Post by Onyxaeon on Jun 23, 2009 21:21:31 GMT -5
Until the day I die,
I'll spill my heart for you.
As years go by, I race the clock with you.
But if you die right now, you know that I die too.
You remind me of the times when I knew who I was.
`'*'`R'taik`'&'`Fremonth`'*'`
Weyr: Talune Weyr
Name: R'taik
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Rank: Candidate
Age: 18 turns
Appearance: As far as appearance goes, Rytaik is not too bad off. He isn't the best looking guy in the crowd, but he could certainly hold his own if need be and, besides, his personality helps to add on to what he was given. The young man bears an average height of close to 5'11, and probably will grow that extra inch before he fully matures. His skin is a faint tan, nothing normal to the Southern continent, as most everyone here is dark as can be from the many hours of sunlight. Apparently, he doesn't tan well, but who needs to with those eye? Rytaik's greatest physical attribute are his eyes: so vibrant a green, emeralds would fawn at his feet in envy and wish their scales such a color. The irises are aglow with the jade like shade, with strands of yellow-green running through the iris to meet the pupil. A small freckle, only a dark brown speck, marrs the hue, and this birthmark is in his left eye, just on the edge of the iris. Rytaik has a fairly simple build. Until recent turns, he did not claim much muscle to his body, as his job did not call for it. Due to his recent activities, though, he has gained a fair few in his arms and legs, though he still doesn't quite have that washboard stomach or six pack that woudl make him a stud. His short, normally spikey brown hair has been allowed to grow out, just enough to tangle ones hands in, but it does not have a length to it, and is merely thick. The average shade of brown has its worthwhile qualitites, though, as it can catch the light, and the faint streaks of lighter brown throughout can give the man a blond appearance in the fading sunlight when, in fact, he is nothing of the sort.
Personality: Loyal. Reliable. Faithful. Rytaik is the kind of guy you want to have owe you a favor, because he'll go wherever you need him to, do whatever has to be done, and bear whatever must be to stick to your side. Ask him once, and he'll coming running. He'll be right there for you if you are his own, and, even if he can't, he'll find some way to reach you. At the very same time, Rytaik has a firm belief in taking any chance you get. He knows exactly who he is, where he stands, and what he deserves. He's not spineless, far from it, and would go into an all out brawl if someone dared to show a closed mind or force an opinion onto another. Just...No. Everyone deserves their own opinion. He's not afraid to stare someone down until they look away; he's got the gaul to be a leader if need be, but would rather not find himself in the position as he's a more behind the scenes kind of guy. He knows if given the chance, he could so many things for Pern, but he'd rather allow others to see their potential than simple hand the answers over an leave no mystery to life. He's far from a social butterfly, more of a loner, but can carry a fine conversation if need be. Truth be told, though, he'd rather be left to his thoughts, as he is the aimlessly wondering sort from time to time, but also dedicated to a point far from able to be comprehended. He'll do it once and he'll do it right. End of story.
History: As far as accidents go, Rytaik was a fairly amusing one. His birthmother Yasakie was beginning her healer training, just into it, even, and had been called along with her master down to Nusa for a form of healer gathering. No big deal; healers loved to gab and she had never been to Nusa before.-It'd be fun. Fun was a bit of an overstatement. While there, an accident had occured. A group of Nusa's lumbermen were bringing in a grudging supply of wood for Talune's tithe, and one of the logs had rolled off from a pile and crushed a man's leg in the process. Well, Yasakie and her master to the rescue! The man who had been injured was none other than the mentor to Rytaik's father. Well, you get close to the people who heal up your loved ones and ten minutes of pleasure ended up being nine months of "What the fuck did you do to me?!?!" and twelve hours of "I'm going to murder that man for this!" Rytaik was born that night, and into the life of a healer's home.
His father wasn't fit to raise a babe or, so his mother always told him, and he never bothered to question more than what his father did, where he lived, and what his name was. The lad had a small gift in memorizing things and recalling details, ingredients, and lists. A photographic memory was the reasoning behind this, though no one ever dug deep enough to understand the young man and simply thought him a protogey. He would have easily graduated his healer training had he remained in the craft, though the constant completmenting of his memory gave him a disdain for wanting to finish out his trade. No, when Rytaik was a ripe sixteen turns, he took to the herder craft, where honest labor was all that mattered and not how many things can you recall at the drop of a hat. He kept in close touch with his mother, not wanting the poor woman to worry, and, while bringing in tithe animals to Talune one day, he was Searched by a young, bubbly Green. Not wanting to find a more complicated lifestyle than need be, he ran. He ran as far as he could before the same Green scooped him up and scolded him for his stupidity. She dropped him home and told him to pack and then and there, his fate was sealed. Without complaining (he knew it would do no good and he would have to assume the role he had been given) he clambored back up and was taken to the Weyr for the next and last Hatching of Opal Linnelyth.
For the most part, all the dragons were perfectly normal and healthy. Many bronze kings were in the clutch, and even a gold and onyx, and all seemed well enough as the dragons hatched. Somewhere down the line, though, the three oddly hued white eggs hatched, bearing forth stunning, new mutations. They were blind, it appeared, and perfectly see through-every organ, every vein, the ichor...it was all visable. But Rytaik didn't care. He was fascinated by the creature as their eyes burst open, their gender changing to that of the draon they first saw. Whomever their eyes looked next upon, their body outlined in that exact shade, coating over the joints as well, but leaving the remainder of their bodies translucent. The three, two males and a female, each respectively held three different colors: the female a clone of the white Nazreth, one male a clone of the emerald Typhith, and the last a clone of the onyx Varanth. Almost immediately the ebony mimic sized up the young onyx king, the two other see-through creatures pinning the king's Mine and an eerie transfer of words passed between the three. Of course the lad was released, none worse for the wear, and two of the mimics found Theirs directly after. The third, the ebony copy, met with Rytaik, renaming his new Mine: R'taik. Fremonth. His Fremonth. His violently possessive dragon whom had slaughtered a fellow candidate who had only tried to congradulate His, but had gotten too close for Fremonth's liking. The only death of a candidate ever recorded on Talune sands.
Father: Runtaif, Lumberman at Nusa Hold
Mother: Yasakie, Healer at Talune Hold
Siblings: Ratif, half-brother (7)
Pets: N/A
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Dragon Name: Fremonth
Dragon Color: Mimic
Age: Weyrling
Personality: Sabatoge. Revenge. Here come the band of theives built of deception and clad in iron. There is no room for anyone outside of His, Folkvarth and HisOwn, and Fedorath and HerOwn. Anyone else is expendable, useless and perpetually in the way, although he is keen to make slight alterations to his view of the world based on who serves him best at the time. For now, Varanth and HisOwn are in his favors, the so called "Weyrleaders" that they were going out of their way to make certain that the three Mimics and Theirs would be trained away from the other weyrlings for fear of 'accidents' occurring. Truth be told, it was not such a terrible plan as the see-through brute initially believed, but rather a blessing in disguise. He could more easily manipulate those around him while they slept, unable to object to his orders as they otherwise would have while they were awake. It is an opportunity to rise up the ranks, excelling in the shadows of the night while everyone else wasted their nights slumbering away.
Despite the boiling malice and overrall disgust for any other creature aside from his siblings and Theirs, Fremonth is actually a devotedly affectionate creature...As proven by the dismemberment of one candidate when he came too close to R'taik. The blood thirsty desire with which he watches over Fedorath and Folkvarth is perhaps endearing, at least in the eyes of a Magma, Cyan, Black, or perhaps Brimstone. He finds great disdain in being apart from his siblings, something which might prove problematic in future years considering the size of the Mimics and their...lovely personalities. He watches over them with all the care a mother might her young, although with none of the gentleness because even among his own siblings he recognizes himself as the leader of their little trio and does not hesitate to take the reins.
He is exceptionally proud, perhaps a trait picked from the Onyx which designated his eye color, and would never consider the act of needing help. Weakness is very much pain leaving the body for this unfortunately tyrannical dragon...
Appearance: Fremonth is as pale as the rolling fog with veins of green ichor and golden shaded organs standing out against a translucent hide. His sinews are well apparent, muscles buldging from beneath flesh that appears but paper thin although it has proven just as thick as any other drago's, with many years of growth expecting to add on to his girth. He is already a stocky brute with carved, angled features that are disdainful to the eye if one were to stare too long, but a boggling sight for certain because he is immediately recognizable amongst any assortment of dragons for the shape of his skull, as sharply pointed as his tongue and personality. Ebony orbs stare down judgingly, a taunt, a challange boasting of a violent nature that would claim the life of any who wandered too close to the see-through creature. Down his joints and wrapped around the tip of his perfectly pointed tail, an abyss as black as between coats his body, further staining his wing membranes. He will grow and, in time, be a beast who will tower over the bronzelings who surround him. He and his siblings will bear the body build to rival the Onyx Kings, and, as he is the largest of his siblings, he expects to rule the Weyr with they alongside of him.
