Name: Frederick Donogan Honor: Ascetic Gender: Male Species: Hylian Age: 73 years Height: 5'4" Weight: 250 lbs. Physical Description: A hunchbacked man with a long black coat, holding a wooden cane in his right hand. What's left of his hair looks like a carrot threw up on it, and his scalp is warted and wrinkled. His dark eyes stare out from sunken caverns of flesh, and his nose is hooked and red from his habit of rubbing it. If he were to stand straight, he would probably hit six feet, but the hump is so strong and ingrained that he's stuck permanently crouched over. His left knee is shattered, but a combination of magical healing and physical therapy has let him hobble with his cane at about walking speeds. Equipment: Nothing out of the ordinary. Place of Origin: Resident of Darunia P/W/C: 3/1/2 Rupees: 0 Treasures: N/A Residence: He owns a small one-story house in Darunia. It has only two rooms: a bedroom that doubles as a kitchen and a small basement. Pet: N/A Backstory: In his youth, Donogan worked as a maker and seller of bombs. It was his trade, his livelihood. He made use of the Stonepact connecting the Gorons and the Hylians in his work. He would receive shipments of raw materials from them, then he would ship the finished bombs back to the Gorons. He was never entirely sure of what they did with those bombs; he just assumed that they used them in mining, or whatever it was that Gorons did. He was toiling in his shop late one night, trying to finish a last-minute mass-order of bombs, when the doorbell jingled. It was a Zora ambassador from one of their companies, and he was interested in making a deal with Donogan. The Zora Royal Family was, apparently, looking to expand part of the Domain, and this Company had been drafted to do it. The ambassador was under orders to find a bombcrafter who could supply them with a steady stream of water-proof explosives. Donogan said he would be happy to do so, and after a week of experimentation, he perfected his line of underwater bombs. The ambassador was very pleased, and thus, Donogan had established connections between two other races. He had been wrapping up just such a shipment when a letter arrived. He didn't like the idea of leaving the shop. It would mean missing several shipments to the Gorons, and that may not work well in his relations with them. However, the allure of doubling an already impressive payload was too great. He sent off a letter to the Gorons, apologizing for the inconvenience, and informed the Zoras that he would be happy to deliver the goods in person. While on the way to Zora's Domain, he was accosted by bandits. They had heard rumors that a shipment of explosives was heading across the fields, and they wanted the bombs for themselves. There weren't that many of them, thankfully, so Donogan's three guards felt confident that they could handle seven untrained hooligans. However, it was a matter of minutes before the first guard fell, and mere seconds after that, the second succumbed to a bandit's blade. Alone with his sole remaining guard, Donogan was forced to use his goods to send the bandits scurrying away. However, one of them had managed to nail him with a club, shattering his left knee and making him send the rest of the trip in fevered hysteria. The Zora healers did the best they could, but it was beyond magical repair. He would live, but he wouldn't be able to walk like he once could. Already angry and bitter, he walked back to his wagon to find it empty. The Company had taken the goods and left a note pinned under a small bag of rupees. When he counted it, he found that the value numbered less than what he was originally promised, even before agreeing to deliver the goods himself. According to the note, the Company was unwilling to pay him a full amount for only two thirds of the promised goods. Almost as a side-note, the note said that the Company had finally finished training its own bombcrafter. They did not require his services anymore. When he finally arrived back home, the families of the slain guards demanded compensation for the deaths of their kin. He was forced by the law to dig deep into his pockets to repay them for their loss. It was a broken Donogan that opened the door to his large home to find a letter from the Gorons awaiting him. They were insulted that he had chosen the Zora Company over them, them who had supplied him with goods for so many years. His stay in the Domain had also been much longer than he had said, and they were cutting off all ties with him. He would not be receiving shipments from them anymore, nor would they purchase any bombs from him in the future. His wallet empty, his knee shattered, and his work destroyed, Donogan fell into economic and spiritual ruin. His house was taken from him, since he could no longer afford it, and the meager side-jobs he could complete with his bad leg were barely enough for the small two-room shack he had requested not be demolished. He grew angry and bitter at everyone, and he quickly grew to hate all races not Hylian. He hated the Gorons for abandoning him, he hated the Zora for double-crossing him and not fixing his leg, he hated the Rito just because they were involved, and he blames them for making him journey out in the first place, and he hated everyone for pitying his fall from grace. His old bombcrafter supplies lie in his basement, untouched for decades. He now works as a secretary for the local blacksmith. Personality: His initial anger towards the Gorons, Zora, and Rito has ballooned over the years into badly-suppressed hatred. He doesn't hold them in contempt, but he hates them with a passion. Angry at the world and bitter about everything, he complains loudly about his problems and doesn't care too much about someone else's issues. He doesn't hesitate to verbalize any problem he sees in another person. He hates the rich and successful, since he sees their mere existence as a mockery of his fall. His spine curved under the weight of all his hatred and bitterness, and eventually he developed a fully-formed hump. Breathing became an occasional issue, and he now needs a cane to walk properly anywhere. The hump serves as a constant physical reminder of his fall and only exacerbates his already bitter nature.
This character is practically the embodiment of the crotchety old man. Ancient, hunched, overweight, racist, and pissed off, you really know how to push my buttons, Quill :V I love him. His story is simple but delicate, straight-forward and to-the-point. This man had a beautiful, budding career, and then someone ran it over with their car, laughing all the way. Now he just carries the remains in a little bag. I'd almost be worried to RP with him for fear he might just keel over and die mid-thread. This character is great and fits all the requirements for Ascetic, and it should be passed accordingly.
