Post by Lyrikitty on Jan 16, 2009 20:49:20 GMT -5
Weyr: Black Sands Weyr
Name: D'myn
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Rank: Weyrleader
Age: 26
Appearence: There is an unmistakable feeling that lingers about him, the same sort of primal gleam in his eyes as a caged beast, the same presence of a predator, crouched and ready to strike. He makes those around him uneasy with a look, his pale, watery blue eyes, washed out almost, yet so utterly intense that there are few who can stand to meet his gaze for long. His skin is darkly tanned, swarthy looking almost, his black hair hanging about his face in an uncontrollable mane.
His 6'6" build is not lithe and dancer-like, nor is it massive and built for work at a forge. Ropey muscle clings to his arms and legs, ripples over his broad chest, but not an extreme amount. It is undoubtable that he belongs Bonded to Xanturnoth just at a glance, for there seems no other dragon you could imagine him with, no other purpose i life that can be brought to mind when thinking of this eerie, powerful man.
He dresses only in the finest things, and with his lifestyle he doesn't have to worry about affording it. The prominent color of his attire is black, often trimmed in a deep red, or gold, whichever looks best for his mood or occasion. He feels that wearing black deepens the respect people naturally give him, and that it leaves much about him a mystery, not revealing much at all. Also, wearing black makes for easier raids, as he doesn't have to change durring the day before they go out at night.
His features are sharp, not pointed or harsh, but intelligent, decisive. His chin firm and set, brows hooding his pale eyes, thick brows overlooking the icy pools. His lips are often curved into a malicious smile, though what he finds so amusing is hard to say.
Personality: D'myn is feral in every aspect. His thoughts rarely encompass those around, or extend too far. They are not complex and hard to understand, so long as you can understand his way of thinking. The most important thing to him is his own life, and that of his dragon. Everything else is expendable, so long as that goal is continued, that single fact preserved. He acts to further their rank, to further their power and control. Other often benefit, but it is only by chance, only a side-effect, and not the desired outcome. He couldn't care less, truthfully, about Black Sands Weyr, those who inhabit it, or anyone else on Pern, the only thing keeping him and Xanturnoth under control is the fact that they control the Weyr.
He is cunning, quick to see those who plot against him, quick to see those who might son prove to be a threat. Of course, a direct attack against the pair would likely be near suicide, but D'myn knows the potential of a silent attack, in the dead of night, or when the pair is on a beach alone, is great.
He sees things not in complex patterns, does not make his plans with intent to confound his enemy, to leave other speechless. He is direct, blunt. When he sees someone as enough of a threat, a bother, that he needs to take care of them, he does it in a manner that those who've angered him know he's comming, and they shake with fear and try to run.
D'myn is not a man you want to try and corner, for as soon as his back is to a wall he snaps, losing all pretense of civility he carries to strike out at anyone and anything. He may act calm at times, may lean against the wall durring meetings, listening to what is said, saying what is expected of him, and he may make appearances in public, but that eerie feeling that lingers about him is there for a reason, that sinister, deadly gleam to his eyes is not the facade. Hiding just below the surface of his civil actions is an animal, wild, vicious, and eager to shed blood.
History: D'myn was born in New Cove. Raised there. He saw any things, including the Hatching of Silvyth and Xyurith. Ah, what an impression it had made on him. He was on the sands for that. Watched both of those dragons walk right to the girls. How he'd hated them. Temptation to go and kill that woman, Jannika, that stupid bitch had been great. He could kill her and claim the Amber. The snow was of little interest, only because it was she who, inher first clutch, brought Xanturnoth into existence does D'myn even bother to think of her name on occasion.
He was bitter about not Impressing the Amber, for no dragon compared to them, not in his mind. Sure, there were dragons out there who were impressive, but nothing had the appareance of an Amber. Three turns he had to wait, standing on the sands, and once, a Bone had tried to Impress to him, though he blocked his mind to it, refusing to allow it near him, and the beast had Betweened as was fitting.
Finally though, finally Silvyth Rose, taking to the skies and being chased by the Amber Xyurith.
When the clutch was laid, D'myn had eyes only for the largest eggs, only on the eggs that were queen eggs.
When the fateful day of the Hatching finally came, D'myn was one of the first permitted onto the sands, though it seemed Silvyth was hesitent, almost to the point of refusal. He didn't care much what the freak thought, only that he was on the sands, only that one of those eggs could hold his Amber.
And indeed one did, for it shattered first, the hatchling charging out of the mess, his hide wet, his eyes a violent red. He had no mind for the candidates, only in the destruction of eggs, only in slaughter, in blood. He was an Amber, a real one, not tamed like his sire, not weak and miserable. He was no coward, to hide behind the flank of a female freak. The Hatchling terrorized the sands for several minutes, those eggs that managed to hatch rarely held hatchlings fated to rach the candidates, for the Amber would target them quickly, running them down and flaying them with his claws.
D'myn watched it all, his lips pulled into a proud smile, until the Amber was worn out, snarling in the center of the sands, snapping, lashing his tail, his head weaving like a viper. The hatchling was weary and hungry, his play had taken much out of him, not to mention the effort of breaking through his shell. D'myn walked foward, arrogantly, and grabbed the head of the amber, who gave a growl, then silenced as his eyes locked onto the pale blue pools of the candidate. Impression was made, and at that moment, two minds that were very alike touched, and both dragon and man changed their expressions. Pleased, satisfied, and above all, expectant. Xanturnoth hungers. I've had my fun, and now we shall eat. Later, both of us will have fun.
Within a week, it was decided that the pair had to be transfered out. Immediately. At so young an age, the Amber was contemptuous of Xyurith, and eyed Silvyth with a look that meant only one thing. When he matured, he would chase her.
Oddly, the first and only Weyr to volunteer was the reclusive, distant Black Sands Weyr. Why such an honor was bestowed wasn't too hard to guess. An Amber made a powerful ally, and to get aholdo f one while it was young made the odds of a Wildfire working her way into his mind better. Shortly after he arrived, they realized it wasn't needed. He was not uncontrollable o his own, didn't need someone else to toy with his head to keep him from rampaging about. In fact, he proved more dangerous than some of the dragons hatched on Black Sands grounds. D'myn and Xanturnoth fit in perfectly, and it was almost forgotten that they were foreign.
When the Senior Queen Rose, and the Amber had matured, a few sevendays from their graduation out of weyrlinghood, Xanturnoth chased. None stood a chance against their wrath, and the Flight ended almost too quickly, though the clutch proved large. It is here that the story begins, Xanturnoth and D'myn only recently becomming riders, and Weyrleaders all at once.
Father: V'dyn of Bone Pawneth (New Cove)
Mother: Mariope of Green Vyrewth (New Cove)
Siblings:
Pets:
Dragon Name: Xanturnoth
Dragon Color: Amber
Age: 6
Personality: Of the two, Xanturnoth is the civilized one. There is no mistake that he is an Amber, for he has no qualm with tearing into others and enjoying it, but he does so only after explaining why he is doing it. He looks his victims in the eye and kindly explains what they've done, and how he'll punish them for it.
The Amber handles things calmly, as if he knows what must be done, and even if he takes great pleasure form it, he must do so with a straight face. He often has to reign D'myn in, keep the man from outright attacking others, and it is from Xanturnoth that D'myn learned the arts of subtlty, the practice of waiting for a more opportune time to strike. You would be hard pressed to find a pair who fits Blck Sands Weyr better than these, and back before the battle broke out inside the Weyr over the raids and attacks, Xanturnoth and D'myn would have been idolized, worshiped, and in their paradise.
Despite being from outside the Weyr, he has adopted the same outlook on others those dragons native have, showing only the manners required and no more. Were he not the Weyrking, he would likely lead the Weyr in a full out attack on the rest of Pern i a heartbeat, targeting the other Weyrs first, wiping out the defense of Pern, and letting the rest fall into place. It is an often thought of thing, what he would do if he did take such a chance, how he would handle it all, and no matter how he tries, he sees only one way to succeed.
Xanturnoth is a strategist, deviously cunning, forever plotting against those who've placed themselves on the wrong side of him. His Amber temper is tamed only by his wit, kept in line only by the knowledge if he wishes to remain in rank, if he wishes to keep himself above the rest, he must wait. Wait until no one is looking, wait until his prey is alone. Wait until opportunity calls his name with her sweet voice.
Appearence: Xanturnoth is on the small scale for an Amber, though looking at him you wouldn't guess it. Like D'myn, standing near him leaves many feeling fearful, nervous, or better yet, terrified. His hide is a rich golden tone, almost as if he soaked up the very essence of Rukbat, over which a dark cast is thrown, the characteristic tint of black that stains his hide from his time in Black Sands marks him as one of their dragons, though as he was not hatched on the sands he bears no star. His wings, horns, and legs are darker, more black seeming to cover them, than the rest of his body, as if to draw attention to specific parts of him, or just a random occurance.
His horns, spiralling back from his skull and curling around thightly, are carried proudly, and he's not opposed to using them to knock around another who does not offer the proper respect due to the king. He carries himself without the doubt that some might, instead he prowls through the Weyr, sharp, dangerous eyes always watching those around, as if he were waiting for something.
He is built with the intention of power, his wings long and wide, his stucture stocky. He enjoys this fact, often propmting D'myn to go swimming or to jog with him, to keep muscle-mass built and heavy. His legs are thick, muscle coiling around them, and it is believed he could probably jump high enough to Between safely without unfurling his wings at all. Theory only, and Xanturnoth is not eager to try the idea out just yet.
Other: Xanturnoth= DB7F07
