Sir Agravaine's Journal|
[Most Recent Entries]
Below are the 7 most recent journal entries recorded in
Sir Agravaine's LiveJournal:
|Saturday, August 11th, 2007|
|Saturday, July 14th, 2007|
|Open post of Plumminess! but esp. Gaheris
Sir Agravaine, the worst knight in Camelot, and arguably the worst knight in Britain (and if it's arguable, it's not an argument he's likely to win), is, frankly, rather thrilled at the idea of actually being properly squired, to a proper knight, for the first time in years. (When he first came to Camelot, each of the knights took him on in turns, and each gave him up as quickly as they could.)
He's got all his armor on again, though his helmet is held under his arm, and has arrived far too early at the arranged meeting place in the woods. He's spending this extra time hacking at a tree with his rusty sword.
|Monday, March 19th, 2007|
|[open post] [of sorts]
He's alone (for now), some distance away from the crowded little cottage, out by a weak little stream, sitting with his back to a tree and sporting a magnificent black eye, along with a handful of other small wounds. If he's sulking, now, glaring at the creek as he picks at the grass and throws pebbles into the water, it's probably these little hurts (or whoever caused them) that are to blame.
|Wednesday, February 28th, 2007|
|Blame that Mr. Wodehouse.
There was, it seems, nothing to mitigate this unfortunate man's
physical deficiencies. There is a place in the world for the strong,
ugly man, and there is a place for the weak, handsome man. But to fall
short both in features and in muscle is to stake your all on brain. And
in the days of King Arthur you did not find the populace turning out to
do homage to brain. It was a drug on the market. Agravaine was a good
deal better equipped than his contemporaries with grey matter, but his
height in his socks was but five feet four; and his muscles, though he
had taken three correspondence courses in physical culture, remained
distressingly flaccid. His eyes were pale and mild, his nose snub, and
his chin receded sharply from his lower lip, as if Nature, designing
him, had had to leave off in a hurry and finish the job anyhow. The
upper teeth, protruding, completed the resemblance to a nervous rabbit.
Have also discovered, have a wife. Must check up on this, and try to avoid having heart attack next time find out big news like this from poorly written Arthur-fangirl websites. Current Mood: confused
|Friday, April 14th, 2006|
|sorry excuse for an open post--
The setting -- outside, in one of the little groves of trees that dot the landscape surrounding the inevitable Mansion; late as the hour is, it's as dark, cold, and uncomfortably damp as the Orkneys.
Despite this unfortunate similarity, or more likely because of it, Agravaine can be found here, practicing his fencing - with an unfortunate young pine tree - and muttering to himself under his breath the whole while - "Angsty childhood? Don't know what they're - talking about, it - wasn't a--" the words split like firewood, punctuated by the thrusts and stabs and blows of his sword.
|Saturday, March 25th, 2006|
|Sunday, February 12th, 2006|