Character Name: Prince Fergus Kilgour

Canon/Original:Cannon

Gender:Male

Age:24

Family:

Father ~ King Aelfric Kilgour (deceased)
Mother ~ Queen Niamh Kilgour (deceased)
Brother ~ King Aedan Kilgour (30)
Sister ~ Lady Cliona Caethwyn (26)
Sister ~ Princess Erin Kilgour (21)


Spirit:: None. Believes he would turn out as the most pessimistically paranoid one possible if he did have one, though.

Occupation: Younger brother to the king and heir apparent.

Place of Habitation: Thiasa Keep

Physical Description (five sentence minimum): Fergus is slightly shorter than his older brother, but is still around the upper end of average height. Spending a lot of his time training for war – which is going to come sooner or later – he has a muscular frame and tanned skin, heavily calloused hands from spending hours holding weapons and numerous scars from accidents during training. Most of these can be found on his arms, and he hasn’t taken one to the face quite yet. Like most of his family he has dark eyes and hair, which he’s allowed to grow down to his shoulders and is generally fairly neatly combed. At least at the start of the day.

While he does dress up on the ceremonial occasions, most days he is presentable and tries to blend into the background when he’s not wanted, favouring earth colours with little frippery. Outshining Aedan just wouldn’t do in his position, but then nor would be dressing as a polar opposite. Most of the time he can be found in a tunic and breeches with an assortment of practice gear, and a pole axe. While most of the nobility prefer swords Fergus is against having something that sharp waved around near him, if he’d had the choice he’d have been a long range fighter and as it is the pole axe is a sort of compromise.

Personality (eight sentence minimum): As a second son and a spare, Fergus wasn’t overlooked. He received the same training and education as his elder brother, while always being impressed upon, with a very pointed look, that his brother was going to inherit and he was going to support him. Meant purely as an age bias it nevertheless had the effect of making Fergus think that, if the situation was thrust upon him, he really couldn’t rule. It also started imbedding the idea that his brother was some sort of demi god who would one day hold his, Fergus’, life in his hands and probably wasn’t going to be that nice about it.

While Fergus knows full well that he’s intelligent and isn’t completely useless in terms of combat, he’s very much prepared to sacrifice pride to his brother – and only his brother – if it means that there’s less chance of him getting killed. His main aim in life is to stay alive long enough to die peacefully in his own house, although if this were to happen he does admit that Aedan would probably have to be dead and any nephews would have to be very fond of him. Publically he declares that his main aim in life is to support his brother and the kingdom in whatever way is deemed necessary, and has a reputation for being the type of patriotic person who doesn’t have a lot of common sense.

Although Aedan has been known to have fits of temper when someone questions his decisions, Fergus hasn’t been anything other than civil to everyone for most of his life. Most of the world is presented with a cool smile, guarded eyes and neutral posture no matter what they do or say – he even manages to maintain the calm disposition when in the middle of a fight. If anything he over analyses every move someone makes and responds far too cautiously rather than jumping into situations as Aedan sometimes does. However, in private it’s a rather different matter. Fergus has no close friends or servants and has for several years lived in a small room as far away as possible from everyone else, where depending on the day’s events he shouts, screams, cries, once or twice collapsed and more common these days as the stress level mounts, gets completely drunk on a rather vicious local brew and passes out on the floor. The room is almost always cold as he keeps the windows propped open in an attempt to get rid of the smell.

History (ten sentence minimum): Fergus was born the year after Aelfric started carving a kingdom from the island of Thisia. This meant that the man was only around to be regarded with complete awe once or twice a year, and Fergus substituted Aedan for the more every day capacity regardless of what his older brother thought about it. Being six years older, heir to the throne and good at everything he also soon became something on an idol as well. This image warped more than shattered when he was seven, why exactly they were fighting Fergus doesn’t remember but he does know that Aedan broke his arm. Since then he’d broken plenty of bones, but it’s the first one he remembers. Things might have remained more or less the same if his tutor hadn’t started him looking at the history of Scalia, where an alarmingly large number of brothers had ended up killing each other for the crown.

Logically, there was no reason for Aedan to kill Fergus while he was still young, but while Fergus did accept that the idea wouldn’t leave him alone. He began to keep his distance from Aedan more on a personal level while he became outwardly one of his most loyal supporters. In reality this loyalty was driven by a combination of the remaining idolism and fear, but most people didn’t realise that. When their father died five years ago – when Fergus was nineteen – he put his full support behind his brother becoming king. There was no real danger of civil war, but all the same he wasn’t going to risk being anything other than fully supportive of his brother, who perhaps rightly does have a paranoid streak in him. He felt ill almost the entire time, collapsing shortly after the coronation and only slowly recovering as time passed.

However, at twenty four worshiping a thirty year old brother has started to look highly suspicious. A certain amount of respect and loyalty is required, but increasingly Fergus has started to think that it’s not enough to keep himself safe.

SAMPLE RP (from any site, ten sentence minimum): It was common knowledge that the tribes were negotiating an allegiance of some sort, but apparently no one had thought to tell Aedan until now. No one apart from the unfortunate Sir Sean Ramsden, spymaster, who had told him earlier that day. The King of Thiasa was, understandably, less than impressed. When his older brother was less than impressed, in other words in a bad mood, Fergus often used the policy of staying well out of the way until he was in a better mood. As he wandered around the high walls though, he did have to wonder if he was going to have to find a new policy. There was going to be a war, any setback was going to put his brother in a bad mood.

Although the heir apparent, Fergus had never been restricted in movements by anyone – he didn’t recall Aedan even mentioning it to him – and had come without an escort of any sort. Perhaps unwise in the tense climate, but then he never really seriously thought that there was a chance he was going to inherit the throne, Aedan would either kill him or sire a living heir first. Possibly both, Aedan wasn’t someone who Fergus would have pinned down as paternal but he’d surely know the threat uncles posed the same way they both knew the threat brothers could be. If ever Aedan took a wife, it would probably be the right time to take up a post as an ambassador as far away as possible.

People bowed as he walked past, everything from a brief nod of a man close enough to him in rank to get away with it to a full bow from a particularly zealous peasant. It never ceased to amuse him that he could be identified as a prince without wearing the ornate fashions of the world, today as usual he was dressed in practically designed clothes and fabrics in assorted tones of brown. It had more to do with his bearing than he realised, even if he felt that his position was unstable he was a prince. He’d been born to command, he hadn’t known his parents well but they’d been so distant that he was fairly certain that they couldn’t have wanted him for the sake of wanting him. Even in simplistic dress his movements were polished to the point where he looked able to command armies without a second thought to whether he had the right to do so. Most striking of all, perhaps, was his shuttered face. Few people knew anyone who kept their thoughts as private as Prince Fergus Kilgour.

What's the name of the Creator God the Ekaini worship?: [[got the correct answer]]

Hey luv! OK, there are just a few small things I might like to mention, though this app is really very good. :) Just add in Plot Potential and you're done, I'd say.

Pollaxe/poleaxe = proper spelling of 'pole axe' (which is unimportant, really. Just an fyi)

As a general stylistic concern, you tend to be redundant--to restate parts of phrases or even ideas. Watch the redundance.

Overall, though, I see no reason not to reaccept you. This is a great example for other members.

Lia, thoughts?

This is a lovely application,, and is accepted on my part..