Post by Cansi on Jun 13, 2011 1:15:39 GMT -5
Alezri
Name: Alezri (uh-LEZ-ree)
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Prisoner: Yes
Crime: Murder, rape
Craft/Rank: Prisoner for last four Turns (previously a beastcrafter of no rank, then a drudge, then a transient)
Appearance: Upon meeting him, the first thing you're likely to notice is his shock of unruly sun-bleached blond hair. It springs from his head from middling brown roots in droopy clumps held together by static electricity, like blades of marsh grass. He often keeps it out of his face with a blackened leather cord, as much for style as convenience, but since his hair is kept fairly short he cannot tie it in a tail (though it is longer than the apparent “standard” around here). Equally obvious to the casual observer are intense, rather pretty blue-gray eyes. These eyes often crinkle at the corners with some private amusement; they seem luminous by any light, with a vague hint of animalistic eyeshine. His brownish eyelashes are long but sparse, and his eyebrows - never quite as sun-bleached as his hair – slant humorously above his eyes. His skin always burns badly at the first part of summer, then peels away to reveal a light tan, only darkening a few shades by the end of autumn.
Alezri's face is young and elfin, eternally beardless, the lips delicately colored along with the rest of him and often either curled mischievously or set in a angry scowl. His left ear is pierced at the helix position with a small round black-painted earring. His shoulders and chest are broad, but lack definition. His height is rather unremarkable, being only around 5'9", so he maintains good posture in a subconscious effort to be more imposing.
Two inches above his bellybutton, there is a small white scar he's had since birth where the midwife's surgical knife slipped when she cut his umbilical cord. Another old scar drags across his chest from collarbone to sternum, where someone got through his defenses with a knife. As with his face, he has only the slightest touch of body hair anywhere but his head. He has long fingers, roughened by calluses though the rest of his skin is smooth where unbroken. He still has baby fat in some places, giving him a misleading look of softness. His body doesn’t get bulky with muscle like most guys; those who have judged his strength based only on his appearance have misled themselves miserably.
Personality: You'd think that appreciation of beauty was a completely harmless trait. What's so bad about stopping to smell flowers, or listen to a creek burbling across its rocky bed? If it stops there and isn't taken to an extreme, it is pretty harmless (if not exactly a good way to get things done). The problem starts when that appreciation leads to obsession, lust, and greed. On the surface, he seems nice enough. His voice is a smooth tenor that lulls the listener to want to believe good things of him. Like the proverbial serpent, the outer charisma hides poison.
He's always been prone to rebellion, willing to toss out any orders he's given if it sounded boring or difficult- and occasionally for less reason than that. Because he has such bad memory retention, he is often secretive, because he absolutely hates it when people deride him (even if they just look like they're amused at his expense). The only time he's ever cared about other people and their feelings was when he *wanted* something from them, and it isn't likely to change. This leads to general rudeness at every turn. He'll do a bare minimum, to avoid inconvenience to himself, but don't expect him to give a wher's arse about it- or finish the task when the threat of Bad Stuff is no longer valid. But if he chooses to do something, it will get done and anything impeding his progress is subject to subtle - or not so subtle - acts of revenge. It takes him a lot of irritation to become truly angry, but there's a lot that irritates him. In point of fact he doesn't take well to being low of rank, which is part of why he self-emancipated (read: ran away). It rubs him the wrong way when people disregard him, even if his life sometimes depends on it.
Underneath these layers, there is a dreamer mentality of a sort. Alezri likes to pretend in his own mind that none of the things he did were real, that somewhere out there his beautiful young lover is still waiting for him to come back and do it again. Because sometimes "no" means "yes" if the physical signs are right, and no matter what he was told, he prefers to think that his buddy enjoyed every minute of it. Whether that is conceit or denial is anyone's guess. In fact, if somebody could manage to overlook his oddities, he'd be very willing to have a much more... willing encounter, and soon. In the outlaw camp, though, it isn't exactly probable.
Though he is a bit reserved expressing himself, once he finally starts talking he has a lot to say about the state of the world, mostly opinions or insights about how undervalued many people on Pern truly are, just for lack of a knot. Some ranking crafters are fools, while his mother, who he respected to the utmost (in spite of her issues), had no appreciable rank but a sharp wit and wisdom. With such outlandish ideas about the facts of life, it's no surprise that he had few allies and fewer friends even before he became a prisoner.
History: Alezri's mother was in the uncomfortable position of not knowing who the father of the child was. She was what is known as a nymphomaniac prostitute, with a libido the size of a dragon and the lowest of prices- sometimes just a little Dust. Rather than be the sort of sell-skirt who stays in one room all the time and lets the custom come to her, she went from tavern to shop picking her clients. This lifestyle didn't cease when Alezri came into existence, though it slowed for a while, long enough to get him off the tit. Tazri instead chose to give her son away to her sister to raise: her sister, a lowly cook barely a step above a drudge, but at least with enough stability to raise a child.
They never hid the truth from Alezri, about his mother or any of their stations in life. It was hard, and bitter, and there was no way around it- lying to him now would just give him unrealistic expectations for life later. Those early Turns were among the hardest for Alezri. There was nobody to stand up for him when the other drudge-brats came a-teasing, and everything was fodder for their insults. You look like a girl. Your hair looks stupid. You ain't got a real father. What kind of boy plays with rocks? (And so on, and so on.) Instead of fighting, he got even indirectly. Fat drippings rubbed secretly on boot soles, itch powder sprinkled into certain laundry vats, purloined fellis juice mixed into a berry cobbler he 'let' them steal from him... it all added up, and eventually, he was left more and more alone. The bullies also happened to be tattlers though, and he was rightly pegged as a trouble child, not expected to amount to much.
Early on, at about ten Turns old, he endeavored to learn a little beastcraft from the local farrier. The man felt sorry for this wispy little kid who always wore a frown. Though the boy was much younger than tradition indicated be the norm, he didn't ask for an apprenticeship, just worked and did what he was told. And he did seem to have a way with the beasts, be they fine blooded runners or the heaviest draybeast. The man couldn't get the boy to listen to orders, however, and finally had to put an end to it all. Which was a shame, because since Alezri had never actually become an apprentice, he'd been working for even less than their tiny wage.
Oh, the boy was hurt about it for a while. More humiliated than anything, because now he was fourteen Turns old, and had a bad rep rather than a good reference to take to any other craftsfolk. It was his own attitude problem that ruined his chances and got him stuck with drudgery. With no appreciable skills or backing in beastcraft, working for his meals and lodging (both meager and of poor quality) he turned more and more surly. If he'd thought about it, he would have realized that he was learning an unofficial trade- cooking- a skill that might not sell well, but would always be needed.
The day his mother was killed by her own Dust dealer, Alezri self-emancipated (read: ran away) and started working his way south. He was nearly eighteen. There were cotholds and farms along the way, where a smooth-talking young man could work for a meal and a night in a hayloft. It was even harder work than the drudgery had been, but at least the food was better, and he fancied that he was more free now. He went where he pleased anyhow, with no real authority over him. He liked that.
Came a time when he found a place he almost fit in. The cotholder didn't give a wher's arse that the young man was closemouthed about his past, as long as things got done. He didn't even order the boy around much- once he saw that Alezri knew his way around a barn. Said cotholder even had a son, Jayce, only two Turns younger than their newly acquired stray, and after nearly a Turn they were on the way to becoming more than friends. He was gorgeous. Kind of shy, with plenty of bright smiles, and miraculously had no marriage prospects roaming around yet. They planned a nighttime encounter, which was to be their first, but somehow his father caught wind of it.
Jayce had been waiting, naked, for his newfound lover on the pallet in the hayloft, but he screamed when he saw it wasn't young Alezri coming up the ladder. His father had brought a quirt they kept for their old runner, and started whipping him with it, shouting about perversion and what was not acceptable. This was the scene Alezri walked in on: his beautiful, unspoiled Jayce, his only ray of sunshine, being gashed and slashed and made to bleed with the force of the whipping. Something ugly in him awakened. He leaped on the older man, snugged his arm around the guy's neck, and clung like a burr until strangulation sapped the man's strength and bore them both to the ground. Dimly, he realized that Jayce was still screaming, this time looking at him in horror. The animal that was Alezri saw certain physical signs that usually indicated sexual appetite, so he continued with the original plan, in spite of being told to stop. Utterly spent, he fell asleep with their limbs tangled in the straw.
And woke up to the furiously angry faces of the Dragon Watch, coldly informing him that his sins would not go unpunished. Some time during the night, Jayce had managed to collect his wits and go straight to them with the hysterical accusations. Of course there was nothing else to do with Alezri but put him in the brand-spanking-new Warden's Weyr prison.
The last four Turns have been a lesson in miserable for the young man, except where Squall is concerned. Once he'd seen that good inmates were rewarded somewhat, he actually exerted himself on command, just long enough to get a firelizard. Just because they weren't a mark of status here didn't mean he didn't want one, though he was immensely satisfied that he got a big one. Getting on the list of candidates for dragons was what he wished would happen, but with his crimes it wasn't going to happen. Unless...
When whispers went around that a breakout was planned, he was all over it. Alezri would do just about anything- aside from bloodying his hands again- to get the shards out of the prison and breathing real air again. With Squall happier, he is a bit more relaxed.
Other stuff: tl;dr - Prisoner for four Turns, since about a month after Warden's Weyr opened.
Firelizard
Name:Squall
Species:Firelizard
Color: Bronze
Personality: The Cold Bronze - whether from poor circulation or a genetic defect, Squall is always slightly chilly to the touch. Any mind images he shares will be twisted, with strangely selective focus, though sharp for all that. In the clever way of firelizards, he does seem to have a bit of catlike humor, that surfaces unexpectedly in bursts of chittering. He won't force his attentions on anyone, but neither does he reject them unless called on by Alezri. He is usually easy to please and difficult to anger, a very willing and tame firelizard to have around. As long as Alezri is kind to him, it is unlikely he will go feral.
Appearance: This little guy (size-wise, tiny for his color class) isn't very muscular, body built almost like a feline, even to the expressive shape of his face. Wide wings and extra length seem to work for him even though the proportions are definitely atypical. Aside from the metallic sheen of his hide, his base color is a dusky, almost coppery hue- like that of a penny when the dirt has just started to turn its color. His feet are all a bit lighter, as well as his headknobs and forehead. His wing-sails are translucent enough to seem almost golden in the light, except for the trailing edge which have the green hints of tarnished bronze liberally doused across them.
(Credit and thanks to my wife, Micarst, for letting me pick from her pre-made flitter pics.)
Name: Tith
Color: Purple
Flower: Tulip
Hex: B177D2 (originally 990099)
Appearance: Tith is quite the eyecatcher and, sadly, she knows it. While born exceedingly small, Tith will grow to be one of the larger end of purples, hitting past Ramoth by the time she is 2/3 grown. She is a stocky dragon with just as much muscle visible as 'fluff' - not quite fat, but not muscle. Her neck is long and slim with a head smaller than most dragons but given her size, it still dwarfs most dragons. In order to carry her bulk, Tith's wings have an exceedingly large span.
As for color, this girl has a deep purple hide reminiscent of the royal colors of Terrian Rome. Small, lighter stripes lash along her stomach and down the insides of her tail and legs. Like all purples, her nails have that shimmer to them that Golds, Bronzes, and Opals have.
Even without all the fancy decorations some less than interesting dragons may have, Tith makes herself known. One doesn't need fancy wrapping in order to be the best gift under the tree.
Personality: Fame, love, passion - Tith has it all. She loves life and all the pretty things that come with it. She wants the best, and at no matter the cost. This could always mean scheming to steal away someone elses goods as long as there is some indication in there that there is an off-chance she could, one day, be in possession of it. Things aren't allowed to be beautiful without her being present, and Tith will be the very first one to inform you of that. She is beautiful, carrying herself with the pride that simply begs to be adorned by the beautiful and the shiny and - well, you get the point.
She has a very strong sense of the dragon chain of command, understanding without protest that Golds are in charge, riders with dragons aren't to be hurt, and that whers are (of course) the bottom of the totem pole. Even with the knowledge that shiny egg-makers are typically the ones in charge, if a green happens to be in charge of a certain operation, or a Pink is the one with higher ranking then a Bronze or Gold, they are still the one in charge. Color has little meaning to Tith unless they hold a position of power. When authority changes hands, so will her obediance. Tith obeys, even if her rider is not too keen on the idea. Things must be followed in a way that would best benefit the Weyr/cave-system, after all. Life must run smoothly.
Even with her penchant to be vain and just a smidge self absorbed, Tith is no skinflint when it comes to affection for others. She throws herself into friendships wholeheartedly, even if it means lying just a little to make them like her. Everyone should like her automatically, this is a fact, but some people just don't understand things like 'should'. If it takes a little twisting of the truth to get those to like her, Tith has no problem taking a page from her dam's book.
As for her rider? Tith knows she is more then just an accessory, a pretty nothing to hang on a riders arm for no reason. They are an extension of herself, and thus should be treated with respect by those around them! She is intensely aware that she may not be the top dog, but that doesn't mean non-riders, or dragons with lower rank in the camp hiarchy need to be treating her and Hers worse then they are. You don't insult a girl from Jersey Shore - and you don't talk trash about Tith's rider. Shrieks and insulted pride may ensue.
Why Me?: What's that? You expected Tith to pick someone ugly? As if. The skin has to be flawless, even if what's underneath is a bit rotted. And, let's face it, Alezri is a bit coarse. That is where Tith comes in. This lady will be able to take over where he blunders, be polite when Alezri fails, she can appreciate his greed, his anger, and use them to be something less then chaotic and useless.
Tith does not have a drop of true malice in her soul, something she firmly believes Alezri needs less of. She loves rather then hates, even if the love is a bit on the violent side, but she knows her darling Alezri understands that. He will be able to get her the things she needs, and she will be that little grasshopper on his shoulder telling him that no... probably means no, and being gentle while she does it. Listen to the chain of command, after all! In the world of the outlaws, that will get them far.
