|Eye Color||Blue Hazel|
|Parents||Ambrose Keaton, Anastasia Zaffria|
|Siblings||Veronica Keaton, Jaerith Keaton|
|Uncles/Aunts||Nadine Keaton, Patrice Valardin, Saladin Zaffria, Cerese Zaffria, Martin Zaffria, Eluisa Velenosa, Salvatore Zaffria, Margerie Keaton, Marco Zaffria, Donal Zaffria|
|Cousins||Sylvie Rubino-Zaffria, Dafne Rubino-Zaffria, Magden Rubino-Zaffria, Mercedes Valardin, Kael Keaton, Shae Keaton, Zara Valardin, Cadenza Fidante, Silvio Rubino-Zaffria|
|Authored By / Featured In|
Standing a 'mere' 5 foot 10 inches, his build lean rather than bulky, Lord-General Rohran Keaton seems far bigger than he is, in pure physicality. His presence lends him a feel of towering height, a broader build, a weight resonates from his voice. His eyes defy a singular color description, spokes of blue are laced with green and gold, his brow heavy, his nose patrician. Broad cheekbones rest like blades, defining a face that in rest seems either mildly disapproving or at least deeply contemplative. His lips are thin, but expressive, his jaw broad, chin oft set with a stubbornness one might describe as 'mulish'. He is not without humor, it is simply deeply buried, made all the more precious when it is set free. His laughter is surprisingly infectious, a deep belly laugh that softens him and makes him more approachable.
Patience. Rohran Keaton is a paragon of patience, though only the brave usually have the audacity to make him wait for something. Rohran is a bit of a mystery, a layered man and one might not always know, outside of the training yard or battlefield, precisely which version of Rohran they are going to get. On the field he is all business, no-nonsense and gruff. War is work and his men know that on the field, Rohran's word is law. After hours, with an ale in hand, the Lord-General can laugh and carouse with the best of them. There are times when a hint of wistfulness can be seen, on the horizon of his mood, the poet peeking out at the edges, the Chivalric Knight with his pen and his prose and the wind billowing over the moors.
It takes a firm hand to turn small, independent groups into a cohesive and effective army. It is not unlike herding cats and convincing them that working together brings down prey faster and with less losses. Rohran Keaton is an excellent cat herder. Perhaps it grew from managing his siblings as a child, with Veronica and her intense drive and barely containable chaos and Jaerith throwing himself into every possible experience regardless of risk. Rohran assumed the role of co-parent as the eldest when their mother Anastasia died, Rohran being all of 11 years old, to Veronica's 7 and Jaerith's 5. Their father Ambrose poured himself into the running of their lands, his duties as General and let Rohran and the staff handle the younger children.
Rohran often sought his father's approval, something he feels, rightly or wrongly, he has yet to obtain. These feelings are something that are most often expressed in one of Rohran's four great loves in life: Poetry. Cleaving to the Chivalric ideals, Rohran fancies himself a poet of great skill, often composing sonnets and epics, though he's not above a limerick or two when out drinking with his men.
As for the other three loves, they are his role, of General, a title earned through years of dedicated, hard work and bestowed upon him three years ago when his father retired, boar hunting, and, lastly, his daughter, Elaine. The baby is less than a year old and no one knows, or even suspects, who the mother might be. Rohran has never married, and the looks he gives those who ask is withering at best. Still, he calls the child daughter, and none have yet had the wherewithal to challenge him. Not even his father.