Post by tuathade on Apr 29, 2011 15:20:35 GMT -5
G'rus
Name: G'rus
Age: 34
Gender: Male
Prisoner: Never
Crime: N/A
Craft/Rank: Wingrider
Appearance: At nearly six and a half feet tall, G’rus looms. He cuts an imposing figure, whether he’s in uniform or out of it. Still, the man is built deceptively lightly for his height; rather than being an overall bruiser, broad shoulders taper to a surprisingly slim waist and impossibly long legs. No, the thing that catches most people’s attention about him first isn’t his height. It’s his face.
G’rus isn’t a bad-looking guy, per se. Pretty handsome, even. Before all manner of shit went down, he was kind of a favorite with the ladies back home – well, the ladies who happened to be into facial tattoos, anyway. He has a broad stripe of dark blue running along his cheekbones and over the bridge of his nose, connecting to geometric patterns tracing the lines of his jaw. Furthermore, the effect is somewhat spoiled by the massive scarring all down the right side of his face. We’re not talking about a faint little line here. We’re talking major messed-up skin all the way from ear to chin.
In terms of coloring, G’rus naturally has light ash-brown hair, and a skin tone that could best be described as “ambiguously tan.” Long exposure to sunlight has darkened the tan and lightened the hair until the two are relatively close in color. He prefers to keep his hair long, just about to shoulder-length, but rather than letting it fall forward to hide his face, he ties it back into a little runnertail at the nape of his neck. G’rus’ eyes are probably his prettiest feature: an unusually pale, clear grey-blue in color.
Personality: G'rus is a bundle of surprises. Upon first impression, you see this six-and-a-half-foot-tall, tattooed, scarred-up dragonrider in a Warden's uniform? You would not be insane to think "oh god I should be running." But then he opens his mouth and out comes this light, charming tenor voice, and it becomes immediately obvious that you've got nothing to worry about. The former Watchrider is polite, generally amiable, and possessed of a witty sense of humor. Once you get past that rough-looking surface, he's a sweet guy.
Unless you're a murderer, or similarly evil. In which case... you can still run if you like. He enjoys a challenge.
He tried to be a good cop. Well, mostly. G'rus is unswervingly loyal to his squadleader; it was ingrained in him from a young age to respect authority and uphold the laws of Pern. This isn’t to say he won’t question a bad or immoral order, because he will – G’rus values freedom and personal choice as much as he values respect and honor. But at the same time, he’s selfless enough to not think twice about putting himself in harm’s way for someone else’s sake. He's not a leader, but a strong right-hand man. Unfortunately, he tends to put almost too much faith in people at times, and finds betrayal personally devastating. He can hold grudges for a long time, but he will also blame himself for any failures, letting the weight of Pern rest on his shoulders until it crushes him.
It's his overenthusiastic vigilante tendencies that sometimes get the better of him. When something really gets under his skin, he's perfectly capable of pursuing it beyond justice and into the realm of vengeance, and at time his callous ruthlessness towards criminals can be - troubling. The lack of a solid justice system on Pern both frustrates and enables him. On the one hand, the Watch is the be-all end-all for crime on Pern. They are police, judge, and jury all rolled up into one. On the other hand, even with the Watch, corruption exists and the well-connected can still easily slip through the cracks. His instinctive tendency is to see the world in terms of black and white: it takes effort for him to deal with shades of grey.
On duty, G'rus tends to be the one cracking jokes in the middle of a crisis. It's just how he copes - as long as he keeps the outward appearance of being unruffled and in control, he can keep going no matter how bad the odds look. He's also a tenacious sonofabitch. See those scars on his jaw? Yeah. He got back up and returned to duty as soon as he healers put his face back together.
History: Sangarrus was born at Igen Weyr, to a bronzeriding father G'sol and a weaver mother Rana. His younger sister Solana was born a few turns later. Despite the usual stereotype of the philandering dragonrider, the little family was actually a rather stable one; it helped that his father's bronze was not the type to go chasing after female dragons... pretty much ever, really. Both human and rider were very much alike: stern, serious, by-the-book, and fiercely principled. Do things right or don't do them at all, was what got hammered into the young boy's head.
It was little surprise when G'sol took off to join the newly formed Watch when Sangarrus was nine. M'onk had the right idea, he said. Finally, someone stepping up and doing what's right for Pern. The boy was just old enough to remember his father's teachings clearly; Solana, the younger sister, cried for weeks. Assurances were made that he would visit regularly, that really watch-work would not be so much different than weyrlife... And at first that was the case. Then the bronzerider began to let work eat his free time more and more, and trips away from Igen pursuing one lead or another grew longer and longer.
Sangarrus, for his part, quietly moved on. The boy showed a knack for the technical crafts. He was considered for Smithcraft, but even with the AIVAS-inspired crafts losing their innovation and falling out of the public eye, that was where he wanted to be. He started off apprenticed at the Technician's Hall, after a lucky break got him in contact with a Journeyman who agreed to give him a shot. From age 12 until 19 he studied with enthusiasm, learning as much as there was to know about the mysterious technologies of the distant Pernese ancestors. It was frustrating at times - even with the records, so much was just lost - but ultimately rewarding, and he would have happily continued on there indefinitely... If it hadn't been for the searchdragon.
It was during one of Sangarrus' brief returns home to Igen when he ran into the green and her rider by chance. The green was excited, very excited - declared him a potential Candidate, told him of eggs on the sands, urged him to stand. The excitement only grew when the young man admitted to being the son of G'sol, who had in the interim become a well-respected member of the Dragon Watch's 'court' system. He was reluctant to leave his craft... but he knew what was expected of him. He stood for the clutch.
When a stunningly handsome brown spilled out onto the hatching sands, turned whirling rainbow eyes towards Sangarrus - now G'rus - it seemed like fate. He would follow in his father's footsteps. Of course he would. Only G'rus could hear the cool, cynical, amused voice in his head telling him that was wherryshit.
The two of them joined the Watch shortly after graduation. Rheth was... frequently trouble, his sharp tongue getting the both of them into scrapes, but raw talent and nerve managed to pull them through, and the young brownrider built up a record of distinguished service and general badassery. Still, G'rus was no carbon copy. Even from the beginning, he was a little wilder, a little more inclined to push the boundaries of the rules. Pay evil until evil, as G'rus would put it. Never to the point of maiming or killing a criminal, of course - he would fight in self-defense, or if someone resisted, but he kept control.
Regardless, his unorthodox and occasionally reckless methods earned him reprimands as often as they earned him accolades. At least until he was drafted into a wing with a wingleader with likeminded tendencies - one of the rare female brownriders permitted to lead a wing on raw charisma and talent alone. The whole wing, composed of hand-picked 'difficult' riders who could nonetheless get the job done, fast became thick as thieves. Say what you like about them, the little group worked. They got the job done. (It was during this period of his life when G'rus, SPECTACULARLY drunk after a successful raid and egged on by his wingleader, got the tattoo. It is a constant reminder of her now.)
At one point, G'rus received a message while his squad was in the middle of an important mission, far from Igen. Rana, his mother, had fallen ill, and Solana had returned to Igen to stay with her. Both of the family riders had been contacted. Neither of the Watch boys came home. G’rus and his sister had... something of a falling-out over that one. He apologized, did his best to atone for it... or at least to try to explain why. Regardless, the relationship between the siblings has been a cold and bittersweet one since.
Two and a half turns ago was when everything fell to pieces for G'rus. It turned out that one of the newer wing transfers, a hollow-eyed and somewhat twitchy young just-graduated-from-weyrling, was... well, more than just 'difficult'. More like 'struggling dust addict desperately trying not to kill his dragon'. He'd tried. The young rider had honestly tried, for his dragon's sake. Hid it from the Watch, from the Weyrlingmaster, from everyone. But the cravings were getting worse, overpowering even the bond. Confused and with nowhere else to turn, the addict sold out the wing to a Dustlord and cronies in exchange for the easy way out.
G'rus remembers the ambush. He remembers watching the Wingleader's brown tumble crazily across the sky, only to vanish between. He still has no idea what happened to her - how she died, whether it was the dragon or the rider who went first. He doesn't want to know. Also, he was kind of busy getting his face shredded to ribbons while Rheth screamed in his head.
He spent some time in recovery - less than he probably should have, as he was back on the job as soon as the healers put his face more-or-less back the way it ought to be. While in recovery, he met someone else: bronzerider Sa'nil of Zenoth, recently struck deaf in a terrible accident. Both of them were still recovering, from scars both physical and metaphorical, and while their circumstances were vastly different, there was an immediate understanding between them. G'rus did his best to learn the Pernese sign language - useful both for communicating with the deaf rider and for making himself understood to the healers when it hurt too much to speak out loud - and in return Sa'nil gave the aimless brownrider a sense of purpose... something he'd lost since his previous wingleader's death.
Turns out, the formerly tight-knit wing drifted apart with their leader's death. They transferred off to other weyrs around Pern - and G'rus, with no desire to look back, carved himself out a new niche to keep from spiraling back into depression. He and Rheth stuck with Zenoth for a while. The reprimands for "excessive force" came back with greater frequency. He was less of a rising star and more of a liability now.
When the whole wing was transferred off to Warden's, G'rus went with them willingly. Still, while he will not admit it openly, he is deeply worried. The death of Warden V'tya, the mass breakout, the difficulty with the Opal's flight... These won't be easy problems to fix. He doesn't envy M'onk his job in the slightest.
Other stuff: He is a terrifyingly good shot with a crossbow, and knows a small amount of pidgin sign language; mostly he ignores syntax altogether and just throws signs together haphazardly. (Sa'nil can figure it out.) He's also unbelievably bad at flirting. Really. Words cannot express the awesome quantities of DERP that come out of him whenever a woman he likes enters the picture.
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Rheth
Image URL: img.photobucket.com/albums/v625/Twists/brownleopard2.gif
Name:Rheth
Inspired by:Rhett Butler
Color:Brown
Appearance: Rheth is long and whippy for a brown, he is speed and stamina combined, though he lacks the raw strength of some of his color. He has the body of a distance runner, lean muscles are etched into the cool brown of his hide. While he doesn't have the quick bursts of speed seen in the blues and greens he will catch up eventually. This boy doesn't have an ounce of fat, and he can fly all day without tiring.
His hide is a delicious ruddy brown, it would be described as the color of a rich cinnamon, if Pern had cinnamon. Thick clouds of chocolate swirl and dance across his hide like a jungle cat's pelt. Bands of light and dark run the length of his neck, making it seem longer and more elegant than it really is. From the tip of his nose to the tip of his tail a pale swath of klah with cream runs the length of his underside. The delicate expanse of his wingsails and the tips of his headknobs are the same yummy cream color.
Personality: Rheth is a cynic. He calls things like he sees them, and his vision is excellent. Rheth considers the niceties of society to be ridiculous, and tosses them to the four winds. Squadleader, Wingleader, Weyrleader, makes no difference to Rheth, if you're idea is foolish he'll make sure you know. Rheth is not cruel in his honesty, and he takes no pleasure in his words, but if they need saying, he's gonna be the one to say them. His mouth has earned G'rus extra duty on more than one occasion.
This honesty extends to his rider, as he attempts to act as a counter balance to his rider's selflessness and unwavering trust. He always goes for the counterpoint, playing devil's advocate in an attempt to get G'rus to see both sides of the coin. Rheth tries to keep G'rus's heroic tendencies from getting out of hand, lest they both end up heading between in a handbasket. For all his cynicism and snarkiness Rheth would go to the moons and back for his rider, all the while telling him how crazy the whole situation was. Rheth is no gentleman, but he does have an honorable streak.
Rheth is a hit with the ladies, even without trying he's just smooth. Human or dragon he has a sweet, and sincere, line for all of them. He can charm with a glance, and make a girl go weak with a lazy flick of his tail. When not quipping about the foolishness of the establishment he can be found in the company of some pretty little thing. It's the bad boy aura.
Why me? G'rus needs an ally who can see the shades of grey. The cowboy rider needs someone to tell him he's still mortal. Rheth is that someone. He is the balance that brings his rider back to center. He is the voice that chuckles at those ill-timed jokes, knowing they are the tool that keeps his so calm and focused. Rheth knows when to prod, and when to leave well enough alone. When to remind his rider he cannot save everyone, and when to follow him into the thick of things. Now, if only he can keep his mouth shut during inspections.
