Haerthorne Family/Rochefort de Valentin

Rochefort de Valentin Haerthorne
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Status:	Alive
Continent:	Dwilight
Realm:	Pian en Luries
Titles Held:	Knight of Giask
Class:	Warrior
Honor:	13
Prestige:	3
Age:	17
Height:	6'
Weight:	Roughly 178 lbs
Eyes:	Cerulean Blue
Hair:	Wavy Dark Brown-Black

Haerthorne's are charmers. It happens despite whatever circumstances they may be in, a little habit ingrained almost as if into their very blood. Usually quite handsome men, they happened to know instinctively what words to say at what point and what insinuations their actions would do to the working minds of all kinds of girls, young and old alike. Of course, none of them were alike. Valentin's father had the kind of charm that a young leader expressed, harnessing his enthusiasm with as much vigour and good humour to the horse as to the lass.

The son that was a result of such a harnessing was a little more dour and yet not experienced in the beds of women so much as their ways. His father had been declared a rebel and one of his less endowed uncles had risen to the duty of marrying the pretty noblewoman whose virtue had been slighted. His mother took to him greatly despite his father's absence (for it was not wholly his father's fault that he ran off) and so the young boy grew up dreaming of the knightly things that boys would do whilst the women of the household chattered and laughed - and the girls put bows and braids in his pretty long hair. He listened to them as they all passed from child to adult, though Valentin kept to himself and moved further and further away from the household of his mother and closer to that of the local castle.

There he trained and fought, for war against men and war against beast. His father, he had been told, was a champion swordsman proven in many tourneys. It was a matter of great pride therefore, fighting with other squires in the courtyards of Poryatu's fields of valour, that he be the best. He knew how to fight dirty at times, but above all he knew how to fight well.

Eventually his knowledge of the arts of war would be refined alongside with his body. The chief commander-at-arms in charge of their swordplay was a young man by comparison to most with a peculiar set of wrinkles and callouses to his skin that befitted someone far older and experienced. He did not let them down in that appearance as he corrected the set of each young squire's stance with a simple tap of his wooden blade or held a whole band of the screaming little bastards back with just a shield before they fell over and dragged it back onto their own faces.

Soon the day came where at his seventeenth summer he was knighted in a small skirmish against some beasts outside of Ciarin Tut. Upon that field Valentin was given a horse, a blade, a lance, and harnessing for his steed and bags. He was finally a knight.

And so he set out to be.