Post by giftwrapped on Apr 29, 2011 17:36:58 GMT -5
DFCustoms2013Alpha
Sa’nil
Sa’nil
Name: Sa’nil (Sanilmar)
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Prisoner: …:\
Crime: D:
Craft/Rank: Wingrider
Appearance: It might not be obvious at first, but Sa’nil was once beautiful. The skeleton of beauty is certainly there, even if he isn’t what he used to be.
He wears his hair long. Ridiculously long. When it’s up in a braid (which is almost always), it falls to the base of his spine. The riders of old might have disapproved of such things, but nowadays, there is no Thread to get tangled in it. Admittedly, most riders don’t take this as an excuse to grow their hair into an ass-length tumble of honey-blond curls, but let’s call Sa’nil an exception to the rule. Formerly a vain man, there is much that Sa’nil has had to give up since the accident, but shard it, his hair will not be one of them! It is impeccably tended, and in addition to the braid he meticulously keeps bangs that fall over his face.
His features seem like at one point they must have been delicate—to compliment the body shape he still maintains. Sa’nil is lean. Five-foot-nine and sparely muscled, his build is the sort that would get a woman called “willowy.” He wouldn’t mind if you used it on him. He’s certainly not a very strong man—he can carry a sack of firestone and do the other things required of riders, but don’t expect him to be able to do more than the bare minimum without tiring himself—particularly with the restricted range of motion he has. His eyes are large, lashes a few shades darker than his hair and ridiculously thick, giving the illusion of a subtle kohl lining even when none is used. And the eyes themselves are a stunning violet-blue shade that seems almost inhuman.
None of this, however, is noticeable at a first glance. Largely because the entirety of Sa’nil’s upper body—face, neck, chest, arms, and hands—is covered in nasty-looking burn scars. The bangs he wears obscure the worst of the facial burns, but he would never be able to convince anyone that he wasn’t damaged. Particularly since it’s been long enough since the accident that he has learned to be comfortable enough to wear the occasional open-necked or sleeveless tunic. The only item of clothing he is almost never seen without are his gloves—bright, bleached white, they are trimmed with gold at the wrists. They serve the dual purpose of protecting his somewhat-delicate fingers from overmuch friction and drawing attention to his main speech tool. Sa’nil, while he might occasionally remove them for bathing, laundry, or other activities, feels naked without them.
Personality: The one thing about Sa’nil that tends to surprise those who have only just met him is how happy he is. For someone who had his entire life ripped away from him in an instant, the wingrider is remarkably light-hearted. Almost never seen without a smile (always slightly lopsided, because it’s all his facial scarring will allow), his general bearing is cheerful, friendly, even excitable. The excitability is similar to that of a puppy, all love and eagerness and a desire to please anyone and everyone.
But unlike a puppy, there is never a chance of Sa’nil nipping or even making a mess. His touches and interactions with others are friendly but always gentle—with the exception of those he knows well. With his squadmates, he is more forward, tugging and pushing and occasionally even punching, if the situation demands. And he’s extremely cuddly with those same people, physically affectionate. This is entirely platonic, though: Sa’nil is asexual and largely aromantic, preferring friendly contact to anything at all romantic. He tends to panic when people mistake his friendly contact for romantic interest.
Unfortunately, it is difficult for Sa’nil to get to know people outside of his squad. Not for lack of trying—he’s extremely eager and excited to get to know others and loves to spend time with people (social butterfly, this little creature)—but because Sa’nil cannot speak to many Pernese. Left entirely deaf and near-entirely mute by the same accident that took his good looks, he has taught himself to read lips but finds it incredibly difficult to speak words. He has instead picked up an active version of Pernese sign language that he has tailored to his squadmates, making certain he is as understandable as possible.
He was active before the accident, and he remains active after it, moving with a great deal of speed, vibrancy, and energy. Everything Sa’nil does, he does quickly—with the exception of signing. Because when it is your primary method of speech, doing it too quickly would deprive others of the only way they have to understand you. So even if he seems to be fidgeting so much, he can’t stand still, his hands will always move slowly, smoothly, and above all clearly.
But as patient as Sa’nil’s motions may seem and as happy as the front he puts out is, his life isn’t always sunshine and daisies. Still sensitive to his condition and appearance, his feelings are hurt rather easily, and though he bottles it up and continues to present a happy face to the world at large, the more hurtful things are said around him, the more stressed he becomes. And while Sa’nil will never explode with anger—it’s simply not in him to be properly angry, though he tends toward frustration, particularly when it comes to insensitivity and people who misunderstand his efforts at communication—he is prone to stress-related meltdowns and the occasional severe nervous breakdown. There are times when he breaks down sobbing inconsolably, and when he has a breakdown he is often useless for the next several hours, if not a whole day.
Luckily, these don’t happen often, and can be suppressed in the presence of people to whom Sa’nil feels close. Nowadays, that’s his squad.
History: Sanilmar was born at Southern Boll Hold, to weavers who expected their son to follow in their footsteps. And for a time, Sanilmar did. From a young age, he was taught all the things that the young girls apprenticed at Weaver Hall were, and never seemed to notice anything wrong with that. A beautiful, slightly spoiled child, he wanted for little and rarely had to ask more than once before something he wanted was given to him. It was the sort of life most children dream of having.
And Sanilmar longed for something more. In spite of his delicate looks, the young boy wanted adventure, and it came on his thirteenth birthday, when a traveling Harper noted the child's exemplary voice and natural ear for tunes and offered to take Sanilmar back to Harper Hall with him. Granted the go-ahead from his parents, he went, delighted, eager to learn new things and discover the wider world of Pern.
For three turns, he discovered that Pern consists mostly of sitting in lessons, memorizing teaching ballads, and doing whatever chores are given to you on the roster. And eager, excitable Sanilmar again longed for something more. It came a few months after his sixteenth nameday, when a Fort dragonrider came to the Hall asking for apprentices who wanted a chance at something different. Again, Sanilmar dashed off.
Nervous on the Sands, he fixed his eyes on every beautiful blue and graceful green who broke shell, hoping that one of them would become his bondmate. He paid little heed to the browns and bronzes as they hatched; he had heard the Fort boys snickering when they saw him - what proper dragon would want a Harper boy with hair longer than a girl's? But they were proven wrong when an enormous bronze hatchling clubbed his way out of his shell, stumbled across the Sands, and marched right past the line of waiting young men to curl eagerly against Sanilmar and rumble a greeting.
He was Zenoth, bronze to rider Sa'nil, and he was hungry, but he didn't want to miss the rest of this eggs-citing occasion. Get it? Eggs-citing?
Sa'nil had no idea what to do; suddenly a bronzerider, he was thrown into a world of bewildering responsibility and adventure, chaperoned by a dragon with a terrible sense of humour and the burning need to share it with everyone. They were a hit with the rest of the Weyrling class, something Sa'nil wasn't used to, and the attention he began to receive with the bronze at his side was...nice. When they graduated, though, Sa'nil opted to take Zenoth and return to Harper Hall. He had work to finish; tables to walk!
He never managed to do it, though; the Dragon Watch drafted him at age nineteen. Sa'nil was a bronzerider, and they needed bronzeriders. He was to be groomed to be a leader, whether the pair wanted it or not. And he did well at it, becoming wingsecond by age twenty. He did well there, charismatic and eager, likable. His wingleader was grooming him to lead, training a replacement for the five turns hence that he would step down and retire. Sa'nil accepted the training eagerly, just as he did everything else.
Three turns later, his life fell apart.
Twenty-three turns old, hot-headed, and eager to prove himself, Sa'nil and a small group of other riders were sent to investigate rumours surrounding a drug smuggling ring. Dust, it had been said, as well as other things nobody was quite sure of. It should have been a routine operation. In a way, it was. They found the hideout, the equipment for brewing dust, and...something else. Sa'nil was not sure what it was.
In hindsight, he should not have disturbed the delicate framework of glass tubing and burners. But hindsight is 20/20, and foresight is rarely so sharp.
It exploded on him.
Sa'nil doesn't remember much until a few days after the explosion - and most of what he remembers for the next month is the haze of Fellis-dampened pain and the strange immobility that came of the better part of his upper body covered in second- and third-degree burns. It's a miracle he survived, but that was what members of the Dragon Watch did. And Sa'nil would not die as long as Zenoth was alive. His recovery was slow and painful emotionally as well as physically, for the explosion had irreparably damaged his vocal cords and left him entirely deaf.
A Harper suddenly locked in a world without sound, there were periods where Sa'nil was convinced he wouldn't make it out alive. But he held on for his dragon's sake, learned to read lips, learned sign language, and attempted to teach it to his wingmates. It was slow going, but over a turn, he did recover. And eventually, for some reason, the Healers thought giving Sa'nil a chance to interact with someone in a similar situation would be good for him.
A young man named G'rus, a rider injured in a different sort of Dust-related accident, was recovering from terrible injuries to the face. Sa'nil was asked to teach him to sign. It wasn't long before the two became fast friends. They did not reintegrate well into Dragon Watch society, the pair of them, and it came as no surprise to Sa'nil when their small wing was sent to Warden's after the terrible accident. Though he'll never say it "out loud" to anyone but G'rus, his own sign for the Weyr is an unfortunate amalgam of 'rider,' 'reject,' and 'exile.'
Still, he has hope that the situation will improve.
Other stuff: I hope you don’t mind that I decided that Pern has its own universal Sign Language (though I suspect there are regional dialects by now). Presumably, whatever language the original colonists brought over, they also brought over the corresponding SL, and it’s evolved over time to its own language. PSL, if you will!
Pets
Name: Rover
Species: Firelizard
Color: Blue
Appearance: Like his master, Rover is a bit smaller-than-average, slim, nearly-effeminate, and not particularly muscular. His hide is the same periwinkle blue as Sa’nil’s eyes, and it has an unusual, oily sheen to it.
Personality: Luckily, Rover is not as delicate as he looks. He’s incredibly clever for a blue firelizard and has been with Sa’nil for the past fourteen turns, which definitely helped in his re-training as a “service flit,” so-to-speak. Sa’nil has taught him a number of signs and commands beyond the basics of message-sending and fetch-and-carry. For instance, he is capable of alerting his master to people speaking to him, notify Sa’nil when someone is coming up behind him, and fetching or alerting his master at the request of others. He’s fairly patient, even with strangers—unless those strangers threaten Sa’nil. At which point Rover becomes a pure terror. He aims for the eyes. Most people don’t harass Sa’nil anymore.
Zenoth
Name: Zenoth
Color: Bronze
Age: 10
Appearance: Zenoth is a pit bull of a dragon. He may not be on the same scale as, say, Yusuth or Merceth, but he is definately one of the larger of his color. He has longer legs than what could be considered normal, and exceedingly shiny claws. His head is large, and his jaw thick and square with a powerfully corded neck. He cuts of a thick figure, all hard and fierce muscles. Even his wings are large and in charge, made of nearly pure power.
His base color is that of an old penny, still with that tell-tale sheen of being all male and Bronze-like. His markings are lighter, the shine of the metal all Bronzes are named for. Zebra-esque stripes cover the entirety of his wings and up his spine. His tail of covered with the same decoration. Zenoth likes to think of the rather scattered markings as a 'mark os distinction'.
Whatever makes him happy, right?
Personality: Quite simply, Zenoth is a force of nature. This isn't a comparison of dragon with tornado, but rather a very invasice and insistant breeze. Zenoth is not the sort of dragon that understands that personal boundaries are a thing that people actually believe exist, and sees it as his right as not just a bondmate, but Sa'nil's bondmate, to pry into what busines he needs to. What if his Sa'nil needs something and he doesn't know the answer?
He prefers to translate straight to humans directly for his Rider, finding other dragons unreliable to get through Sa'nil's true meaning. This of course means that whole 'you're a rude dragon if you talk to other riders' rule is just totally out the window, and Zenoth couldn't care less.
Maybe His is a puppy, and a hyper creature, but Zenoth is a witty creature full of horribly bad jokes. 'Knock knocks' are probably not unheard of in his career with Sa'nil. Zenoth is a bronze full of laughter and he'd like to share that laughter, thank you. He's that dragon to crack some random joke in the middle of a discussion, and end up confusing absolutely everyone. At least he's calm about it? Zenoth is completely aware that not everyone understands what's chuckle-worthy, and is chill with that fact.
He's a cuddly dragon, that much can be said. With his girth, one needs to be, and with a bondmate like Sa'nil, it's a sharding requirement. Zenoth sees nothing wrong with doting on and coddling his rider, and snuggles right up to him whenever either one of the pair wants it, or needs to. When it comes to others, Zenoth is more prone to keep a polite distance, but if the individual requires physical contact, he will snuffle a nose up against them. Sa'nil is more than welcome to curl up in front of a warm fire with whatever company he chooses - Zenoth shall stand powerful guard!
Zenoth talks, and he talks a lot, but he knows when to shut up. When Sa'nil cries, he has the entire shiny bulk of Zenoth to clutch onto and hide behind. In that time, Zenoth will defend him as a Gold with her first clutch. He is protective of his Rider, and while that just usually means translating for Sa'nil and sticking as close to him as he can, during the times of intense hardship for Sa'nil, 'protective' means 'be glad he isn't an atyp'. When it comes to Flights, Zenoth will chase Golds, maybe an occasional green. His main loyalty is to Sa'nil, after all, but sometimes there is a lady that laughs at his jokes. He has to follow!
Why me?
Sa'nil is a lovely man, and he has every right to be heard. In the traditional roles of the Watch and some Weyrs in general, the smaller colors don't get much say so. With the shine to his hide and the pure size of him, Zenoth automatically garners the ear of the old-timers, and anyone who tries to ignore him or His get a mind-full of bad jokes and dragon issues.
Even before the incident, Zenoth knew his cheerful rider would need an advocate, a protector outside of his own good will. He is outgoing and plays nice with strangers, as far as reclusive as one could get, and he has absolutely no problem making sure that others know just how awesome he and His are.
Zenoth makes sure Sa'nil isn't run over in the game of life and provides him with the emotional stability he needs on those rare crying days. Sa'nil, in return, gives Zenoth a purpose, and an eternal smile. Without the cheer and love of Sa'nil in his life, it'd be easy for Zenoth to feel useless to have no one to take care of. Sa'nil's cheer? It makes the dragon feel hope. Sure, G'rus is a good guy, but he can't compare to a huge shiny brute!
