Post by Cansi on Jun 9, 2011 2:52:32 GMT -5
Tekaine
Closest Played-by: Jonathan Rhys Meyers- facial structure, hair, eyes, but not skin tone.
Closest Played-by: Jonathan Rhys Meyers- facial structure, hair, eyes, but not skin tone.
Name: Tekaine
Age: 21 Turns
Gender: Male
Prisoner: Yes
Crime: Grand Theft Flitter Egg
Craft/Rank: Journeyman Healer (Male prostitute on the side)
Appearance on Arrival: Big, haunted green eyes stare out from a gaunt face, hardly blinking. They are surrounded by thick lashes, as black as the finger-length hair on his head. If the hollow cheeks and sunken eyes didn't make it obvious, one can tell by his wasted frame that he was recently ill for a long time. There isn't much about him reminiscent of his previously-healthy frame; narrow shoulders, a girlish waistline, and the scattered wiry remains of what should have been lean muscle. Ribs press against the skin of chest, not horrendously, but definitely noticeable. At a tiny 5'3" it isn't exactly astonishing that his illness reduced him to 100 lbs of pure pathetic. The only things healthy about him just now are his sound teeth and his light-olive tan (which was the quickest thing to return to normal).
Even before Tekaine got sick, he wasn't exactly a strong-arm. Sure, he could work (and work *hard*), but that was more due to conditioning and determination than anything else. He isn't even a particularly fast runner, not quite managing to be average on that scale. This journeyman-gone-wrong has a natural dexterity and practiced awareness that extends beyond his hands, making it an even call whether he was more skilled at healing or prostitution. Either way, the scrawny little guy looks more than a touch feminine. Were his face to fill out again, he might even be attractive; if one goes for high cheekbones and small narrow chins, anyway. At least his teeth are sound.
The only distinguishing marks on his body are spread across his right shoulder: the old scars where a canine clamped down on him and shook him when he was a child.
Personality: Long ago, one would expect someone of the healer craft to be a decent sort- and be shocked as shards if they weren't. That isn't the case anymore, and somehow, Tekaine missed the memo. Sure, he's had his bad days where he felt rage welling up and threatening to take over his common sense, but that's true of nearly anyone who survived puberty. He even has a bit of a sulk now and then. For the most part, though, Tekaine is pretty pleasant to be around. He likes to make others feel good, whether through the use of compliments, or jokes, or gossip; whatever it takes. He has a fondness for the finer things in life. Including a passion for booze that borders dangerously on addiction (but hey, at least it isn't Dust). Unfortunately, when one consumes alcoholic beverages in as large quantities as he enjoys, it isn't exactly cheap.
Drunken, the darker side of this petite little man comes much nearer to the surface, and takes less provocation to come out. Tekaine doesn't get violent unless someone else started it, and even then he'd rather dodge around them and let 'em wear themselves out than risk actually getting hit. Pain is something he is definitely not fond of, perhaps because he is so intimately familiar with it.
Peer pressure has a strange influence on him; if the proposed act (implied or stated) is in a moral gray area, he'll probably do it just to be agreeable with folks. Legality is often not considered- if he is fairly certain he won't be caught. For instance, Tekaine would have no qualms about making Dust- but he couldn't get rid of it, because somebody might use it for a binge or worse. And he wouldn't use it because he's seen its affects on people. Making it would be pointless and wasteful. That is why he doesn't make it, not because it is illegal to do so.
It's the same way with 'borrowing' things. Since childhood, he's had a nasty habit for taking things that don't belong to him, squirreling them away for a few candlemarks or sevendays, then sneaking it back to its original location with absolute and shameless stealth. He doesn't think of it as stealing since he always gives it back, though everyone else knows better. The only thing Tekaine ever wanted just for himself, and had no intention to give back, was his truest downfall.
Aside from his issues, Tekaine is difficult for many to truly understand. There's always a little fear of solitude lurking at the corners of his mind, that others take to be open friendliness. Willingness to listen is occasionally misconstrued as being shy. Asking questions is even deemed nosiness rather than curiosity. Well, people are judgmental, and of course that's normal - but he can be oversensitive sometimes. He hasn't cried publicly yet (not even when drunk), but it isn't outside the realm of possibility. Even then he wouldn't hold a grudge to whoever caused it to happen; he'd just privately wonder if they were right.
As far as intelligence goes, the young healer is humble enough to realize he doesn't know everything. He has a lot more intuition than cleverness, but that isn't to say Tekaine can't work things through in his mind. He puts a lot of trust in his instincts, reading others' body posture and facial expressions with a fair bit of accuracy, and isn't often fooled when someone is putting up a brave face. That serves him well in his healing capacity, as does a firm sense of duty. He might prefer to sit under a tree guzzling something stiff (pun intended), but if something needs to be done, he's sure to be doing it rather than lounging around. Restdays are the exception, when he won't budge to do a lick of work if no emergencies arise.
Things are bound to change though, now that his drunken idiocy has gotten him caught egg-handed. Maybe he'll even learn to keep his grabby fingers to himself... or not...
History: Pern didn't exactly notice the addition of another squalling child when Tekaine was born. His mother hardly did either. The wife of a minor young cotholder who had passed away a sevenday before she gave birth, Teya found herself in the untenable position of being a widow with a newborn and no way to work the land. When the lord of the land came around offering a salution, the heavy-hearted woman felt she had no choice but to accept. She had no desire to be thrown from the home she'd always known, even if it meant remarrying the holder's youngest cousin. As widow and widower, they were perfectly matched in sadness.
At least Mathin was good to the baby, not even neglecting him in favor of the child of his own loins. Zanaiel was almost three whole Turns older than his new stepbrother, and luckily took his cues from Da rather than forming an unhealthy jealousy. Tekaine grew up 'on a farm,' working right alongside his bigger stepbrother, learning to do his best and be grateful for what he had- even if the second half of the lesson didn't stick 100%. It came naturally for him to steal the eggs right from under a broody fowl without ruffling her feathers, and eventually his delight in this skill caused him to start 'borrowing' things in the house too. Interesting rocks from Mathin's collection, pretty strings from his mother's sewing box, even extra pairs of stockings from Zanaiel when it got too cold to wear just one.
Like many very young children, Tekaine dreamed of dragons. (He stopped dreaming of canines after a feral one attacked him in the field and had to be clubbed into submission.) The idea of a friend who would never leave one's side was just too tempting, though during the day it was work work work. Nights were all his own. As he got older, reality started kicking in; it was hardly likely that he would ever be able to earn a dragon through hard work and manual labor, nor did he expect he'd be one of the lucky few whisked away to Stand and possibly even Impress. So, in a shift of obsession, he decided to fixate instead on firelizards: a commodity that was rare, but at least obtainable through normal means.
By the time he turned twelve, he was still a foot shorter than his stepbrother, though all had hope that a growth spurt would come for him. The cothold was prospering, even if Tekaine was not. After having seen how tender he was with the draybeasts and fowl, attempting to play nursemaid to them all, Mathin took the lad's mother aside and had a long talk with her about the benefits of sending him off as an apprentice. To beastcrafters, most likely, or possibly to the healers. Teya adamantly refused. In all this time she had tried and failed to produce more children, and she was terrified that Tekaine would go off and never return. The assurances that Zanaiel at least would be kept 'on the farm' only slightly mollified her, and at last she agreed that the boy could go- if he wanted.
"Shards, Ma, of course I want to go!" After his face and mouth were equally scrubbed with suds (even the lightest cursing was not allowed inside the house), the boy was permitted to pack. It was the beginning of winter, before snow was expected, when Mathin set off in a rickety wagon hauling Tekaine toward his future. All along the way the aging man preached about how being caught stealing out in 'the real world' would land you in jail, no matter if you put the items back or not; the family hadn't lived with Tekaine without realizing what was happening, of course, they'd just never said anything to him. And now Mathin rather regretted the lack of censure. They arrived: the beast craftmaster took one look at the scrawny boy standing before him and refused him entry, though Mathin protested vigorously that he could work as hard as a lad twenty pounds heavier and half a foot taller. It only earned him an earful of derision, and they went on to make the longer journey to the healer crafthall.
They, at least, did not judge him based on his lack of stature. He attested that he was nearly thirteen Turns now, and that he was literate and could do arithmetic. A test was performed on the spot, which apparently was scored favorably enough. Mathin made his mark in the apprentice ledger beside his stepson's, and they parted that same day with no tears shed. As Mathin said, "You're a man now, and you'll have to act like one." The boy took it as a not-so-subtle reminder to try and keep his hands to himself.
This was the happiest of times for Tekaine. Not only was he encouraged to learn, he was expected to. He absorbed lessons like a sponge, even growing another two inches rather abruptly in his fourteenth summer. He had plenty of fellow apprentices to play games with- something that had only happened on the rarest of restdays back home- and every day, three distinct meals that were as varied as the apprentices themselves. There was even a girl that took a fancy to him three Turns into the apprenticeship, which was heartening. There for a while he'd thought his height was really an issue! Though after she was finally done with him she waltzed on to pounce someone else within a sevenday. Tekaine couldn't say he minded; no longer being a virgin, there was one less thing they could pick on him about!
And then there was Russik. The guy all the young girls swooned for. He had more muscles than a healer would ever really need, bright blond hair and dark brown eyes. He had no interest in girls, though; he set his sights on the now-seventeen Tekaine. Awkward didn't even begin to describe it; he'd never felt more than passingly attracted to other guys before. Time wore on, with the short apprentice avoiding Russik's advances as best he could, pretending never to understand. It came to a head when Russik finally offered him a mark- a whole mark!- to "go for a walk and... you know..."
Firelizard egg, here I come!
The transaction was kept secret, of course. And the next one like it, and the next, and all the ones to follow. People in general just thought that Russik and Tekaine were having a fling, and there were enough problems that arose from that misconception to feed a Weyr. The master healers pretended not to take any notice; Tekaine was among the more skilled students, and expected to walk the tables sooner than many. He did, too, just a few days before his 20th nameday, along with a few others ready to go out into the field.
His confidence in his abilities led him to eagerly accept the first post he was offered. There was an isolated outbreak of some contagious illness or other that Healer Wenthil was unable to treat single-handed. So off Tekaine went, burdened with ambition and fresh medical supplies for the sea holders' resident healer. Things were going smoothly there for a bit; no one had laughed at his lack of height yet, and a client that was apparently resistant to the illness consistently came knocking when he put the red candle in his window. Until that seemingly-clean client (who was in fact a carrier for the dormant virus, flame her) passed the illness on to Tekaine.
It was a wasting sickness, not awesomely debilitating, but gradually weakening its victims over the course of a month or so. Some seemed to have the flesh burned right off their bones before they recovered, and only the very young or the very old died. Tekaine did what he could as he cursed the aches and shakes that kept him from performing his duty to the fullest, and kept him from making easy extra marks 'on his back.' Wenthil was glad to accept the help, though when the truth finally came out she was exasperated with the young fool's actions. As his condition worsened he turned more and more to the wine that numbed his senses and let him sleep at night, practically shelling out his marks to keep himself distracted from the pain.
The illness left him as abruptly as it had the other survivors, leaving him looking and feeling terrible, and almost broke besides. And then, lo and behold, somebody half his age had the gall to bring a wild firelizard egg to Wenthil, as thanks for her services to the sea holders; it just happened to be Tekaine's twenty-first nameday. Where the rest of the clutch went, or even if there were other eggs found, didn't matter to Tekaine. There he was with little enough strength to work, much less go on a wild egg chase, and temptation lay there night after night in a sand-filled box by the hearth. The old itch in his fingers started to come back, so he started drinking earlier in the evening to compensate. A solution that seemed to work just fine, at first.
The first night he got well and truly roaring drunk, his common sense went on vacation. The egg was hatching, he just knew it. No, it couldn't be, Wenthil said it wasn't time. But he could hear it. He argued with himself half the night before he just couldn't take it anymore. Armed with a leftover meatroll and half a bottle of wine, Tekaine went down to the hearth with all the stealth of a herd of draybeasts and snatched the egg from its box. It wasn't hatching yet, but in his drunken stupor he didn't really have the presence of mind to realize that. As he settled the prize onto a table and started to tear up a meatroll, Wenthil entered the little kitchenette to start a breakfast pot of klah. She couldn't believe her eyes, and ran off to tell someone else. She'd had her own childhood dreams of firelizards, too, and wasn't about to be thwarted. Later, she would feel horrible for condemning a clearly-drunken man to be dealt with by the Dragon Watch, but at that moment was too upset to care what would happen to the journeyman
Being drunk was no excuse for Grand Theft Flitter Egg.
And so Tekaine will enter the Warden's Weyr, for a sentence as yet undecided...
Other stuff:
Family
Mother - Teya (now deceased)
Father - Karal (deceased before birth)
Stepfather - Mathin (disowned)
Stepbrother - Zanaiel (24 Turns)
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The Dark's Fall Hatchling meanwhile, had put up with quite enough of being herded. As the Lost Paradise Hatchling went to nudge him yet again, he turned and snapped, then bolted, leaving the entire line of candidates behind him along with one very puzzled looking pink. He flopped, instead, in front of Tekaine, with a heaved sigh of dragon shaped frustration.
What does he know about where I should be looking for mine? I found you didn't I? And you weren't with them. Come, Tekaine, take me somewhere. I'm tired of this place.
Name: Gravitath
Art Type Mobile
Hex Code: 000022
Appearance:
Gravitath is a monster of a blue at hatching, but will grow to only be of moderate size. On the ground, he's an awkward creature, a stumbling mass of too long limbs and an unusually short stump of a tail. In the sky, however, he's pure grace, his huge wings making him both an acrobat and a excellent distant flyer. Just don't expect him to manage anything nearly so pretty on the ground.
His hide is nearly dark enough to make one mistake him for yet another new color, a black. Even when the sun is on him, he's a creature of pure shadow. Only his wingsails give him a way. They're much lighter, a flashy sapphire. He'd disappear against a night sky, were it not for those wings.
Personality:
It's a rare soul who has the strength to approach the world unveiled. Truth is such a heavy burden, the world as it is much darker than the world as one might wish it to be. And that burden, the burden of honesty, of reality, is the weight that rests squarely between Gravitath's wingsails. It isn't one he bears with grace. Worry and guilt are constant companions and Gravitath will often feel as if the walls are closing in. What will happen to the irregulars? What if there is something wrong with him? What of his outlaw brethren? They didn't choose to be stolen! Yet they are a threat and if they commit crimes with theirs, aren't they equally culpable? Question upon question and no clear answer to any.
Gravitath isn't particularly skilled at dealing with such concerns. He thinks about these things, but that doesn't mean he wants to. Stress saps him, leaving him lethargic and fitful when he's stuck on the ground. The sky, however, is another matter entirely. As soon as Gravitath can fly, he'll have found his true place. In the air, he can focus solely on the feeling of the air while the world below is reduced to no more than color, blue, green, and gray; it becomes beauty in the abstract, asking no questions, demanding no loyalties. Seeking such simplicity, Gravitath will always want to be in the air, flying as high as possible. At times when he's most stressed, his rider will have a hard time keeping him in formation.
While not anti-social, Gravitath sometimes struggles to relate to his peers. His dark moods are hard to cast off, he's not particularly good at small talk and he's worse at talking about things that actually matter. If he gives his doubts and confusions voice, he believes they'll gain more substance and power. His rider will know the thoughts that haunt him, but it will take a lot of closeness before he shares beyond that. Dragons like Obeth, who can see the world in simple terms, tend to irritate and even anger Gravitath. He's not the sort to pick fights, but any being who dares to lecture him on duty can expect a less than cordial response.
At times, Gravitath seems to see his rider as another distraction. While he will share his concerns with them, it doesn't mean he wants to. He'd rather have an adventure, share something beautiful, or anything else that might keep his mind occupied. For this reason, his efforts in lessons can be a bit uneven. Anything that requires a lot of focus, he'll throw himself into. But those lessons that are merely rote drill will leave him restless, ready to go off on his own and back into the air. As for flights, Gravitath will participate in as many as he can get away with. Win or lose, they're a great way not to think.
Why Me?
Whatever else he may be, Tekaine is a man who enjoys, or at least wishes to enjoy life. Gravitath also seeks to enjoy life, he's just not very good at it. In Tekaine, he hopes to find a rider who can both understand his darker side and also pull him up out of those haunted moments. In turn, Gravitath can serve to help Tekaine avoid the call of peer pressure and shiny things without ever judging him. Gravitath never judges, he simply asks questions.
Brown Crème Brûlée Hatchling from the Trinity Egg
Tophi
Appearance: Like the dessert he is named after, Crème Brûlée is crusty brown on top and a warm yellow-brown on the bottom. His wings are especially dark, looking almost charred from the fires of a good flambe. They are stout wings, a bit small -- but then, he is a small firelizard for his color (about the size of a large green). This doesn't pose a problem for him -- in fact, he's very well-put-together, a petite but svelte dragon from snout to tail fork.
Personality: Crème Brûlée is hardly ever seen without his snout in the air. Despite only being a brown, he believes he is higher class than many bronzes and was supposed to be one. No one and nothing is quite good enough for him. Food especially has to be exactly as he likes it, or he'll simply refuse to eat. However, beneath that 'crusty' exterior, there is a warm flit that honestly wants to be pleased and give praise. It isn't his fault that no one seems to be up to his standards. Even his bonded will find themselves the object of quite a bit of scrutiny, and some vocal criticism if they don't live up to expectations.
