Post by Rylvan on Feb 13, 2008 21:25:54 GMT -5
General
Name: Rylvan
Age: 18
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Hetero
Rank: Candidate
Appearance
Hair: Black
Eyes: Grey
Height: 5'9 [And slowly growing still]
Overall: Completely unremarkable, or so Rylvan seems at first, second, or even third glance. He has the uncanny ability to effortlessly blend in with a crowd. It is not a feat of magic, but his simple will, talent even, that allows him to pass unnoticed by any searching gaze. Such a skill often leaves people to question what they may have glanced. Were his eyes blue? Perhaps light green. His hair, brown maybe?
Upon being seen, really seen, one would notice the sharp features that etch out a rather predatory face. His skin is fair in color and free of blemishes aside from the few dark red scars adorning his upper arms, an ugly burn across his palm, and a curious set of claw marks that angle down his back, neck to hipbone. His eyes have been described as smoky gray to liquid silver; it all depends on his mood and the lightning. There is an undeniable sign of intelligence and understanding in those eyes that always seem to appear as if they are scrutinizing anyone that falls within their line of sight. His black hair is a series of uneven hacks that he did himself with a dagger; the longest strands brush to about the middle of his ear, but nothing reaches past his neck or falls into his eyes. Normally it is kept in a very unkempt fashion—all for a desired purpose of wanting eyes to ignore him, not fix upon him in interest.
His long limbs suggest agility and grace; traits crucial to his ‘craft’. Lean muscles stretch tightly over his bones, giving him an admirable shape if not for the way his ribs painfully show—a result of prolonged hunger. But most of this goes unnoticed, hidden beneath dull, undistinguished garb. There is a charismatic man beneath the dirt and unwelcoming glare, but few bother to really look.
Personality
A clever youth that prefers to keep to himself. Rylvan grew up in the corridors of Sanctum Hold and all he had ever known was to look out for himself, and only himself. He honestly cannot bring himself to care about what other people think, say, or do. He doesn't hate people, though he finds the majority of individuals to be devastatingly retarded, Rylvan simply does not hold any interest for anyone. This apathetic attitude is quick to turn people away from talking to or, heaven forbid, befriending him. They all may considering him less than a lowly drudge, but oh how superior Rylvan sees himself compared to (most) others.
Beneath this stoic, silent exterior is a young man with a strong sense of determination; almost to the point of being quite thick-headed. There isn't a person anywhere that could talk him into changing his mind, or seed any doubt into his thoughts. It stems from the fact that he only trusts himself. Placing any faith in others always seemed to end unfavorably..
Rylvan does manage to keep calm and level-headed at even the most bizarre of times, but he does have a temper, as do all beings. The young man is not the type to stew over his anger and plot revenge, he would much rather take action right then and there--get it over and done with so he does not have to bother with it any further. Woe to those that make themselves insufferable pests.
Quick on his feet and all to use to making split-second decisions without breaking a sweat. There is only that heart beat of a moment to look before leaping and often enough Rylvan doesn't think before he acts; he places his trust in his instincts and skill to get him through to safety. Sometimes there just isn't enough time to weigh out the consequences. It is live or die, and Rylvan IS a learned survivalist. The fact that he is still alive and well (enough) is show that he must have good instincts; or a very lucky star over his head.
History
Whenever Rylvan tries to recall his parents, all he can summon forth is blurred images of half-formed memories. The only thing he can be firmly certain on is the meaningless fact that his mother had long hair, and his father had been half a man--a thought that only served to confuse Rylvan. He does not really care, anymore, about his absent parents. It was the simple acceptance that if he did not remember them, then they were of no importance.
The first memory Rylvan does have is waking up one morning curled up between two old houses. His heart was heavy with ache and a question hovered on his lips: Where are you? He was roughly eight turns and aside from knowing where he was, who he was, Rylvan was clueless. The first few days he wandered aimlessly through the streets, growing more hungry by the day. Being so young at the time, Rylvan seemed to draw sympathy from many of the women that lived within Sanctum Hold. Their pity held his stomach over until Rylvan finally accepted that in order to survive, he had to take care of himself. The dirty, sickly looking child took to stealing from the market. Obviously, his first attempts were pitiful. One vendor beat him thoroughly after catching him trying to nab a piece of fruit. Needless to say, Rylvan improved on his techniques, on his craft. Over time he learned to watch for the right opportunity to act. What began with fruit and nuts changed to coin and clothing. Rylvan was never greedy about taking what he did not need, but there came a time every now and then that he did take what he only wanted. With skill came Rylvan talent to pass unnoticed. He did not always get away, as the scars on his arms each have their own story of narrow escape.
Around eleven turns, a smith took Rylvan under his wing to try and teach him a craft; a proper way of living. It was fun, at first, to the young boy who really enjoyed playing with the smith's small trinkets of creation. It was craft that Rylvan could enjoy, yet.. old habits die hard. Despite being under the Smith's care, Rylvan still took some of the small contraptions that he adored most. It wasn't until he was thirteen that the Smith discovered the boy's theft. In anger the smith seized Rylvan and took forth a pair of hot tongs from the fires to press the red metal across the boy's palm. The man had wanted to teach Rylvan a lesson, to curb his stealing habits; he had every good intention in mind! Yet, how is a child suppose to know the reason behind the excruciating pain. No, Rylvan did not learn any better; he ran away and never looked back.
Innocence was gone, Rylvan was now growing older. The burn on his left hand served as a constant reminder to not trust another being, no matter how promising their words may be. The market was visited for a meal, but Rylvan grew more daring, pilfering houses during the night or roughly mugging individuals trying to haste home during the late hours of the night, even stealing from the lord holders. For a short time Rylvan even teamed up with another, an older man, of this particular craft. The man became a mentor of sorts to Rylvan. It was not like the relationship he had had with the smith. No, this other man did not care for Rylvan at all, nor did he want affection in return. Respect is all that Rylvan felt toward the man.
There came a year, as there had in the past, that the dragonriders came and sought out potential candidates for their 'hatchings'. Rylvan had seen them plenty of times before, not really the men, he only had admiring eyes for the impressive dragons. The men had come times before to take boys or girls from the hold. Rylvan had watched them many times--always an unnoticed specter of their activites. That was, until his eighteenth turn when a new set of men came to seek candidates. It was not the men that had spotted Rylvan, it was the dragon. Rylvan had been watching one particular man stroll the streets, and suddenly the man had stopped.. turned his head as if listening to an invisible voice.. then suddenly Rylvan found himself under the man's gaze. Without thinking, Rylvan had fled from them. He was not afraid, ha! -- but that particular Aha! Caught you! look made him react on instinct. Doing his best, Rylvan lost the man, but the dragon was an entirely different story.
Rylvan found himself listening to the man, who was kind enough in manners, about going to the Weyr as a candidate. There was a sense of excitement at the offer, but indifferently Rylvan had agreed. He still finds himself adjusting to the new lifestyle..
---Although not recorded here, Rylvan's father was a past dragonrider, who sadly lost his dragon due to a unfortunate fight with one of the norther weyrs. Rylvan was conceived with a Hold woman, Breanne, before the unfortunate event. After his father became dragonless, he left the weyr. He eventually took his own life to escape the loneliness that Breanne just could not erase. She herself, sick with grief and guilt over her lover's death, only lived a couple of years longer before expiring. Rylvan was then forced to the streets by the people who quickly took ownership of the house he once lived in---
Honorific: R'van
Color: All up to you.
