Post by taylor on Mar 18, 2013 17:28:24 GMT -5
R'sren
Name: R'sren
Pronunciation: Res
Age: 20
Season Born In: Mid-summer
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Pansexual
Appearance:
R'sren is five foot nine with dishwater blond hair and brown eyes. He has a spattering of freckles across his nose and, during the summer, on the tops of his shoulders. Otherwise, his skin is fairly nondescript, tan lines indicating the locations of clothing which rarely come off when he's outside. Apart from the usual clothing socially required, R'sren also wears a wristband on his right wrist. It is a complicated braid of leather, made by his sister Netti before he got searched the second time. She gave it to him as he left, one in a line of many friendship bracelets she'd constructed for him. The day he got it was the last day he ever saw her, and so he intends to wear it constantly until it wears out, at which point he'll stash it somewhere safe and keep it forever.
He's got his fair share of scars. Mostly little nicks on his hands from working in a barn before Impressing, though he also has marks on his left thigh: two little puckered scars where a pitchfork drove into his leg after he fell out of the hayloft of a barn. His left shoulder caught a bit of Thread during one fall; it chewed in a little before they could get between, leaving some scarring.
Personality:
R'sren is a friendly, open young man who wants to fight Thread and save Pern. When he's not depressed and curled up in bed, that is. Well...and when he's not agonizingly restless, sleeping with everything that moves and brimming with aimless irritation. R'sren is many things, some of them quite the opposite of one another. He has a habit of overthinking things, building them up greater in his mind than perhaps they should be. He makes mountains out of molehills on a regular basis, turning a simple Threadfall into the apocalypse, or an irritated comment into a declaration of eternal hatred. He tends to live a life of black and white, with little grey area in between; things are fantastic or horrible.
Moryth provides him a great deal of stability. When he is restless and desperate for something (or someone) to do, the dragon either reins him in or goes along with his plans in order to be present as a chaperon. When he is laying in bed thinking dark thoughts of destruction and death, Moryth tries to coax him out or, if that's not possible, simply curl up near him and be a supportive presence. That doesn't mean he always appreciates the dragon, of course. Sometimes he snaps at the dragon to go chase himself, saying he wished he'd never stood on those sands. Moryth takes this calmly; R'sren has gotten more...tempestuous, shall we say, than he was when they first bonded, but it's not like Moryth didn't see the potential there.
R'sren has a bad habit of convincing himself of theories with no proof. A year into his weyrlinghood, he began wondering why his sister had died. She was a good rider, after all, and a good runnerwoman! Surely she would have noticed if the beast was unsound? Rather than accepting it as an unfortunate accident, R'sren began looking for other possible causes. By the time he received his knots, he had convinced himself that it was his father's fault. He had, for whatever reason, sabotaged the horse and killed his daughter. R'sren has no proof and couldn't even tell you how he came to this conclusion, but he's sure he's right. This habit of "what if"ing and then latching onto terrible possibilities and building them up as reality is a constant in his mind; generally he manages to tamp it down (often with Moryth's help), but not always.
Family: Ieris (mother - runner breeder)
Tren (father - runner breeder)
Netti (older sister - jockey - deceased)
Stillborn brother
Location: Trelis
Rank: Wingrider
Wing/Pack: Weyrleader's Wing
History:
Born in Ruatha Hold, Retisren was the second child of Ieris and Tren. He grew up around runnerbeasts, taking care of runners which came from lines first established by his great grandfather. For Retisren, it was expected that he would do what his father had done, and his grandfather before him: marry some nice woman, take over the breeding and racing, and produce an heir or two to do the same thing in thirty or forty turns. All seemed to be going according to plan, at first. By age 15, Retisren had bred and trained a winner, proving to his father that he could select complementary runners to breed and raise up the foal well. Proud of his son, Tren began to step back a little. He was still very much present, ready to guide Retisren when needed (which was quite often) but he tried to let the boy learn by doing whenever possible.
When Retisren was seventeen, though, the plan got disrupted. Retisren was searched to Fort. He went through the lessons, paid attention to the candidatemaster at every step, and tried to settle in, but the whole time he kept wishing he was home. His fellow candidates thought he must be insane - who could miss stupid, smelly runnerbeasts when they had a chance at getting a dragon? Retisren started hiding his preoccupation, just to shelter himself from the teasing, but it was still there. He was on edge on the days he knew to be big race days, and he couldn't keep still until his father's firelizard arrived to give him the update. Hearing that their horse had won would delight him, while hearing of a loss would have him sulking for the rest of the evening.
The day of the hatching finally arrived and Retisren filed out onto the hot sands with the rest of his peers, eyeing the eggs. Now that he was here, he couldn't deny that he was excited, and his focus finally switched from runner races to this moment. As dragons hatched, he waited with bated breath until they bonded, as if holding himself tense would raise the chance of him Impressing. When everyone was paired up and he was left standing alone, he was surprised at how disappointed he was. Just as he'd tried to hide his desire to go home earlier, he now tried to hide his new desire to have a dragon. Retisren returned home, as planned, running as fast as he could back into a world that was familiar.
Netti, his older sister, asked if he was sad that he hadn't gotten a dragon, but accepted his vehement "no! why would I want one? rather feed a runner than feed a runner to my actual mount" and never asked again. His parents didn't even bother, making no effort to hide their relief that their heir had returned unImpressed. While Retisren threw himself back his life in Ruatha, though, there was a part of him constantly thinking about dragons. He found it difficult to really concentrate on anything - when he was thinking about dragons, he felt guilty for wanting something other than his life with runners. As he mucked out stalls and groomed the runners, though, he couldn't keep himself from fantasizing about dragons. He heard of hatchings and knew that he could stand if he so wished - he'd been searched, after all - but just had to take one look at his family to realize how crushed they would be if he said this life wasn't good enough for him and he wanted something more. So, much as he thought about standing on those hot sands again, he did his best to ignore the weyrs.
When Retisren was eighteen, opportunity swooped into his life again. While he was fairly sure he could have stood again, simply because he gained that right when he was first searched, he never tested the theory, trying not to think about how much he wanted to leave his family for a life with dragons. A searchrider arrived, however, looking for candidates. Retisren was singled out once again. He hesitated at first, wanting not to leave his family, but the desire to Impress outweighed his hesitation and he went away with the rider, returning once again to Fort to stand before the same queen.
His mood this time was completely different. He asked his father not to send him updates, wanting to focus his entire attention on the dragon he was hoping to get. One month into his candidacy, his father's firelizard popped into existence in his room, alighting on the corner of his bed and giving him the most solemn look he had ever seen on a firelizard's face.
He soon learned the reason. His sister Netti had died. It seemed her runner had stumbled during a race, going down and tossing his jockey to the hard ground. Netti's neck had snapped, killing her instantly in front of her mother, father, and a huge crowd.
This announcement, unsurprisingly, changed Retisren's mood. His giddy excitement was gone, replaced by horror and depression. He strongly encouraged to stay in Fort, even though the candidatemaster was sure he wouldn't Impress in this mood. They were light on Candidates and heavy on eggs - better a depressed Candidate than none at all.
As humming dragons called Retisren to the sands three days later, his thoughts were occupied with his sister. When he'd left, she had been so full of life, teasing him and laughing. And now...now she was dead. He felt like he was in a fog, trying to focus on what was happening but preoccupied with the fragility of life. Rather than rejoicing as new dragons hatched and bonded, he merely eyes the new pairs dismally, wondering how long it would be before Thread claimed them. Life was so easy to snuff out, death so inevitable and terrible, and he couldn't help but imagine everyone around him dying, seeing graphic ways in which it could happen.
As the second to last egg hatched and an ebony dragon stepped from the shell, he instantly started imagining it going between, alone and wishing to terminate its life rather than exist one moment longer. Or maybe it would bond. He looked to the side, seeing someone who looked likely. He imagined the two, flying against Thread, the look on the boy's face as he realized they wouldn't be able to get out of the way before that clump landed on him and-
Enough, R'srenmine. The voice rushed into his mind like cool water, soothing and unnerving all at once. Retisren blinked and realized that, while he was caught up in his terrible fantasy, the little black dragon had moved silently towards him and was now staring up at him with swirling rainbow eyes.
Those were the only words the black spoke to his bonded for ten days. R'sren worried that perhaps there was a mistake. Maybe the black was bonded to someone else, having regular conversations with them, and he was just tagging along, making a nuisance of himself. Such thoughts earned him an exasperated look from the black, though, and no other humans were stepping forward to claim the dragon, so he finally accepted that this was his. When he brought up the concern to the weyrlingmaster, Moryth was looked over, deemed healthy, and R'sren was given some comfort and then told to wait it out.
Moryth remained quiet throughout their weyrlinghood, near silent except when he wanted his exact thoughts to be heard. When he did communicate, it was often like a firelizard would, just images and colors, noises and smells, rather than words. R'sren became accustomed to the dragon's peculiarity. R'sren slid back into depression periodically - when his sister's birthday rolled around, at the first anniversary of her death, sometimes for no apparent reason at all. Through it all, Moryth remained silently supportive, not at all surprised by these slumps.
Moryth first chased a proddy female when he was 13 months old, catching the green. Moryth chased several more times, sometimes catching, sometimes not. About one turn after he had first chased her, Moryth flew after the green again. This time, he failed to catch her. After this, R'sren withdrew a little, avoiding the rider of the green. It had never bothered him to lose before but this time it was someone they had been successful with before. He had been so confident, strolling into the other rider's weyr prepared to mimic their dragons' actions, only to have to sulk away unsatisfied. Now, he was sure, the man was mocking him, laughing at him and Moryth behind their backs. While Moryth doubted this was the case, he finally suggested to R'sren that they transfer. He avoided mentioning the flight, not wanting to make it sound like he was ashamed of either of them, instead pointing out that R'sren was often reminded of the day he had learned that his sister died. Getting away from the environment where all that sadness had first overwhelmed him might be good. While R'sren was not entirely fooled, he latched onto the excuse, wanting to pretend he wasn't running away from the anxiety which had kept him hiding in his weyr for weeks.
Moryth
Name: Moryth
Pronunciation: More - ith
Age: 2
Rank: Ebony
Size: 20
Color Codes: 000000
Appearance:
Moryth has a delicate look about him, particularly in his wings. His lean body and whip-like tail may just look dainty, but the thin webbing of his wings looks fragile, as if touching it too hard will tear it. In fact, his wings bear slight scars from Thread, proof that they can stand up to quite a bit more than a gentle poke. In color, he is primarily jet black. Look closely at his legs, though, and you will see tiny strips of pale grey banding his toes and feet. His nose has a zig zagging, ragged stripe of grey, as well, the color just a touch lighter than the rest of him.
Personality:
Moryth is quiet and withdrawn. He rarely speaks, even to R'sren, communicating mostly through subtle changes in the color of his faceted eyes, or long, silent stares. When he does speak, it is usually breif, a few words leaving him after minutes of hard thought. He considers his words precious, each one holding great value. Thus, he never wants to waste them, or speak without considering the syllables carefully. Unfortunately, this sometimes means he speaks too late, finally offering his opinion minutes after the other person has given up waiting for it. R'sren has gotten used to this and can usually think back to figure out what Moryth is replying to, but many others lack this talent. The intense distress and agitation Moryth feels when people ask for clarification (they want more words?!) is enough to have him generally avoiding speaking to others altogether.
Moryth tends to slink rather than walk, keeping to shadows when possible and holding his wings close to his sides, ducking a little to make himself look smaller if he must walk through the sun. Despite many reminders from R'sren that he is entirely too large to make himself invisible like that, Moryth remains convinced that people will notice him less if he is small and sheltered by a bit of darkness, even if that means racing from one tree's shadow to the next, rather than walking calmly at his bonded's side.
Moryth is skittish and oddly uncomfortable with his own species, or his firelizard cousins. With humans, he at least gets some warning that they are about to speak - they inhale, they open their mouth, they often look straight at him. But with dragons, it is silent until their voice snaps across the distance between them, entering his mind without forewarning or fanfare. After months of being scolded for flinching whenever he was spoken to in weyrling lessons, Moryth has learned to stifle his surprise, but if you look closely you may notice a slight tremor or a new tenseness in his muscles.
There were some who gave R'sren pitying looks as Moryth grew older without growing more confident, but that pity disapeared once Moryth learned to fly. What he lacks in confidence around his peers, he makes up for in the sky. Moryth is a bold, proud flyer, and a wonderful dragon to have in your wing. He doesn't shy away from Thread or back down during Threadfall, even if he gets hurt. Once it is all over and he lands, he may be the most pitiful thing you've ever seen, slumping sadly towards the dragonhealers with such sadness in his eyes that you'd think he had been nearly killed, rather than merely scored lightly across his flank. But in the air? In the air he is death incarnate for the Thread.
When R'sren is distressed or having one of his odd episodes, Moryth's meekness becomes almost strategic. He becomes protectively helpless, if such a phrase exists. When R'sren is restless or depressed, Moryth plays up his delicate nature, prodding his rider to focus on the protectiveness inside of him, rather than the bad emotions. When it doesn't work, Moryth will try to do whatever his rider wants, assuming it is what he deems best for the young man he loves.
Mind-Voice:
Moryth rarely speaks, preferring to send feelings or vague thoughts, the occasional picture. When he does speak, his voice is quiet, a very light touch whispering across your mind before he goes silent once again. If you ask him to repeat himself and he complies, you may hear a rare occurrence of emotion in his voice - irritation.
