Post by Razor Kirby on Dec 5, 2007 1:15:07 GMT
Name: Tarifen, formerly T'ife
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Rank: Dragonless
Age: Eighty-four turns
Height: 6'4"
Weight: 170
Build: Small
Family: None that he particularly cares about.
Significant others: Ajora, 12, female, candidate, student.
Verit' (Verity), 14, male, candidate, student.
Background: Depending on who's asking, the story of T'ife's life changes constantly. In all of these stories is a shred of truth- T'ife did not want to follow any of the trades he was offered, which means, of course, that he did not want to become a healer, a glass worker, a beasthandler nor a fisher, or a cook. After a turn's apprenticeship, a Search pair from High Reaches picked out the unhappy boy and swept him off to the Weyr, at which he was immersed in a sea of white candidate robes.
At the age of fourteen turns, T'ife stood for the first time, impressing bronze Jolanth. They were the first pair reach to the feed buckets.
Less than two turns later, they graduated from their Weyrling years and joined a fighting wing. For fifty years they flew with High Reaches, after which talk began of forming a new Weyr. To T'ife's relief, Jolanth felt as eager as he did, and the pair immediately offered to transfer. To the young Weyrwoman, Dayora, T'ife became a friend and confident, though Jolanth never once flew Seleth. They tried twice, over the years, before retiring from the ranks for good. The decision was hard, but a severe wound to Jolanth's wing finalized it- the bronze would never be as swift as he once was.
The last thread fall the pair ever saw together was one of the hardest that the Weyr had ever fought. The thread came down fast and thick, agitated, the pair would not keep to the ground. They flew together, for the last time. In the end, the thread cut down to Jolanth's lungs.
After his loss, T'ife would have died had it not been for the candidates at the time. In the same thread fall, a boy's arm was scarred and twisted, rendered almost useless. There was much debate about whether or not the boy should even stand, but T'ife backed him, offering encouragement. He was there when the boy impressed, to brown, and no less. He watched the Hatching, even though his heart was torn in two all over again.
It was at this point that the former rider decided he wanted to live.
Appearance: A white haired, calloused man with a receding hair line and dark, tanned skin. The death of his dragon has aged the former wingsecond, on the outside as well as in. The very first thing one would notice about T'ife were his sharp, green eyes. Oval shaped, with thick, dark lashes, they might have looked young on his face, were it not for the tears that clung to them, or the horrors that lurked there. It is hard to retain one's innocence, after seeing the inner working of a human gut.
With a lean, muscled body, the work of a rider has worked in kinks that no amount of stretching can loosen. Often now, his back will click as he walks, betraying his age, despite his good shape. When sitting, he'll often sit with his hands to his face. Short, blunted nails sit at the end of those long, thin fingers, he has always hated long nails. The hands are knotted and rough, the joints swollen with age.
A lose jerkin and riding pants have been his garb since he was a young rider, and they will remain his until his death. Tarifen will wear no other style, his spirit is not entirely gone.
Personality: At one point, Tarifen might have been a joker, though he cannot remember now. His inner cheer was consumed in the moment of Jolanth's death, and such a spark is not easily re-lit. He has lost his charm, already mellowed with age. Though he might still be considered attractive, Tarifen has taken no partner. The gap that Joranth once filled has been torn open, and his once strong will is diminished.
Tarifen spends much of his time in the infirmary. Where once he might have given up, he is slowly picking up the pieces, his spirit is returning to him, though he will never be whole again. On a clear night, with the stars out, a person might find him with the candidates, talking them through their lessons, guiding them, advising them, though he can no longer bear to eat with the riders. His former wing mates' sympathies set him on edge, he would rather they looked on their former leader with scorn, than pity him.
Dragon Information
Name: Jolanth
Colour: Bronze.
Age: Deceased.
Wing: None.
Appearance: A large, age crippled bronze with thread scored wings. His colour, light for a bronze, had only began to dull with age before he died. Though his scars were numerous, his eyes were bright and large.
Personality: Solid and dependable, Jolanth was very aware of all situations, including functions that T'ife himself would have forgotten. When T'ife skipped a wash in the bathing pools, Jolanth would remind him to take one. If T'ife was nursing a swollen joint that he had forgotten to soak, Jolanth would remind him.
Though he hardly approved of firelizards, himself, the bronze delighted in the joy they brought others, with their trilling and gliding. Their bottomless stomaches. Occasionally, he even found humor in their antics, though he found it hard to believe that the flighty, little, creatures could be in anyway related to dragons like himself. T'ife gave up on explaining the concept, almost immediately after he brought it up.
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Rank: Dragonless
Age: Eighty-four turns
Height: 6'4"
Weight: 170
Build: Small
Family: None that he particularly cares about.
Significant others: Ajora, 12, female, candidate, student.
Verit' (Verity), 14, male, candidate, student.
Background: Depending on who's asking, the story of T'ife's life changes constantly. In all of these stories is a shred of truth- T'ife did not want to follow any of the trades he was offered, which means, of course, that he did not want to become a healer, a glass worker, a beasthandler nor a fisher, or a cook. After a turn's apprenticeship, a Search pair from High Reaches picked out the unhappy boy and swept him off to the Weyr, at which he was immersed in a sea of white candidate robes.
At the age of fourteen turns, T'ife stood for the first time, impressing bronze Jolanth. They were the first pair reach to the feed buckets.
Less than two turns later, they graduated from their Weyrling years and joined a fighting wing. For fifty years they flew with High Reaches, after which talk began of forming a new Weyr. To T'ife's relief, Jolanth felt as eager as he did, and the pair immediately offered to transfer. To the young Weyrwoman, Dayora, T'ife became a friend and confident, though Jolanth never once flew Seleth. They tried twice, over the years, before retiring from the ranks for good. The decision was hard, but a severe wound to Jolanth's wing finalized it- the bronze would never be as swift as he once was.
The last thread fall the pair ever saw together was one of the hardest that the Weyr had ever fought. The thread came down fast and thick, agitated, the pair would not keep to the ground. They flew together, for the last time. In the end, the thread cut down to Jolanth's lungs.
After his loss, T'ife would have died had it not been for the candidates at the time. In the same thread fall, a boy's arm was scarred and twisted, rendered almost useless. There was much debate about whether or not the boy should even stand, but T'ife backed him, offering encouragement. He was there when the boy impressed, to brown, and no less. He watched the Hatching, even though his heart was torn in two all over again.
It was at this point that the former rider decided he wanted to live.
Appearance: A white haired, calloused man with a receding hair line and dark, tanned skin. The death of his dragon has aged the former wingsecond, on the outside as well as in. The very first thing one would notice about T'ife were his sharp, green eyes. Oval shaped, with thick, dark lashes, they might have looked young on his face, were it not for the tears that clung to them, or the horrors that lurked there. It is hard to retain one's innocence, after seeing the inner working of a human gut.
With a lean, muscled body, the work of a rider has worked in kinks that no amount of stretching can loosen. Often now, his back will click as he walks, betraying his age, despite his good shape. When sitting, he'll often sit with his hands to his face. Short, blunted nails sit at the end of those long, thin fingers, he has always hated long nails. The hands are knotted and rough, the joints swollen with age.
A lose jerkin and riding pants have been his garb since he was a young rider, and they will remain his until his death. Tarifen will wear no other style, his spirit is not entirely gone.
Personality: At one point, Tarifen might have been a joker, though he cannot remember now. His inner cheer was consumed in the moment of Jolanth's death, and such a spark is not easily re-lit. He has lost his charm, already mellowed with age. Though he might still be considered attractive, Tarifen has taken no partner. The gap that Joranth once filled has been torn open, and his once strong will is diminished.
Tarifen spends much of his time in the infirmary. Where once he might have given up, he is slowly picking up the pieces, his spirit is returning to him, though he will never be whole again. On a clear night, with the stars out, a person might find him with the candidates, talking them through their lessons, guiding them, advising them, though he can no longer bear to eat with the riders. His former wing mates' sympathies set him on edge, he would rather they looked on their former leader with scorn, than pity him.
Dragon Information
Name: Jolanth
Colour: Bronze.
Age: Deceased.
Wing: None.
Appearance: A large, age crippled bronze with thread scored wings. His colour, light for a bronze, had only began to dull with age before he died. Though his scars were numerous, his eyes were bright and large.
Personality: Solid and dependable, Jolanth was very aware of all situations, including functions that T'ife himself would have forgotten. When T'ife skipped a wash in the bathing pools, Jolanth would remind him to take one. If T'ife was nursing a swollen joint that he had forgotten to soak, Jolanth would remind him.
Though he hardly approved of firelizards, himself, the bronze delighted in the joy they brought others, with their trilling and gliding. Their bottomless stomaches. Occasionally, he even found humor in their antics, though he found it hard to believe that the flighty, little, creatures could be in anyway related to dragons like himself. T'ife gave up on explaining the concept, almost immediately after he brought it up.
