstance and feuds never ending. People with scores to settle or betting men who had taken their risk and failed the game of chance.

More seasoned, respected fighters got the chance to live on their own to return as needed. But the more resistant, the ones who would threaten livelihood, would be held behind the rings doors.


It had been by Hylia’s blessing one had the gall and means to escape. Returning only with the might of knight squadrons and adventurers to clean the place up. And as the forces made their way through fights and arrests, Desmond was among the youth found. He had been there for so long he had nearly forgotten his own age. The knights thought this both hilarious and depressing, bringing the boy to one of the few places they knew would take him.

The trip to the Capital had been one of times someone spoke to him as an equal again. Knights and adventurers swapped stories with him, taking time to adjust to the boys defensiveness and anger issues, until they finally peeled back the layers to find his talents and passions. More than he would care to admit, he had been found later in the nights tending to animals who had gotten restless. It had at least been something familiar to him, a memory almost lost and a nostalgia remaining.

One of the knights had brought him to a friend. An interview of sorts took place, bringing through the boys knowledge. He had seen far more monsters than he wanted, knowing at least some knowledge people often kept to themselves or exaggerated in tales of heroism. Until he grew to an adult, he had been kept under the wing of the man in charge. Years of an apprenticeship smoothed out some of the edges, enough for people to not hurt with a single interaction.

Since reaching adulthood, Desmond has kept at his work. No longer an apprentice but a full-time employee, his experience has taught him much and earned him a bit of respect. Often his hands and mind focused on the creatures he cares for, leaving only for leisure travel or research expeditions.


        ⚡ When Desmond fought in the ring, his main equipment was a one handed sword, a chain, or his own fists.

        ⚡ His magic was never fully utilized because he had a tendency to shock himself with it or spook the animals on accident.

        ⚡ He would love tattoos but is never quite sure what or where he would get them.

        ⚡ Desmond speaks very quietly and calmly to animals, like one would to an upset child.