Post by Wren on Jan 9, 2011 5:49:42 GMT -5
Sheraz
Name: Sheraz
Age: 20 Turns
Gender: Male
Prisoner: Yes
Crime: Theft, manufacture and distribution of Dust, wrongly accused of fraud
Craft/Rank: Weyrling, no craft
Appearance: Sheraz is a fairly tall man, though he fails to look very imposing as he’s naturally a skinny sought of fellow. That said, months of toiling in the fields at Warden’s has given him some wiry muscle, and he’s stronger than he looks. He has quite pale skin which contrasts nicely against his short, messy dark hair, short because it’s periodically shaved off entirely. His facial features seem incongruous with his status in life, for while most convicts are either ugly, bullish creatures or hard-lined, unsmiling men, Sheraz has a long, elegant face more reminiscent of a Lord Holder’s ballroom than a prison cell. His bone structure is fine and aristocratic, with a narrow jaw, fairly high cheekbones and a small but rounded chin. This gives him an almost delicate, fragile look, heightened by his small, well-formed mouth but lessened slightly by his strong, rather prominent nose. His eyes are quite large and pleasantly shaped, and they sparkle with keen intelligence. The irises are an unusual green-hazel shade; flecks of grey and brown over a green base.
Personality: Sheraz is, on the surface, a rather infuriating man. He’s confident, cocky and full of himself to the extent that it might make you want to punch him in the face. When he’s not puffing himself up he’s making irritatingly quick retorts to anything you might say to bring him down a notch. Sharply intelligent, he’ll back-chat to the guards and tease them so subtly that they don’t realise they’ve been insulted until they’ve had time to think about it. He has an irritating habit of carrying himself like the archetypal alpha male, with shoulders back and feet apart, and for his own amusement he sometimes gives the younger, less-experienced guards orders in such an authoritive tone that they, used to doing as they’re told, obey. He’s manipulative and rather devious, as well as intrinsically dishonest. Lying convincingly comes naturally to him, and Turns of practice has taught him how to expertly bend people to his will.
But despite how infuriating he might seem, Sheraz has, since his arrival at the prison, proved himself to be very useful to the guards. He is apparently fearless and yet has a strong social confidence, so he’s often the one that protects the weaker-minded, less confident prisoners from more aggressive inmates and over-enthusiastic guards alike. That aside, he’s generally well-liked for the interesting stories he tells and his ability to talk the guards into allowing everyone a slightly larger food ration on occasion, and the fact that he’ll have sex with pretty much any man who asks doesn’t hurt either. All of this plus his great charisma means that he’s become something of a popular figure amongst the inmates, and so he has some influence among them. This is of use to the guards because he’s a sensible man who understands that life is better when everyone’s calm, so he often works to divert unhappy prisoners’ attention to himself rather than whatever’s upsetting them. He also loves to spar, and so, when he senses that tensions are running too high, he organises a tournament of sorts to relieve stress; just something all the inmates can follow and get involved in. He is, at heart, a good man; arrogant, yes, but friendly, and a person guaranteed to amuse anyone with a sense of humour.
History: Sheraz was born in Southern Hold to a Dust-addicted prostitute, so really, the chances of him ever living a respectable life were slim. His mother wanted to care for him, and did her best to do so for a few months or so, but she kept forgetting to feed him and keep him warm, and when he got sick, she couldn’t afford to get him medicine. Eventually she realised that he would die unless someone cared else took him, and so one day she snuck into the Hold’s crèche and left him there. It was they that called him Sheraz, as there was no way of knowing what name his mother might have used for him. Now, the crèche was full of such abandoned children, and so if ever one could be adopted out, they were. Thus, when a man came and said he wanted to adopt a young child, very few questions were asked and Sheraz, by this time about four Turns old, was handed over to him. The man turned out to be a dust dealer who wanted a sufficiently young and sweet looking child to carry his product to his customers without catching the attention of the dragon-watch. For this the boy was very useful, and so the man took reasonable care of him.
As he grew up Sheraz became more and more involved in the man’s business, if it could be called such, and instead of just ferrying goods between customers, he was no seeking out new ones as well. The man also encouraged him to steal anything valuable, and he became quite a handy pickpocket. It was dangerous work, and on many occasions the boy found himself hiding in a ditch to escape some rider or other. One good thing came of it though; he saw so many people reduced to empty shells by the notorious dust, that he was never tempted to try it himself. The dust-dealer was not so careful, and one day Sheraz came back from a job to find him splayed out on the floor, dead from an overdose. Sheraz, who was sixteen at the time surprised himself by being deeply upset, and for a month or so he spent his time getting ridiculously drunk and breaking into houses. He pulled himself together after a while though, and went back to producing dust, something he’d learnt to do over the Turns, and for companionship he bought himself a little puppy. For another four Turns he lived on the streets, and then his luck ran out. He was finally caught by the dragon-watch, and for his crimes he was sent to Warden’s Weyr. It took him a little time to adjust; at first he was quiet and withdrawn, but after a while he realised that he was far safer there than in the backstreets of Southern Hold, and his personality shone through. When the crippled gold laid her clutch, he applied to be a candidate, thinking that he’d like something different to do.
Other stuff: (PB - Benedict Cumberbatch)
Pets
Name:Silence
Species: Canine
Color: Brown and rusty red
Appearance: Resembles a miniature pinscher with long hair. Has brown eyes and white spots on his chest.
Personality: Loyal, brave, stupid, greedy, affectionate
Iiateth
Name: Iiateth
Color: Opal
Age: Hatchling
Appearance:
Iiateth is a delicate thing in appearance, slender and sleek with an unusually long neck and tail. Her wingspan is a bit wider than average as well, she's a dragon with a lot of stamina, capable of staying up in the air for an impressive amount of time. She's not very speedy, but she does have an elegance about her in the air. In size, she's average, which puts her at about thirty feet, the size of a small brown or large blue. In terms of colouring, she's spectacular. To describe her as any one definite colour would be wrong, nor would it be right to say that she's a mixture of different shades. In fact, it's very difficult to describe her hide at all in concrete terms. Her hide is not precisely white, nor precisely anything else. Rather, it shimmers and shines with all the colours of the rainbow, from hushing pinks to glittering greens to shifting blues and even delicate purples, the colours dance over her with all the glory in the world. She is the first example of an opal, and boy does she live up to the name.
Personality: Iiateth is a let down. She knows this. Oh, how she knows this. All the Weyr hoping against hope for a gold and instead, Iiateth. It's not like she can help her hide, but that doesn't matter. Her very existence is a betrayal. And no matter what she does, no matter how hard she tries, she'll never be a gold. Never be as big, as shiny, as important.
So, perhaps it's not surprising that this particular dragon suffers from chronically low self-esteem. No one is as disappointed in Iiateth as Iiateth herself, and she'll never shake the feeling that she's just not good enough.
There are plenty of ways to cope with such emotions. Bitterness. Rebellion. And then there's Iiateth, who lies.
It's not that she means to lie. She has a puppy dog's eagerness to please and be liked. So, when she overhears another dragon be praised for something, she wants to do the same. Someone compliments a blue on their speed? Iiateth will say she flies fast too. No, faster. No, she's the fastest dragon ever. Honest. A gold lay a nice clutch? She can clutch too! Even more eggs though! And all of them metallics. She will have a clutch and it will have thirty golds! And when she says these things, she means them. Almost, she believes them, or at least, she believes that she'll find some way to make them true. This makes her rather easy pray for dragons like Djith, or anyone who offers to help her make her promises reality.
With other dragons, Iiateth struggles to make friends, mostly because, deep down, she doesn't trust that anyone really likes her. Oh, they can say nice things, they can promise they think she's great, but Iiateth suspects they're only saying such things to be kind. How could they really mean it, when she's such a disappointment? The exceptions to this, to start, are her rider, who she trusts implicitly, and Semith, whose undemanding affection is like balm on Iiateth's fragile nerves.
Despite what she thinks of herself, and despite her habit of... exaggeration, Iiateth has the potential to do well. She's not the smartest in her clutch, but she's determained, she'll practice things until she gets them right. And, while, yes, she lies like a man trying to sell life insurance to zombies, she's a good girl. She'd never shirk lessons, she doesn't get into fights, and, she never, ever, says hurtful things. She's so easily hurt herself, she'd never deliberately do the same to another.
