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Post by Shikai on Aug 6, 2008 13:08:39 GMT -5
Name:
H'aze
Age:
20
Gender:
Male
Preference:
Females
Previous Position:
Son of a Minor Holder
Current Position:
Jr. Weyrling
Appearance:
My appearance... It's been so long since I've thought of what I look like. I fear myself, I fear I have become something decrepit. I am not what I look like on the inside, compared to the outside. I am a very different creature. I believe that people look at me as though I am a foul creature, although it is probably not true. My paranoia fears they are right... I see no gaze worth meeting anymore. The only reason I have not snapped is because I swore to my mother, Faranth help her, that I would Stand if I had the chance. I can retreat back into my own sane self at times, and pretend. I have to pretend. I have to blend in.
And now I'll take over, the crazy puppeteer of this poor man. Hauze was born and bred for... Show. He was meant to be perfect, beautiful, following the rules of is grandmother. She carefully plotted out so that her son, grandson, whatever was next, would be perfect.
She never expected it in her lifetime.
Hauze was a child that happened one in a million times. No deformities, nothing wrong with him, freckles only where they needed to be, icily beautiful...
Residing at six feet and three inches, he is a tall person. Large callused hands, slim graceful fingers, and large feet, he non-the less walks silently, something feline about his features, graceful, but predatory. Besides that, the sleek male is not heavy. No, he's actually slim, but even at his height he's never been classified as a lightweight. He was conditioned for stamina and endurance, and it shows in his body. He's never been sick a day in his life, either. At a mere 150 pounds, the idle weight for a male of his size is at least 170, and yet he is still nothing to be pushed around.
Slim faced, he is all angles. High, sharp cheekbones, clear glittering eyes, a straight prow thrust nose in the middle of his face. He has perfected the art of looking hard but soft, as though to melt against him would be comfortable, yet at the same time, as though reaching for a rose that was nestled in a bed of thorns.
His hair is blonde, a pale, almost white blond that is cut ragged and about to his chin, maybe longer. Thick, it's soft and supple, easy to manage. A few shades darker when wet, when he is busy he pulls it back into a tail, although pieces always escape. Perhaps hanging in his eyes, he runs his fingers through it at times, maybe to reassure himself that he is still there, still sane, or maybe to let loose emotions that could be used for more intent purposes. His eyebrows to, and what little hair he has on his chest is the same vanilla chocolate white, pale and creamy.
Although born without any deformities, he has them now. If you note within his history, after the incident with his family, he fell into a gang in the Trader, and in an effort to escape what he was, he scarred his own body. His right ear has a simple hole, adorned with an earring that curled up and around his earlobe, elegantly made with gold and tiny jewels, looking as though the whole thing is pierced. The left ear is left empty, because around the ear is a tattooed mass of tiny graceful swirls and black and crimson flowers, with more sinister designs hiding inside the patterns.
The tattoo starts at the top of of his temple and curls down behind, following the hairline. Where it reaches the vulnerable part of your skull, right before his jaw starts, it forks off, one part curling back up and around taper to a point, directly under his left eye.
Back at the part where they separate, it rushes down in a swirling mass to wrap around his throat once, ending up at the base of his spine. There, it again branches out: One thick root curves and dances down the side of his back, the scarlet and black colors merging until you can't tell where one hue begins and the other ends, coming gracefully to a halt just at the bottom of his back and wrapping around to slid down his side, ending around his hipbone. Once again at the branch, a thin tendril wraps around his right shoulder, on first glance looking as though a tunnelsnake might, gliding down his arm to end with a swirl at base of his thumb.
He wears neat clothing, nothing to baggy, nothing to tight. Sensible is the thing with him. Worn boots, easy tunic, a pair of slacks, he really doesn’t care much about his clothing, as long as it’s clean, presentable, and has slightly good taste.
Hauze is all muscle. Not a body-builder’s muscle, but… Picture a cheetah, for a moment. Feline, slim, rangy, maybe slightly tussled, when the big cat moves you can see it rippling, sleek lithe muscle. That’s him. Not a part on his is considered fat, and at times he may be to skinny, as stated before.
His eyes dance along the scale, a light crystal blue to an almost midnight blue-black that depends on his mood. Two bright emblems that blaze from his haunted face, they are rimmed in black. Not from makeup, but because he is an insomniac, with nightmares helping. Still, manages to look good in a tussled, ragged way.
I wish to impress on you something, however. Not only about one part of him, or a piece that makes him up... You see, he was to be the most beautiful thing the world ever saw. Grace, elegance, he was going to be the finest. A champion, if such a word could be implied here... And I try to impress on you the sadness that grips my heart when I tell you this. He was, you see. He was, the past tense. An ache that sends a sad shiver up my spine and brings tears to my heart...
What he looks like on the outside, and what he looks like on the inside are two different things. He may be beautiful, but he is achingly so, a cold, inhuman grace. If you look at him out of the corner of your eye, you might see it. The way he walks, too erect, as though struggling against a huge burden, the way that he carries a predator's stance with him, sleek, fighting the chain for all of his life, and growing tired of being alone... So tired. It is as though his spirit, his physical being has been mauled, ripped to pieces, and he struggles to heal. But one can only take so much pain before wishing to rid himself of it. Ask yourself, if you must live day after day, fighting to hold yourself together, fighting what you were taught to be so completely, could you keep fighting?
Picture yourself running. For a long time, unable to stop, and when you were finally at the finish line, you were offered a glass of water. Cool and moist, the first gulp seems like a god’s gift, taking the harshest edge off of the burning thirst, but you needed more to fully heal yourself. And then someone takes that glass, knocks it from your grasp, and you watch it spill to the earth, see the ground eagerly suck in the water, until nothing is left but a stain. Could you honestly live with that pain, every day, taking a sip and wanting so much to have more, with nothing to take your heart from the discomfort?
I couldn’t.
Personality:
Who I am, what makes up me. I am an evil creature, if such emotions can be classed into these things... My personality, if you call it, though I do not believe that these things are stable. I am not evil in my own mind, no, but I cannot do anything but fight myself. I can only try not to do anything to hurt, and to only help. I can only fight what part of me that wants to take control, that want’s to kill, burn, and hate... And I do not want that. I am a good person, although many who know me would laugh… I must try… Try to keep sane. I have help, from the beautiful creatures who believe I have a chance at life again…
They are the only things that keep me from going insane. They are the one piece in this huge picture that stops me from killing the innocent, the weak, those I once cared about protecting... The key to the fine line in my mind dangles, and I don’t think that anything would ever want to take it up, cradle it, be my savior... The flood of everything, raw anguish, that creeps upon me, day after day, night after night... Without those voices, encouraging me, telling me that something would take up the mantle of being my savior… At times I am unable to even think. I know I would snap, and with that snap, I would no longer be myself. I’d make the world payback and die doing it.
I know. I once almost took that path once.
And now, for the safety of this poor man, I once again take over. Hauze, although he is trying to get a point across, is doing it rather poorly. He is on the brink of insanity. He hides it well, yes, but other’s, far worse than he, roam the continent, insane and a danger to themselves and others. He is on the line, and teetering too closely to the edge. But I will try to let you see what is under the mask he wears, and maybe then you will understand him better.
Born to a minor Hold Lord who was pompous, and arrogant, he was taught to be proper and speak when spoken to, and millions of other things children are expected to learn over the years. Except… He wasn’t just expected. He had no choice. He grew up without other children, and so he learned little of play, expected to be an adult as a child. One amazing thing about him is that he went through everything, he experienced no shelter in his life. In doing this, he has a huge amount of empathy. He’s had joy, pain, suffering, loss, happiness, some by accident, other's by design, and more things than an eight year old should have to see yet.
When you first meet him, he seems distant. Slightly cold, quiet, hard, he is none-the-less polite and as social as he must be, from a time in his history he was expected to smile and treat others kindly. However, he always retains a certain amount of aloofness, not really being a people person. Even when smiling and acting, he doesn’t share his mind, or his emotions, easily. Manners ooze from him without even thinking about it, from holding the door for ladies to being on the borderline obsessive-compulsive of neat. The way I figure, his mind is so scattered that staying neat is one of the only ways he feels he still has a little control.
He’s never blunt, thinking before speaking, which isn’t often. He doesn’t mince words, however, and tells the truth. Lying is a sin, you see, and he has broken so many that this is held sacrilege. He doesn’t like clingy people, and he tries hard not to cling himself.
Girls… They scare him, slightly. While attracted to them, he has high standards, and doesn’t fall in and out of love. Sex to him is something serious, not just a fling, and as polite as he always is to everyone, he has his own standards on how to act around girls. Gushy lovey-dovey confuses him, makes him feel awkward, and he likes girls who can take care of themselves.
When you delve into him a little bit more and he becomes relaxed around you, which doesn’t happen often, he can seem forceful at times, slightly inflexible when he really wants something his way. When he has to, he’s a Leader, but never a follower unless to keep the peace. More of a Loner anyway, he’s fair, and is a huge innocent until proven guilty. He doesn’t take others idea’s, and while sparse with praise, he will make sure someone understands that it was a good idea, or a good move.
He’s a person that doesn’t forget anything. While insane, his mask dictates that he remembers, maybe forgives, but never forgets. With a more than a mild cruel streak, he tries to keep it under lid, and fights to give people a second chance, although something inside him might be telling him that the scum doesn’t deserve the second chance. Trust is a huge thing with him: while it might take awhile to earn it, once it’s there, it doesn’t go away. If you ruin his trust, consider yourself an enemy forever more. He won’t let you in again, and suddenly you’re no better than pondscum.
He has an active mind. Although he may not speak much, he’s constantly thinking. He has to. He’s fighting the insanity, the darkness that threatens to conquer him. Close to his heart, where he’s locked it all up, the feelings of blood running through his fingers, the joy of inflicting pain, nothing short of severe sadism. Watching the crimson beads drip from a million cuts inflicted on a body, it’s something that his insanity likes. He fights that, keeps it shoved down under where his heart might go if he thought he had one. That’s one of the reasons he doesn’t like to be around to much blood; It feels wrong, as though watching a woman undress and still unable to look away.
He takes pain very well, considering he deserves it. However, he doesn’t inflict it on himself. That’s wrong, in his mind, to put your own body in pain on purpose.
He tries to treat everyone equally. Being male or female doesn’t mean anything to him, only that girls should be treated nicer than guys should. He is willing to help anyone, be it a trivial matter or something much larger. He doesn’t have an actual sense of priority of putting someone above the other in his system of treating people, so to talk to a drudge is the same way of talking to the Weyrwoman.
One of his faults is that he regrets things. He may move forward, but the scars from the past are as fresh as they were the day he got them. He’s always attentive, paying attention to everything and everyone. To tell the truth, he really finds some of the human emotions baffling, and people who are happy all the time confuse him. When he has a goal, he works excessively and tirelessly towards it, usually burning himself out, causing even more extreme exhaustion without even realizing it.
He understands emotions pretty well, although some of the emotions, like stated above, he doesn’t understand the purpose of, and he finds it easy to sympathize with others. He has a hard time giving-up, a terrier in some aspects. He’s big on privacy, and tries to stay out of things, like drama, considering it someone else’s business if they don’t go out and tell the world.
He’s observant, always alert although he might not get enough sleep. He’s fascinated by everything, and enjoys just watching people. People never cease to amaze him, and even if they aren’t the best person in the world, he isn’t, and he just enjoys asking himself why were they created like that? Why was I created like I am? The question is not usually in a horrified or even remotely judgmental way. It’s more as an earnest question in its most simplest and platonic forms. Maybe it might deserve a complicated answer, but he doesn’t mind. It’s just asking, focusing on thinking about it. It helps keep him sane.
He feels uncomfortable when others worry about him. When someone takes an interest in him, he tries to distance himself from then, not wanting people to get to close. He doesn’t get embarrassed often, being more of the person to stay in the background unless needed. He likes children, their sweet innocence refreshing, and fine wine. He likes exploring, physical activity, and cares for others. Hates tears and death and not being able to do anything about it.
As stated before, he has a ridiclously high empathy, and he understands how a person's mind works. He can see situations from different perspectives, and while he try's to be kind, he can manipulate people easily to get something he wants, which isn't often.
History:
Grandmother: Geneva
Father: Holder of a Minor Hold, named Tallan
Mother: Wife of the Holder, named Hannah
Siblings: A younger pair of Twins, Kanarmar and Deverel, both boys. A baby sister, Claudia.
My past is one of turmoil. My parents? My mother, Hannah, is dead. She was a pawn in the game, and they left her to die not long after. My father… I know not of one. He was a weak man, who followed his mother’s ever wish. I deny ever being created by him. I have three siblings, though I do not know where they are. I can only hope they are alive. The rest of my blood do not care if I live or die. Although… Most are already dead.
In short terms I'll tell you... Born into the line of Holder Tallen, my mother loved to tell me stories of the dragons that once populated the earth. She often would tell me stories, of the ancient beasts, and I grew to love them to. But she was a pawn in the game, ruled by my grandmother, who had the actual power in the Hold. You could call her a Matriarch, she ruled our line. They enjoyed creating males that looked and acted good, the perfect species, breeding them, culling the bad lines out. Each pair was expected to have at least three children, a female, and then two males. It rarely worked out that way, but most often they received a boy and a girl. They did not hesitate ordering the killing of those that were ugly, or deformed. My grandmother was following in the lines of her grandmother, who was planning to create the finest looking male alive, as a payback for a feud against the Hold we were beholden to, one that happened long ago. A male with smarts, and looks, bred, born, and raised to be perfect.
I nearly was.
And I again will relieve him of this terrible duty.
Tellan married a young girl, a beauty, kind and gentle. He was good looking, but he had smarts that Geneva wanted to breed with a girl that had looks. She got it. They had a child, one spring night. Hauze, they called him, cooing over him, while Geneva looked on with wide opened eyes, wetting her lips and laughing quietly to herself. He was treated as a normal boy until six, following his mother around the hold. They grew very close, and she would tell him about the dragons while she went about her business. She was one of the few who believed they would return, and she delighted in playing games with young Hauze, who always asked for dragons to be included.
She died when he was seven, in childbirth. Her last message was to him, as he was allowed to see her for the last time, “When the dragons return, my love, Bond to one. Escape this cursed family, and take your brothers with you. The family is falling, darling. Get away. I love you.” She made him promise, and he swore, tears streaming down his face. It was a night that would haunt him in his dreams for years to come. Claudia, the product of this, was given to a wet nurse, while Tallen mourned. Geneva waited two weeks, and called Hauze to her side. He was pretty, even at seven, and Geneva, who saw this as the final product, took him.
Manners, tears, lessons, he was molded, taught, beaten, until at 14 he was an adult. He was now quiet, polite, but already going insane, never getting over loosing his mother, and his grandmother’s harsh lessons. A Trader band came to the hold, and he was left in his grandmother’s rooms while she went to talk to them. He was to read the records as part of being taught to run the Hold, and bored, he did as asked. But letters were slipped in, and it was here that he discovered his Grandmother had planned and ordered the death of his mother, having her drink a poison that sent her into a sleep she never returned from.
Three nights later, any relation to his in the Hold was dead, his father killed by a renegade, and his siblings taken away by a druge with order's from Hauze to find santuary somewhere else. He had asked the Trader’s for help, and scorned by his Grandmother for her treatment of them, several helped. He drove the silver dagger into his grandmother's heart, his payback for killing his mother. He then traveled with the Trader’s, who took pity on the poor boy. Where his brother’s and sister were, he didn’t know. He knew they were alive, that’s all. He traveled, Holdless, for several years, until he was 17, growing up quietly. A Trader by everything but birth, he found a near dead feline, a large and rangy creature that they warned him against taking, for while smart, they turned against humans. He felt bad for the poor creature, considered evil without a chance, and as best he could, patched the poor creature up.
Amora lived, and stayed with him, loyal to the human that had saved her life. To the shock of the other Trader’s, he kept her, and the two became inseparable. Dragons had returned to the continent, and while he was fascinated, he had no idea how to gain the attention of them. Normally he would keep out from their way, but his promise to his mother was still keeping him going, the only reason he took one step forward after another.
At a Gather at one of the Major Holds, he was on the outside of the huge throng of people, and relaxing, taking a break from selling. Suddenly, a huge blue nose was shoved into his face, and he held still as it snuffled him. Amora seemed unconcerned, so he stayed still, allowing it to inspect him.
“Sorry about that.”
A cheerful voice drifted from somewhere above him as the dragon retreated.
“Companth likes ye. Are you willing to be Searched?”
In utter shock, Hauze rose, and nodded, and suddenly, was a Candidate at the Araelen Weyr.
Position in Family:
Oldest child of 4, he doesn’t know younger sister and brother.
Pet:
Feline, Amora. Large and rangy, she’s scarred and battle worn. She adopted Hauze when he was 17, already a full grown cat. A yellow hue, with brown-black spots, she’s razorblade thin, and she loves Hauze. She’s wary of strangers, but doesn’t go around attacking everyone she see’s.
Alignment:
Rebel
Dragon's Name: Dartagnath
Dragon's Appearance: Dartagnath is a bronze of nearly medium size, leaning decidedly to the small side of the ‘average spectrum’. He more than makes up for this, however, in his near-flawless proportions. His build is the rare type that gives him great strength without overly compromising agility – pure muscle and sinew, but in a lean, rather than bulky manner. Dartagnath carries himself with pride, not bothered in the slightest by whatever he may be lacking in size. It would be a grave mistake on behalf of the other dragons to underestimate him, for his combined power and speed make him a dangerous opponent indeed. Dartagnath’s hide is a rich, radiant bronze in a much lighter shade than is normally seen, although not so light as to be mistaken for gold. Upon closer observation, his hide is darker than it seems, but covered completely by subtle flecks and speckles of much lighter bronze that the two shades blend together at a glance or distance, appearing to be a uniform coat of light bronze.
Dragon's Personality: Dartagnath takes bravery and courageousness to a fault, for while he will never hesitate to stand up for what he feels is right, this can cause him to act rashly. Honor is exceedingly important to him, and he will defend his or that of those close to him to any end, against any slight. Chivalry rules him and guides his every action, for he has a strong code of morals, easily separating people and actions into two categories – right or wrong. He is very hotheaded and can get swept up in what he is doing, and will pursue and enemy or a subject single-mindedly until he feels that justice has been done. He is certainly not lacking in ambition, and would be just as likely to try for a queen as any other bronze. Dartagnath is quite the gentleman when it comes to female dragons, treating them all with respect, although he is likely to fall hopelessly for one, and if that occurs, he will do anything to gain her affection. Provided it doesn’t contradict his morals, of course. Dartagnath has a crafty sort of intelligence and a fierce determination and strength of will. While he may be criticized for being too impulsive and fiery, it can certainly never be said of Dartagnath that he is a coward, or follows anything less than his heart.
Dragon's Abilities:
Strength: 11
Concentration: 16
Agility: 13
Team Coordination: 9
Creativity: 5
Allure: 9
Search/Rescue Skill: 7
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Post by Shikai on Aug 8, 2008 13:36:07 GMT -5
Character Name: Sun Yew (pronounced Soon-Yew)
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Preference: Females
Previous Position: Traveler/Harper apprentice
Current Position: Junior Weyrling
Appearance: Many things are different about Sun. Sun Yew is rather tall, standing at a height of about 6’2”. One very odd fact about him is that his hair, which is long and normally tangled, is gray and blonde (honey colored). He’s only twenty, and he certainly looks it, so it throws some people off. He has long limbs, a slender form, and gold-brown eyes. His clothes are worn and normally very, very dirty, as is his skin half the time. His eyes have that mischievous, childish gaze to them that make people worry. Not to mention that they have the tendency to move a lot, as if he was a frightened squirrel.
Personality: The best way to explain Sun Yew would be to capture a monkey and try to have a dead-serious, utterly sophisticated conversation with him. Sun is definitely a prankster, a child at heart, innocent in the sense that he has no idea about all of the bad things that truly go around, as if he’s oblivious to EVERYTHING. He can’t seem to sit still, as if he’ll get burned if he does. He’s a simple thinker, though don’t go on to think that he’s stupid or slow, because he’s not. Or, at least, if you try to subtly insult him, he’ll catch it. He loves to annoy others, a full prankster, or to confuse people. Anything that would be enjoying to him is rather childish and bluntly, immature.
Two of his biggest weaknesses, in which he normally gets himself into big trouble because of, is his pride and his temper. He believes he can do anything he wants to, and he will do it, no matter what the costs. He is determined and nobody can insult him and get away with it. If he sees somebody doing something wrong, he will march right over and tell him. And then, if he gets yelled at, or if they snap at him, more than likely he will continue to SHOW them on how to do it right. Even if he’s never done it before. Stupidly outspoken doesn’t even begin to explain him. Sun’s temper is almost as bad as his pride, but not close. If somebody does something to tick him off, annoy him, he will go ballistic. He is not afraid to fight and does not hesitate to punch someone for doing something he deems as stupid or heartless.
Which brings me to the next point of Sun; he’s horribly fair. Even though he’s a prankster, and gets into trouble, he only really wants the best for everyone. He’s utterly loyal, always willing to help, and he never takes advantage of anyone, even if he happens to be rivals and/or enemies. He will repay favors as soon as he can, he’s willing to go out of his way to help another, and for his friends; he’ll do anything. His pet peeves: anybody who takes advantage of others, bullies, jerks, extremely high-pitched sounds, and green dragons (do not ask). Sun Yew finishes chores as quickly as he can so he can just run and get active, he loves the outdoors (obviously), and he does like pets as well. Oh, he’s extremely good with kids, too. Cuz he’s one himself ^.^Oh, he’s totally useless with girls, because he NEVER gets crushes (and if he does…oh boy. The apocalypse!!), though some girls have been known to take a liking to him. *shrugs* He’s a confusing guy, to put it simply.
History: Well, his parents are traders, but he doesn’t know that. Which is why he wasn’t a trader before a he became a candidate. His parents disowned him as soon as they could, for they knew they wouldn’t be able to care for and support a child as traders. He was dropped off at the nearest hold and raised there, but since he had the traveling, restless spirit in him, the hold finally kicked him out when he got into too much trouble. He was around twelve at the time. He wasn’t phased in the least until his first winter; then he panicked and was able to hitch a ride with a trading caravan. He had no idea that his parents were actually the ones that helped him through that winter in the caravan, and his parents had no idea either. He said goodbye and thanks, then left. And that was that.
Well, after quite a long time of wandering and traveling, taking care of himself and being able to overcome the wild (except for winter. He hated winter anyways, and whenever winter rolled around, he hung around a hold or caravan) he decided to find something else to go for. He pestered many crafthalls until he was finally admitted into the harper crafthall. He stayed there for a long time, around three years until he was sixteen. Then, he decided he couldn’t stay there any longer even though he loved it, for he was becoming restless once again, and before he could even get his Journeyman name, he left. For three years, this time even surviving the winters, he remained out as a loner, until finally he stumbled upon a hold one spring while a search was being conducted. At twenty, he was still liable as a candidate, and he was brought in; by force. Lucky him ^.^
Position in Family: Only child, though he doesn’t know his family, sooo…
Alignment: Total Rebel
Relation to Existing Character: N/A
Dragon's Name: Danteth
Dragon's Appearance: Bronze Danteth is the color of polished copper, like a bright penny or teakettle, all over. The only shading on his body is a unique shadow between the wing membranes, on his four feet, and at the end of his muzzle and around his eyes that looks like verdigris ... that greenish patina that weathered copper sports when it is well used and aging. He gleams in the sunlight, and even the moons glint off his glowing hide.
Danteth is medium in size for a bronze, with legs, wings, neck and tail just slightly short for his stature, which gives him a very compact and hearty appearance. He is neither the fastest, strongest, nor most agile bronze in the clutch, but he makes up for that in pure heart and persistence.
Dragon's Personality: Danteth is as patient as the day is long. When he desires something, or sees a goal in sight, he can wait quietly for ages till the time is right. Thus good things often just seem to “come his way”. He has undying hope for what is on his heart, and an ability to love that nothing can deter. Even if his feelings are hurt by someone he loves, he loves them no less, but is ever faithful.
He is an easy-going dragon for the most part, laid back and enjoys having fun and relaxing. He’ll be the first to tell you to “lighten up” if you’re taking things too seriously, and the first to join in on a joke ... as long as it’s a harmless joke. However, he respects the feelings of others, and is a true gentleman when it comes to treating others kindly and with honesty. When the need arises, Danteth can easily shift gears and become as serious as necessary – he has a firm sense of right and wrong, and is not afraid of hard work when there is work to be done.
Dragon Abilities:
Strength: 10
Concentration: 14
Agility: 10
Team Coordination: 9
Creativity: 14
Allure: 5
Rescue/Search Skill: 8
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Post by Shikai on Aug 14, 2008 14:20:24 GMT -5
Name: Fallen
Age: 18
Gender: Male
Preference: Females
Previous Position: Trader
Current Position: Jr. Weyrling
Appearance:
Fallen is fairly tall (around six foot four) and average in weight with wiry muscles. His platinum blonde hair is short and spiked, soft bangs brushing just above burning coal-colored eyes. His skin is a natural ivory, difficult to tan despite the great amount of time spent outdoors, and his face is sprinkled with light bronze freckles. His expressions are sharp and severe, brows often pulled over his intense eyes which contrast so sharply with his fair complexion and hair. His fairly deep voice is surprisingly soft, a murmuring lull. He is visibly uncomfortable in tight surroundings. Fallen walks with confidence though he is unable to completely cover a slight limp from a damaged left leg. Those that stand close enough might detect a faint but pleasant scent of fresh pine.
Personality:
Fallen is first and foremost a rebel. Independent and stubborn, he knows what he wants (and more importantly what he doesn't want) and refuses to bend to others' wills. When it comes to his own personal ethics, he's severe and unmoving, preferring to fight as opposed to giving in to new ideas, as he tends to have an aversion to anything outside his given 'norms'. He's brutally honest and won't stand for anyone lying to him, seeing it as a cowardly escape. Although Fallen has a relatively cool and aloof personality, given to be untrusting and cautious around new people, he's not a mean person per say. He can carry on civil, even amicable, conversations. It's simply that people must earn his respect before he'll give it, and that's something he doesn't disperse lightly. The careful wall he's built up between himself and others stems from a great apprehension towards commitment. Fallen is a listener by nature, often choosing to observe rather than get involved in casual conversations (Although he'll eagerly jump into a debate). Perhaps because of this he is able to pick up on things that others might overlook.
It should be noted about Fallen that he doesn't have any care for dragons or Riders. Not understanding why anyone should tithe to a group of phantoms who forced themselves uselessly upon a Thread-free Pern, he's been known to openly protest their presence. His outlook was not helped when forced into candidacy. Harboring a now personal bitterness towards Araelen, he has no desire to Impress a dragon and lacks any inclination to hold his angry tongue.
History:
Being the first son of Master and Journeyman Weavers Marus and Haylen of Southern Boll Hold, Fallen's future had been sealed from the beginning; a Weaver to follow in his parents' footsteps. And for a time he got along well with this idea. He enjoyed weaving, where his fingers would fly and his mind could wonder. He was good at it too. But over the turns his stubborn rebel blood began to scream against his impending future. His parents began to build up ideals and expectations that Fallen didn't believe he could fulfill. And the concept of being shackled to one place when there was a whole world to see was terrifying. Why would he want to condemn himself? But when he brought up his uncertainties with his parents, they were less than pleased, and the conversation quickly boiled into a heated argument. Though Fallen ended the conversation and put on a show of compliance, he always kept his eyes open for an opportunity to escape.
He found this escape in the form of a Trader train that came through when he was fourteen turns old. Fallen eagerly accompanied his father on the two-day journey to Hold Gar to see the goods brought. Fascinated by the freedom of these Traders' lives, Fallen decided right then and there that this was the profession he wished to have. But his parents were still immobile about him being a weaver, and there was no way for him to convince the Traders' to take him on as an apprentice, unsure as he was if that was even possible. So, stealing off into the night with his runnerbeast, Kiris, and his father's own runnerbeast, Milo, Fallen disappeared from home. As he had no personal experience with Trading and was still rather young, Fallen improvised, offering to carry messages or smaller packages to other Holds. He was unable to carry large items or great amounts, but because he was not part of a train and was unhampered by the lumbering burdenbeasts, he was a faster source of trade. In this way, Fallen was finally free of his parents and a small-horizon world. He traveled his own routes, going to different places more for his own pleasure as opposed to what would offer more marks. If marks were an issue, he would offer to do odd-jobs at the many different Holds he stopped at. It wasn't a particularly easy life. Though he knew enough about Southern survival skills to keep him safe, that didn't protect him from all dangers like renegades or a particularly ferocious feline which he barely escaped. The conflict left him with a damaged left leg and a slight limp. But despite the close calls and sometimes missing the company of other people during longer expeditions, Fallen wouldn't trade his new life for anything.
When the Dragonriders suddenly appeared and began racking in tithes from the Holds, Fallen was abruptly indignant. He could only think what nerve they had to suddenly force themselves on hardworking people, especially when Thread fell no more. The eighteen-turn-old could be found in many a heated discussion with people over the unwanted draconic guardians. So when one such awful creature swooped down on the Hold that Fallen was visiting and singled out him (of all people!) he was furious. But as candidates were currently in short supply, the rebellious young man was forcibly and bodily taken away to candidacy. Now add to the mix that he had to pay off someone to ride his runnerbeasts over to Celos Sea Hold. And then have them ferried across to Araelen. Needless to say, Fallen wasn't happy. He designed to look for any way to escape this new fate, claiming he'd Stand only to pacify the Riders’ bizarre attention towards him and then leave. After all, he had no interest in the dragons so why should he Impress? It was only a matter of waiting out the next Hatching...
Position in Family: Eldest son
Pets:
Kiris the runnerbeast. Spritely and agile, Kiris is built for speed rather than stamina. He has a custard colored hide with white socks and a white mane. Although he's loyal and easy to handle, he's easily spooked by the intimidating dragons.
Milo the runnerbeast. Though not as fast or young as Kiris, Milo is more powerful, able to carry heavier burdens, an asset for Fallen's trading. He's a deep chocolate color with a black mane and nose. Although the dragons are naturally intimidating, Milo doesn't react with as much drama as Kiris.
Alignment: (Loyalist? Rebel?) Rebel
Dragon’s Name: Vicroth
Dragon’s Appearance: This large bronze is impressive, his bone structure massive, his head well muscled and powerful. His tail is long and tapered, thick at the base, carrying enough weight to balance out his powerful forehand. Over all, some would call this dragon “bulky” at first glance, but then they realize that he is actually well balanced and surprisingly agile for one so large.
As a hatchling, however, his powerful head looks just a bit out of place, and from some angles he looks like he might just topple forward if he moves too suddenly!
The color of his hide is like metallic patchwork – uneven blotches of deep rusty bronze, shining copper, and an almost golden polished bronze mottle his back, the back of his neck, upper wings, and sides, while his undersides and the undersides of his wings and neck, are a pale sandy color with “diamond dusting” ... bits of hide that are almost white and make him look like he’s got sparkles on his belly. His face, and the lower portions of his legs, are all a dark brownish-bronze except for his muzzle and patches around his eyes, which match his undersides. A most impressive creature, even as a hatching!
Dragon’s Personality: Vicroth must be first for everything ... and if he’s not he tends to become sullen and moody. He strives to be the best at all competitions, taking his skills seriously, and perfection is his goal. However, he doesn’t always think through his actions, rushing on first impulse to be first, and sometimes stepping on others (most of the time figuratively!) With his passion comes a strong sense of morality, however, so when he has hurt another, or made a bad choice, he has a tendency to chastise himself and feel badly about it ... sometimes regretting it for days.
His rider will have their hands full with this one’s drive ... and with his ego as well, for Vicroth not only will push himself, but his rider as well, toward those perfectionist goals.
Dragon Abilities:
Strength: 16
Concentration: 12
Agility: 9
Team Coordination: 11
Creativity: 7
Allure: 9
Rescue/Search Skill: 6
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Post by Shikai on Aug 20, 2008 23:13:09 GMT -5
Character Name: Farallen
Age: 17
Gender: Male
Preference: Females
Previous Position: Weyrbrat
Current Position: Dragonhealer Apprentice (Unofficial Journeyman)
Appearance: Farallen has the tanned complexion of one who has spent much time outdoors. Light freckles are splattered haphazardly over his arms, and are more concentrated across his cheekbones and nose. His medium-length hair is brown, but it takes on a distinctly reddish tint when hit by the sunlight. Farallen is about average height, just enough over to be taller than most girls, yet not tall enough to be intimidating. His eyes are a deep amber color, something in their shape and that of his eyebrows conveys a perpetually calm and unworried appearance. His face is broad, and his features rough and unrefined. Farallen is fairly strong, resulting from his study of and work with dragons, as working with injured dragons can be very physically demanding.
Personality: Just as he looks, Farallen is generally very calm and easy going, shrugging off insults with ease. He is a loyal and dependable friend to have, willing to work very hard for those he cares about, and even those he doesn’t. However, he can be taken advantage of in this way because he will help nearly anyone who asks and has a convincing story. Too romantic of a personality for his own good, he is given to be naive and always expects the best from people, leaving him open to be hurt when his trust is betrayed. Farallen very much enjoys spending time outside and usually spends his free time there, perhaps in the shade of a small tree, watching the passing clouds and the dragons flying about the weyr. However, while he is not lazy, Farallen is often forgetful and too likely to let his problems slip away with the caress of the morning wind, so for all his compassion and understanding, he's hardly leadership material. While he is not very flirtatious, Farallen is a gentleman when it comes to women, and does like to socialize with them.
History: Farallen was born in Artemis Moonlight Weyr, the son of a greenrider and a bluerider. As neither parent had time enough to care for the child, he was put into the fostering system. One of the kitchen workers agreed to care for him, although she was a popular choice for a foster mother, and fostered three children along with Farallen. He was the second oldest of the four, and came to regard them as siblings even though they weren’t blood related. He had a regularly happy childhood as a weyrbrat, and was liked by adults as he was generally well behaved, and didn’t get into the mischief others enjoyed. As he got on well with and seemed to have an understanding of animals, his friends expected that he would go into the beastcraft. However, like most weyr children, he found himself fascinated with dragons. He wasn’t very confident that he would impress, but stood with the other weyrbrats when he was twelve turns old. While he loved the experience of seeing the dragons hatch from a candidate’s perspective, he was left standing, and couldn’t help but be very disappointed. He was ready to leave all dreams of dragonriding behind and pursue a more realistic career, but was persuaded to stand again by the many dragonriders who insisted that it was nothing to be ashamed of not to impress one’s first time. At the next hatching, he failed to impress once more, and again after that. After numerous attempts, no amount of urging would deter him from his decision to leave his position as a candidate, not willing to subject himself to the disappointment once again. He became an apprentice dragonhealer, and excelled at his craft due to his hard-working and diligent nature. However, as the years passed, thread slowly ceased to fall, and there was less and less need for dragonhealers. Farallen found that he faced a future in which he would not really be needed, but tried to ignore it. He had been treating Nreth, a brown with a rider of only twenty turns himself, whose unfortunate blunders during threadfall landed the dragon with a badly scored wing. The rider, P’rall, took a liking to Farallen during the months the boy treated his dragon, and thought sadly about the limited future Farallen would have in their time. When he heard about the riders going forward, he secretly informed Farallen, and offered to bring the boy with him, to a time when he could be useful, and dragonhealers would be needed. After much thought, Farallen agreed to accompany the brownrider forward to the new time, and the two thus left Artemis behind for the promises of Araelen Weyr.
Position in Family: Only child, although he has three foster siblings, and is the second oldest of them.
Pets: None
Alignment: Loyalist
Relation to Existing Character: N/A
Dragon’s Name: Dacrith
Dragon’s Appearance: Although obviously a bronze dragon, Dacrith’s hide is more of a rich copper than bronze, giving it a darker metallic sheen than his fellow Clutchmates. Throughout this coppery hide are vertical streaks of black and gold, creating a pattern that resembles shooting stars down his neck and back. His head is a far darker coppery bronze, with a black splotch that resembles a star set right between his eye ridges. His wingsails and underside, on the other hand, are closer to a golden bronze. Dacrith is fairly small for a bronze, although his head seems quite large for his body. This serves him well when he is attempting to look ominous or threatening.
Dragon’s Personality: It becomes immediately apparent when one first meets Dacrith that it will take a lot to make him ‘loosen up’. He is cool and standoffish when making someone’s acquaintance for the first time, and this aloof air will continue in the presence of any he doesn’t consider friends. The reason for this seemingly snobbish manner is due to this dragon’s careful selection of friends, for he will not place his trust in just anyone. Thus, Dacrith only allows his closest friends to see his true emotions, not risking them with anyone less. This will likely result in many bad first impressions, and he will require support from his rider in order to pursue any lasting relationships besides that with his rider. To add to this difficulty, Dacrith is a very judgmental dragon and is extremely concerned with rank. He may tend to stereotype all dragons by their colour (and thus rank), and it will be up to his rider and the dragon him/herself to prove otherwise. Once someone is able to break through that protective shell, however, they will find a dragon rich in wit and mild humour, one who is passionate, trustworthy, and loving. When he falls in love, Dacrith will fall hard, for it will likely be the first time he opens himself up to anyone besides his rider.
Dragon Abilities:
Strength: 7
Concentration: 15
Agility: 11
Team Coordination: 7
Creativity: 13
Allure: 8
Rescue/Search Skill: 9
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