Post by Minji on Mar 12, 2008 5:30:04 GMT -5
General Information
Name: X'veir
Age: 27 turns
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Hetero
Rank: Bronzerider
Appearance
Hair: Medium brown
Eyes: Dark honey brown
Height: 5'9"
Over-All: Being of any average Pernese of the South, X'veir sports a heavily tanned body tone. He's very athletic and lean, but he still has some fat in his stomach area, though not an obsessive amount. Much like his bronze built for power, so is X'veir to a point. His frame is mostly covered, except in the comforts of his own weyr as he is somewhat uneased with a nasty scar from an accident several turn past that he does not care for anyone to know, unless they were there to have witnessed it. Wher hide boots and trousers are the usual wear with dark working shirts, and very rarely if X'veir can get drunk enough on wine, he'll forget about the shirt and not have a clue of rememberence of his scar he tries so hard to hide.
Short cropped hair is almost always swept back due to the lack of wearing a helmet whenever he's out riding on Rhosyth. The only time he'll ever wear a helmet is when he's training or there's 'Fall, but because he has yet to witness any, he has no realy dire need of wearing a helmet, thus, the windswept hair. Apart from his hair, dark, honey brown eyes is probably one thing that can possibly draw in anyone. They look forlornly out to no where in particular, never thinking of moving from one spot to the next should a sudden motion occur elsewhere. They remain fixed upon one thing unless X'veir wishes to see something else. But whenever he stares into another eyes, his eyes always seems to express pain, though from what, he will not say.
Personality
Hard-core is one way to describe X'veir. Everything he does, and everything that involves him, is pushed to the limit beyond all things. If anything at all, X'veir refuses to back down from anything without first knowing that he can't do the job. In other words, nothing is too big for X'veir to persist toward unless he knows he can't do it, and even if he can't, he will not stop trying. Because of how focused X'veir can be when needed, which is pretty mcuh every other day or everyday, there are a possible few that call him to be as stubborn as a dim-witted wherry.
Stubborn is another word to describe X'veir, possibly even more so than hard-core. X'veir does not like to give something up just as easily as it was handed to him. Not even an arguement with the most strong-willed person will stop him from getting what he wants. This means that he will even argue with the Weyrwoman up to an extent, but most of the time, just to save his time and energy, he will let the other person win if that means him getting back to doing what he was currently intent of finishing or starting. The only person that X'veir will not give in to is his bronze, Rhosyth. If anything at all, X'veir is the most stubborn person when it comes to arguing with a dragon, and preferably one that does not back down like his rider. So, when both rider and dragon are in an argument, one would know if they were intent on wondering as to why the rider was grumpy and shouting, if it's indoors, at nothing in particular. Should that be the case, X'veir is not one to be embarrassed about having people stare at him like he was crazy. One thing is for sure, X'veir hates going inside of hatching grounds, and he will be as stubborn as stubborn can get.
Even though there are some rough edges about X'veir, he is quite the sympathetic person one can know. X'veir does not withhold alot of friends, but those that are put under the 'list' of friends, he is extremely loyal to them... Or, at least to a point. Very seldom will X'veir turn his back on anyone, be they friend or foe, as he maintains a weak spot for helping others. Just because he is grizzled on the insides, it does not mean that he has a heart.
History
Like many riders who had Impressed, X'veir's name wasn't X'veir. His original name was Xarsveir. Xarsveir lived a life as a weyrbrat, knowing the ins and outs of the Weyr. He was one of those type of 'brats that knew what they wanted and knew exactly how they were going to achieve it. Nothing kept Xarsveir from knowing practically everything within the society of the Weyr.
Sad to say, the only thing that Xarsveir never really wanted to know was who his real parents were. He had been a fosterling to one of the residents who actually cared about the 'brats. Not once while Xarsveir lived with his foster parents did he ask who his real parents were, more so because if they didn't care so much as to care for him, why should he care about them? It wasn't really an option for the young Xarsveir to know exactly who his parents were and why they left him. Xarsveir was not born a true weyrbrat. He was born to a couple from a caravan train that had passed by when he was only an infant. They left the young child was practically left to fend for himself on the outskirts of the Weyr entrance. Luckily for him, his foster mother was out for a small night walk when she came upon the bawling young thing.
Time passed and Xarsveir grew up learning the values of the Weyr, being able to easily name every rider, weyrling, and most of the residents. An exceptional young lad who showed intelligence and strength in body and mind. It seemed like only a couple of turns when he was old enough to Stand at his first clutch upon the sands at a good 'ol age of 12 turns.
Much to his surprise, he had not Impressed to any of the dragonlings that hatched. In fact, he was over looked by many of the dragonlings and he was lucky to make it out unscatched unlike another poor lad who was slashed to near bits and pieces by a raging blue. Time passed and Xarsveir remained in candidacy, his foster mother constantly giving him the courage that he would Impress to a strong dragonling, and that his dragon was not in the first clutch he Stood for.
Another clutch and another failure. The second time in a row and Xarsveir was left standing, and he was 14 turns. It was a wonder that the young male had yet again, came out unscathed by the dragonlings. Unlike his first hatching, this one was brutal. Four candidates died that day while few were injured, and all was from a rampaging gold who had not even taken the time to look for Hers before succeeding in the killing of those four candidates before betweening. Such things that the young Xarsveir did not care to have witnessed in his short span of life, and yet, he still Stood, hoping that his dragon would be in the next clutch. He had only until he was about 21 before he was considered too old to Stand.
It wasn't until three more clutches were laid and hatched, leaving Xarsveir still alive to live for the next clutch. At nineteen turns, Xarsveir was feeling down about his chances of Impression. He had Stood for five clutches, and each one he had failed. Was he not good enough for a dragon? Was he not rider material? Such negative thoughts began to flood the now older Xarsveir as he awaited the hatching of the sixth clutch he'd be Standing for. At the time of the hatching, Xarsveir was not feeling the mood of the hatching. Surely today was going to be his day.
His mother waved cheerfully as Xarsveir entered the sands with his long time white robe. The dreaded robe that he had worn for several turns. This hatching was not going to be anything new to him. He'd enter, have his mother wave at him, only to find out that he would leave the sands with his mother feeling slightly down for him because of his unImpression. Not this time. Xarsveir would live up to his present name. Today was his day in fact. Today was his day.
The hatching was a long and grueling one. Already, there was one egg left, the medium-largest of the bunch. A candidate died in the jaws of a brown, and there were three candidates that had to be sent pronto to the healers. Nothing new for Xarsveir. He had seen such things happen in his time standing on the sands, actually in the same area with those very dragonlings that could have easily killed him with the other candidates that weren't so fortunate to live another day. By this time, everything seemed to have happened fast for Xarsveir.
The last egg hatched, revealing an almost black looking dragonling, the only thing different about it was it's wing sails and the white stripe down the length of its body. It held an air of nobility, demanding respect for his fellow clutchmates that still wandered the sands. Xarsveir's eyes traveled straight to the newly hatched, and that was when things sped up as if in fast forward.
At the moment Xarsveir's eyes locked with that of the mysterious 'black' dragonling, the candidate felt a connection. Even though the dragonling did not make so much as a notion of moving, he just stod there, drawing in the attention of the candidate who had failed to Impress in his six times of Standing.
X'veir, your Rhosyth is not going to move from his spot.
That was the only thing that rung inside Xarsveir's head as the candidate took a steady step forward. First, unsure of himself as he saw that practically everyone from the stands watched the strange dragonling that Xarsvier was starting toward. Surely this was real. That it wasn't a trap to lure himself into his own deathbed upon the very sands he swore were cursed. But when Xarsveir was within three armslength away, a green came out of no where, mostly from behind, and clamped hard down on his right shoulder.
From the moment the green took hold of his shoulder, bringing the candidate down with her, the dragonling that claimed Xarsveir his took a bounding leap forward and clamped his own, ever so powerful jaw against the neck of the attacking green and sent her, released from His, away and into the dark solititude of between.
Rhosyth does not like it when His gets hurt without my permission.
The dragonling spoke with such force, and yet kindness, as the dark inky hide of the dragonling began to dry off and reveal himself to be a bronze, a snort being let loose from the bronze's flaring nostrls as his eyes turned to a calm, collect coloration of blue-green with a tinge of orange-red.
Turns passed by quicker, of course, by the end of X'veir's days as weyrling, his foster mother died. He was left in ruins, but the cause of Rhosyth keeps the now rider living. He's not very fond of the hatching ground, though he does enjoy watching hatchingsthrough the eyes of his bronze.. Whenever he's not being a pain in the rear. But after the Impression of Rhosyth, X'veir tends to keep the rest locked up.
OPTIONAL STUFF
FOR DRAGONRIDERS:
Name: Rhosyth
Age: 8
Color: Bronze
Description: To begin with, Rhosyth is a very powerful bronze, even for one that is not as young as he used to be. He can be quite youthful some days, but mostly he's enjoying his life being an 'elder'. Another thing about Rhosyth is that he is a very dark reddish bronze, almost to the point where there are actually some areas on him that are black. In an overall view of Rhosyth, his appearance can give a very dark, outcasted appearance. Because of this outlook of the bronze, it is very impossible to see if Rhosyth bears any scars from 'Fall or any other reasons.
Starting at his muzzle is one point of obviously blackness. From the muzzle, the black triangles up the bridge of his nose, between his eyes, and follows, as if perfectly, down his entire neck ridges down the spine and to his tail. Almost a third of his tail is dedicated to being black as well too. The black stripe upon his neck and spine thickens to about a foot all together and maintains that thickness to the base of his tail. Blending smoothly from the black, it starts to turn toward the dark reddish side. As you progress further down, the dark red lightens a little more to being a slightly dark reddish color. The talons are a blood red color and down the center of each talon is a black stripe that blends to become the blood red foundation of his talons.
Possibly the only thing keeps Rhosyth from maintaining such a dark appearance is his wing sails. Instead of being such a dark color, they are almost a medium rosy red color with streaks of an even dark rosy red color. Also, there is, as odd as it can be, a white, thin stripe down the strip of black along his neck and spine. It begins from the top of his maw and follows the middle of the black to the tip of his tail where the white ends in a blotch about a man's arm in length. In other words, it seems as if someone decided to tie a thin stirp of fine white linen from the bronze's maw and tied it up in a neatly, splotched way to the tail.
Personality: Tolerable to a degree, Rhosyth leans mostly toward being reasonable. Even with a semi-poor memory, Rhosyth can remember arguements that involoves him or His. He rarely leaves another unchallenged, and rarely will he ever compete against a gold, unlike his rider who will go far as to argue with a Weyrwoman. The only difference with Rhosyth and X'veir on being 'understandable' is that Rhosyth actually at least puts effort into caring whereas X'veir will say something with a negative edge to his tongue. If anything at all, Rhosyth and X'veir are like sugar and spice..
Even with such an agreeable personality, Rhosyth is very fatherly of the younger dragonlings, but he will still be hard on them should they start getting on his nerves. To an extent, Rhosyth may, or may not pick favorites among dragons, though it is kind of pointless for him as he usually ends up picking a new set of favorites. In all, Rhosyth is a very loveable dragon who loves to get along with everyone, or at least try to, but he loves to annoy his rider to no end. If the bronze had to chose between flying a gold and annoying His, he would chose His over the gold any day. In other words, Rhosyth is more of a loyal being than His will probably ever become.
