Post by scottie on Aug 17, 2011 16:02:14 GMT -5
Weyr: Solainoti
Name: Rilom
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Rank: Candidate
Age: twenty-two
Appearence: Just finally finished growing, Rilom is a monster of a young man that towers well above most people. His stature is intimidating, especially when he stands straight and tall. His shoulders are broad and clearly muscular. He is well built, muscles long and lean, preventing him from appearing bulky in any place other than those shoulders. He tends to a more neutral beige skin-tone. His hair is thick and dark brown, worn long, straight, but sometimes curling at the ends. Eyes are a narrow almond shape, hazel in color, set evenly spaced on his face. His jaw is strong, a bit angular, masculine. Features are thin and a bit flat, giving him a sometimes puppy-like appearance.
Personality: His personality very much fits his apperance; he has a sharp wit to him and his words can be just as biting as his fists if he decides so. Rilom has a marked ability to stay level headed and calm in the most stressful or dire of situations, very easily gaining control. Everything he does is typically for the best of everyone else, very little is done for himself. This does not mean that he can be taken advantage of. No, he is not a pushover and anyone who mistakes him for one will have a rude awakening coming to them. Just because he satisfies requests for help or orders to do things does not mean he's passive because he isn't. He isn't particularly agressive either though, not unless pushed to be so. There is an innate love of learning in him. He loves strategy games, being tested mentally as well as physically. He's bright and highly intelligent, not the big oaf most people would expect him to be. He's well-mannered and typically well behaved. He tries his hardest to use reason above all else, but sometimes emotions cloud his judgement. He can be impuslive at times, sometimes a bit arrogant, and foul tempered. He does his best to appear as 'good', but that doesn't mean he doesn't have a darkside.
While he is confident and comfortable in his skin, he has more than his fairshare of self image problems. He does anything it takes to prove himself. He can't stand failing. He's strongly and fiercely determined to show that he's not a failure, that just because he may be at a disadvantage that he can still do whatever he puts his mind to. There's a slight sense of self-disappointment to him due to not being what his father wanted or having impressed yet. He hides it, he'd never let anyone know how frustrated he is with himself. He's not the type to show the cracks in his foundation. He keeps his cards close to his chest.
History: Life was as normal as could be at first. Uriesta raised him for the first few years of life, treating him as though he were nothing but a decoration. It was Dynonan, the man she spent most of her time with, who really put time and effort into the boy. Granted, Dynonan thought that Rilom was his own son. He tought the boy hard work in the Hold. The small child was happy to help, to learn, listened avidly to stories and absorbed all the information he could. Things changed when he turned five. He peeked, listened in when he should have been asleep.
"I'm taking my son, Uriesta."
"He's not yours to take. Dynonan already claimed him."
"I'm just being civil. I don't care who claimed him, he's mine."
Alarmed, he took off, running as fast as his legs could, out and into the fields. He didn't like the shadow, the way it spoke, the way it seemed to growl. It was almost a creature from nightmare. So he ran blindly until something hit him and sent him sprawling. He groaned, picking himself from the dirt to look up at the attacker. Slightly on the tall side, facial features similar in some ways to his own, shoulders broad. In the dim light of the night, he was nothing but a menacing shadow of a man.
"You're going to have to learn to be faster on your feet. You're going to have to learn to think faster. Get on your feet. Don't let anyone knock you down." No response. "I said on your feet!"
'On your feet'. The words from that day on had been etched into his mind. The new life with this man, Master Torran, his actual father, was rough. Wake up calls came at any time. They came in any form. Attacks. Splashes of water, the shout of 'on your feet'. He would disappear for days at a time sometimes, leaving Rilom in the rooms of their isolated location with the slightly older Ronon. In the odd occasions of down time, the children worked to keep themselves alive. It was survival. Rilom read. Books, notes, anything that he could get his hands on, he studied, he trained, determined to be everything his Master wanted him to be. He started answering with smart quips instead of fearful nods. He learned to expect attacks and be aware. He learned to think on his feet and how to use a blade. He was worked until his body ached and then beyond.
Metal rang on metal as blades collided. The two boys were seven turns now, and Rilom was the taller. He fought and defended with a single blade, long and thick, while Ronon used two, shorter, thinner twins. It was a dance. Attacks were sharp and tended to angular lines. Defense was rounded, graceful. Circles. It was a dance and Rilom had found his rhythm just as his opponent had his. They were evenly matched. What Rilom had in size Ronon had in fine skills. Everytime one seemed to win, Torran barked out; 'AGAIN' even from where he was standing talking to another, a stranger.
That night Ronon disappeared, was taken away Rilom guessed. Or maybe Torran got rid of him all together. There were no illusions in this world. He was refining them to kill. He expected them to kill. Ronon hadn't been keen on it. Now he was gone.
Half a turn came and went and Rilom had a new training partner, one who was fiercer than Ronon had ever been, but more troublesome. Rilom watched as the scrappy boy gave back as good as he got and always returned for more. It made Rilom work harder, fight harder. Ruen always got hit harder anyways. Another half turn and Rilom found himself being taken away. The grip was firm on his shoulder as the man dragged him off. He'd failed. Torran didn't want him. He was being replaced and something about that made him angry.
"Torran is a cruel man, Rilom. You do not have to be." The old man had lowered to the child's level, looking eye to eye, not down in the condesending manner that Torran had. It made Rilom feel as though he had power, that he wasn't helpless, he wasn't under scrutiny, and it was a feeling he relished. "My name is Aleskal, Rilom, I am a soldier. Do you like the idea of killing?"
"If it's called for, if no other good can be done." the child, eight turns of age, answered after a second of thought. He hadn't really done it yet. He couldn't be sure, but sometimes he really wanted to. The man smiled at him, warm, but strong. This was a man that he could follow. A man he wanted to be like.
"Then I will teach you to be a man that you will be proud of."
For three turns, Aleskal kept his promise. He raised Rilom and other boys (including Ronon, who Rilom was happy to see was still alive). They learned combat, more hard work, and routine. Aleskal encouraged them to grow to be men of intelligence, moral, and strength. There, Rilom grew a lot. He learned to defend those who were weaker, to wisely pick his fights with those who were stronger, and that the one is lesser than the many.
However, Rilom's darkside still could get the better of him, as was prominently displayed in a spar that turned into a full-out battle against another boy he didn't like. The blades struck with all the force the two young men could put behind them, Rilom at eleven turns, Azeban at thirteen. Compared to the younger, Azeban was sloppy, but he hadn't trained to be a wetboy, an assassin of the shadows. Brute force, speed and cunning intelligence saw Rilom the winner. He pinned Azeban on his back, sword tip to the older boy's throat.
"Alright, Rilom, let him up. Mercy is the mark of a great man." Aleskal's voice rang out. Rilom seemed to think about it which made the old man scowl. Before Aleskal said a word, Rilom flicked his wrist and the sword, jabbing the boy in the gut with it just enough to draw blood.
"Looks like I'm not a great man, just a good one." He informed before backing off. Azeban lurched for his sword and the younger boy spun, slicing across the older's arm. "Eh, all right, maybe I'm just decent. I'm done. Try to trick me into doing your chores again, and I won't be decent." Silence followed the boy as he walked away at first. Aleskal had to smirk. More of his father in that boy than he'd hoped.
After those three turns, Rilom found himself back with Dynonan as a menial holder. He was allowed to continue to train on his own, which he gladly did, growing in leaps and bounds at times, taller than the average boy and content with doing twice as much work. It was the most peaceful period of his life, and one he was rather bored with at the point. Another three turns were sent there until he found himself being selected as a candidate for the Solainoti Weyr. It was the biggest change of scenery and life-style he'd ever had. He found himself as the odd-man out, easily as tall as boys with two turns more to them than he had.
He showed his mettle more than once, standing up against those who would push him aside or try to walk on him. He's been in his fair share of fights over the years, taken his fair share of torment and has shown a willingness to knock others down a peg. Every turn he finds himself filled with more self-disappointment. He hadn't been able to meet Torran's standards. He hadn't been given the chance to be the soldier that Aleskal was. He had been chosen as a candidate and so far that had gotten him nowhere either. It was the same things over an over again. The only break in the monotony was a strange, shadowed visitor, he guessed it was Torran and what they left. A prize. A blade only a male as big as Rilom would have ever been able to handle, a blade that Rilom kept secret and private. It was a bit of an emotional boost that he needed. If he couldn't impress, maybe he could take a couple steps back after all. He still had one shot at any rate, and he was going to take it.
Father: Torran
Mother: Uriesta
Siblings: Ronon, Ruen, Rhenik, Radath, and Rycage (all half-brothers through his father)
Pets: None.
Color Preference & Why: Anything large. The dragon will be with Rilom, and he's a very large man.
What Colors/Color don't you want and why: Anything small. Rilom with a small dragon would be ridiculously funny.
Name: Rilom
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Rank: Candidate
Age: twenty-two
Appearence: Just finally finished growing, Rilom is a monster of a young man that towers well above most people. His stature is intimidating, especially when he stands straight and tall. His shoulders are broad and clearly muscular. He is well built, muscles long and lean, preventing him from appearing bulky in any place other than those shoulders. He tends to a more neutral beige skin-tone. His hair is thick and dark brown, worn long, straight, but sometimes curling at the ends. Eyes are a narrow almond shape, hazel in color, set evenly spaced on his face. His jaw is strong, a bit angular, masculine. Features are thin and a bit flat, giving him a sometimes puppy-like appearance.
Personality: His personality very much fits his apperance; he has a sharp wit to him and his words can be just as biting as his fists if he decides so. Rilom has a marked ability to stay level headed and calm in the most stressful or dire of situations, very easily gaining control. Everything he does is typically for the best of everyone else, very little is done for himself. This does not mean that he can be taken advantage of. No, he is not a pushover and anyone who mistakes him for one will have a rude awakening coming to them. Just because he satisfies requests for help or orders to do things does not mean he's passive because he isn't. He isn't particularly agressive either though, not unless pushed to be so. There is an innate love of learning in him. He loves strategy games, being tested mentally as well as physically. He's bright and highly intelligent, not the big oaf most people would expect him to be. He's well-mannered and typically well behaved. He tries his hardest to use reason above all else, but sometimes emotions cloud his judgement. He can be impuslive at times, sometimes a bit arrogant, and foul tempered. He does his best to appear as 'good', but that doesn't mean he doesn't have a darkside.
While he is confident and comfortable in his skin, he has more than his fairshare of self image problems. He does anything it takes to prove himself. He can't stand failing. He's strongly and fiercely determined to show that he's not a failure, that just because he may be at a disadvantage that he can still do whatever he puts his mind to. There's a slight sense of self-disappointment to him due to not being what his father wanted or having impressed yet. He hides it, he'd never let anyone know how frustrated he is with himself. He's not the type to show the cracks in his foundation. He keeps his cards close to his chest.
History: Life was as normal as could be at first. Uriesta raised him for the first few years of life, treating him as though he were nothing but a decoration. It was Dynonan, the man she spent most of her time with, who really put time and effort into the boy. Granted, Dynonan thought that Rilom was his own son. He tought the boy hard work in the Hold. The small child was happy to help, to learn, listened avidly to stories and absorbed all the information he could. Things changed when he turned five. He peeked, listened in when he should have been asleep.
"I'm taking my son, Uriesta."
"He's not yours to take. Dynonan already claimed him."
"I'm just being civil. I don't care who claimed him, he's mine."
Alarmed, he took off, running as fast as his legs could, out and into the fields. He didn't like the shadow, the way it spoke, the way it seemed to growl. It was almost a creature from nightmare. So he ran blindly until something hit him and sent him sprawling. He groaned, picking himself from the dirt to look up at the attacker. Slightly on the tall side, facial features similar in some ways to his own, shoulders broad. In the dim light of the night, he was nothing but a menacing shadow of a man.
"You're going to have to learn to be faster on your feet. You're going to have to learn to think faster. Get on your feet. Don't let anyone knock you down." No response. "I said on your feet!"
'On your feet'. The words from that day on had been etched into his mind. The new life with this man, Master Torran, his actual father, was rough. Wake up calls came at any time. They came in any form. Attacks. Splashes of water, the shout of 'on your feet'. He would disappear for days at a time sometimes, leaving Rilom in the rooms of their isolated location with the slightly older Ronon. In the odd occasions of down time, the children worked to keep themselves alive. It was survival. Rilom read. Books, notes, anything that he could get his hands on, he studied, he trained, determined to be everything his Master wanted him to be. He started answering with smart quips instead of fearful nods. He learned to expect attacks and be aware. He learned to think on his feet and how to use a blade. He was worked until his body ached and then beyond.
Metal rang on metal as blades collided. The two boys were seven turns now, and Rilom was the taller. He fought and defended with a single blade, long and thick, while Ronon used two, shorter, thinner twins. It was a dance. Attacks were sharp and tended to angular lines. Defense was rounded, graceful. Circles. It was a dance and Rilom had found his rhythm just as his opponent had his. They were evenly matched. What Rilom had in size Ronon had in fine skills. Everytime one seemed to win, Torran barked out; 'AGAIN' even from where he was standing talking to another, a stranger.
That night Ronon disappeared, was taken away Rilom guessed. Or maybe Torran got rid of him all together. There were no illusions in this world. He was refining them to kill. He expected them to kill. Ronon hadn't been keen on it. Now he was gone.
Half a turn came and went and Rilom had a new training partner, one who was fiercer than Ronon had ever been, but more troublesome. Rilom watched as the scrappy boy gave back as good as he got and always returned for more. It made Rilom work harder, fight harder. Ruen always got hit harder anyways. Another half turn and Rilom found himself being taken away. The grip was firm on his shoulder as the man dragged him off. He'd failed. Torran didn't want him. He was being replaced and something about that made him angry.
"Torran is a cruel man, Rilom. You do not have to be." The old man had lowered to the child's level, looking eye to eye, not down in the condesending manner that Torran had. It made Rilom feel as though he had power, that he wasn't helpless, he wasn't under scrutiny, and it was a feeling he relished. "My name is Aleskal, Rilom, I am a soldier. Do you like the idea of killing?"
"If it's called for, if no other good can be done." the child, eight turns of age, answered after a second of thought. He hadn't really done it yet. He couldn't be sure, but sometimes he really wanted to. The man smiled at him, warm, but strong. This was a man that he could follow. A man he wanted to be like.
"Then I will teach you to be a man that you will be proud of."
For three turns, Aleskal kept his promise. He raised Rilom and other boys (including Ronon, who Rilom was happy to see was still alive). They learned combat, more hard work, and routine. Aleskal encouraged them to grow to be men of intelligence, moral, and strength. There, Rilom grew a lot. He learned to defend those who were weaker, to wisely pick his fights with those who were stronger, and that the one is lesser than the many.
However, Rilom's darkside still could get the better of him, as was prominently displayed in a spar that turned into a full-out battle against another boy he didn't like. The blades struck with all the force the two young men could put behind them, Rilom at eleven turns, Azeban at thirteen. Compared to the younger, Azeban was sloppy, but he hadn't trained to be a wetboy, an assassin of the shadows. Brute force, speed and cunning intelligence saw Rilom the winner. He pinned Azeban on his back, sword tip to the older boy's throat.
"Alright, Rilom, let him up. Mercy is the mark of a great man." Aleskal's voice rang out. Rilom seemed to think about it which made the old man scowl. Before Aleskal said a word, Rilom flicked his wrist and the sword, jabbing the boy in the gut with it just enough to draw blood.
"Looks like I'm not a great man, just a good one." He informed before backing off. Azeban lurched for his sword and the younger boy spun, slicing across the older's arm. "Eh, all right, maybe I'm just decent. I'm done. Try to trick me into doing your chores again, and I won't be decent." Silence followed the boy as he walked away at first. Aleskal had to smirk. More of his father in that boy than he'd hoped.
After those three turns, Rilom found himself back with Dynonan as a menial holder. He was allowed to continue to train on his own, which he gladly did, growing in leaps and bounds at times, taller than the average boy and content with doing twice as much work. It was the most peaceful period of his life, and one he was rather bored with at the point. Another three turns were sent there until he found himself being selected as a candidate for the Solainoti Weyr. It was the biggest change of scenery and life-style he'd ever had. He found himself as the odd-man out, easily as tall as boys with two turns more to them than he had.
He showed his mettle more than once, standing up against those who would push him aside or try to walk on him. He's been in his fair share of fights over the years, taken his fair share of torment and has shown a willingness to knock others down a peg. Every turn he finds himself filled with more self-disappointment. He hadn't been able to meet Torran's standards. He hadn't been given the chance to be the soldier that Aleskal was. He had been chosen as a candidate and so far that had gotten him nowhere either. It was the same things over an over again. The only break in the monotony was a strange, shadowed visitor, he guessed it was Torran and what they left. A prize. A blade only a male as big as Rilom would have ever been able to handle, a blade that Rilom kept secret and private. It was a bit of an emotional boost that he needed. If he couldn't impress, maybe he could take a couple steps back after all. He still had one shot at any rate, and he was going to take it.
Father: Torran
Mother: Uriesta
Siblings: Ronon, Ruen, Rhenik, Radath, and Rycage (all half-brothers through his father)
Pets: None.
Color Preference & Why: Anything large. The dragon will be with Rilom, and he's a very large man.
What Colors/Color don't you want and why: Anything small. Rilom with a small dragon would be ridiculously funny.
