Post by danaphantom on Sept 16, 2011 1:47:01 GMT -5
Username: Dana Phantom
Character Number: 3
Name: Tariv
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Homosexual
Rank: Wherless
Wing: Ground Crew
Status: On suicide watch
Appearance:
There was, perhaps, a time when this man could have been considered handsome. Rugged, certainly, not necessarily clean-cut by any means. Most of this has since been taken violently from Tariv. A shadow of his former self can still be seen beneath the jagged scarring that covers a good portion of his body, though, considering his occupation, most of this is lost in the darkness.
Tariv is built solidly. He is, by no means, overly muscled, but this Wherhandler is certainly toned. Heavy labor in his day-to-day activities keeps the muscle on and the fat to a minimum. At six feet, he's above average but by no means an exceptionally tall man. His complexion is rather dark, especially for someone turned nocturnal, maintaining a fair tan color despite a lack of sunlight. He has a triangular face with a well-defined jaw, surrounded by rough, wiry jet black hair kept in an uncomplicated, short style. Beneath thick eyebrows are narrow eyes in a striking gray-blue, not that many get close enough to see that, or have enough light to really notice. About half of his nose and a chunk of his narrow lips are missing, traced along the scars that cross his face.
Tariv's clothing is simple, in part because no one ever really sees in, and because his day-to-day business is too rough to really risk any nice clothing. For the most part he just wears leather in whatever natural color it was, cut for basic use and comfort. Occasionally his clothing will come with some design tooled in, but generally this is a result of him being rationed clothes that have been stylized and not his own personal choice. The only deviation from this is a somewhat battered ring on his right index finger, a gift from his mother that he holds dear.
Personality:
The nocturnal lifestyle of a wherhandler has suited this man to a T. Always more of a solitary person, having a schedule that causes him to avoid the majority of the Weyr's populace works just fine. He is quiet, for the most part, and it is quite difficult to spur him into conversation. That's not to say he completely shuns socialization, it just needs to be on his own terms. A bit of an eccentric, there are a few... strange habits that Tariv clings to, though he keeps them to himself. His fellow Wherhandlers sometimes attribute this (accurately or not) to some brain damage they say occurred when he was attacked by felines. Despite this, they stay a close-knit group, since that's really all each other has. He retains a certain charisma from the long line of traders he is descended from, but this is rarely shown.
Once a handsome man, Tariv always had women flocking to him during his visits to Holds. Despite, or perhaps because of this, he always seemed to avoid females of any kind, save for visits from his sister or when he would assist his mother in selling her wares. Confused about his true feelings regarding love interests, some of which were shunned by some of the more conservative holders, Tariv turned his emotions inward. After the attack, with his body disfigured, he became even more of an introvert. Depression seems to come to him quickly, though it never lasts long. It's not allowed to last long.
There is a certain strength to Tariv's demeanor; decisiveness and strong will. Much like a speeding train, once he gets going, there is little that will stop him, regardless if he is right or wrong. Part brawn and part sheer stubbornness, he does not give up. Whether this can be empowering or intimidating varies on the situation and the other party involved. As it stands, there is an aggressiveness that clings to this man, making him well-suited to the slightly more feral dragonkin he and his comrades handle.
History:
Tariv was born in a small hold to one of a caravan's traders and his jewelry smith wife. The youngest of thee boys, he found himself somewhat spoiled until his little sister was born. Rather than find himself stinted by the new baby of the family, he took a shine to her, and eagerly helped his mother as best he could while still being a toddler himself. When he was old enough to join the caravan, he would spend his free time crafting little baubles for her, or collecting shiny stones. Though he mostly kept to himself, he still found his place within the caravan, and managed to be a decent merchant once he was old enough to properly ply wares. When his younger sister started showing some skill in music, it was he who saved up the marks to buy her a simple flute.
For the most part, his early life was not very remarkable for a trader's child. It wouldn't be until his seventeenth turn that his life took its first major turn. A day's travel out of a Hold, his caravan was hunkering down for the night. No one suspected the danger that was stalking them in the trees. Two people were already dead before anyone realized the ambush a pride of felines had laid. Unsuspecting and unprepared, the caravan would have been mostly wiped out if it hadn't been for the timely intervention of a wing of Whers. Sent out by the Hold, they were on the hunt for the very felines now attacking the traders, the beasts having terrorized the Hold's citizens one too many times. Licking their wounds and gathering what strength they had, the caravan was forced to return to the Hold in order to recuperate and recover from their losses.
Once his grievous wounds were healed enough to venture from the infirmary, Tariv went to go investigate the creatures that had managed to save him. With his father and brother dead, the boy no longer felt his place was in the caravan. Not when he owed his life to the Whers. As soon as he was declared fit and healed, he began his apprenticeship with the Wherhandlers, waiting for the next clutch and his opportunity to try to bond one. When that day came, he found one lithe, little Green approached him, twisting about his legs like a cat looking for attention. Surprised at the little female, but not about to deny her, Tariv found himself bonded strongly to Tarisk.
It was a few turns after the pair graduated from Wherling Training that the first falls of the Thirteenth Pass began. While some Wherhandlers stayed behind at the Hold to continue protecting their home, others, such as Tariv, were recruited to the Weyr to protect their homeland by Threadfighting. Though Tariv did not necessarily mesh well with the other Wherhandlers, Tarisk proved herself to be a very agile and accurate Threadfighter, and a somewhat decent clutcher for not being a Queen.
Things had been rather uneventful for the pair for their first two years in the Weyr, for all that being active Threadfighters can be uneventful. One evening, however, Tariv found himself feeling particularly belligerent... in part because he was trying to mask the more amorous feelings that had been keeping him awake for most of the day. Tarisk hadn't been moody at all, a sign he had normally taken to mean she was close to her run. He found her suddenly pacing, impatient, scratching at the door just as something else scratched back. When he threw open the door to find who was bothering him at this hour, the Wherhandler was flabbergasted and then horrified as the thirteen-year-old boy began creeling for love. It was when his Green made a feral growl that Tariv tugged the boy into his quarters, not wanting the Candidate to get mauled. As Tarisk shot off into the darkness, calling out for all males who dared chase her. Finding himself feeling aggressive, horny, and holding onto a willing (if exceptionally taboo) partner, Tariv slammed the door to his room and did as flight-induced Weyrfolk are wont to do.
Several hours later, Tariv woke to find himself curled protectively around Zimarin, a rather happy Tarisk snoozing nearby. After a moment of sheer terror, he made sure the Candidate was (mostly) unharmed, then banished him from the Wherhandler Quarters. Despite his efforts to distance himself (and thus prevent anyone from finding out what he had done), he always found Z'marin right around the corner, or something similar. Eventually he would find all endeavors to keep away from the Bluerider completely in vain, ultimately giving up when he found Z'marin at his doorstep, grieving the loss of his flitt. While comforting the Weyrling, one thing led to another, and Tariv found himself explaining to a rather confused Blue that he had just been cuddling Z'marin. Unfortunately, it worked a little too well.
Once Z'marin graduated into a full Dragonrider, Tariv found himself avoiding him less and less. Though he's still not accepting of the arrangement, or the fact that a half-pubescent boy is (slightly successfully) attempting to woo him, the Wherhandler still allows Z'marin's occasional doting, and the occasional night of 'weakness.' As of recently, Tariv has been seen with Z'marin more recently; the Bluerider is more than happy to try to console the ex-Wherhandler after the accidental suicide of his Green. Spurred on by a panicking Grenth during Southern's attack on Maai, Tarisk attempted to chase after Maai's assassin, only she lacked coordinates. Unable to disobey the Queen, she Betweened without coordinates, never to be seen again.
His will completely decimated by the loss of his companion of eight years, Tariv sunk into a deep depression, broken only by Z'marin's concern when so much time had passed without a glance. Finding comfort with the boy in his arms, and feeling distinctly nihilistic, Tariv has decided he doesn't really care if anyone finds out or what they think about the arrangement. He already feels dead, there's nothing more they could do to hurt him.
Family:
Father: Vorem, Trader, deceased
Mother: Rynsis, Jewelry Smith
Brothers: Vrynem, Trader, deceased; Minesis, Trader, 28
Sister: Suminys, Journeyman Harper, 22
'Mate': Z'marin. Dragonrider, Blue Garanth
Name: Tarisk
Species: Wher
Rank: Green
Code: 1aa71a
Gender: Female
Age: 8
Status: Deceased
Appearance:
For a species known mostly for its bulk and brawn, Tarisk is surprisingly dainty. Of course, one could never consider this Wher small, or even beautiful, for that matter, but she certainly strays over to the more aesthetically pleasing side of the spectrum. Her face is more kind than other Whers, certainly gnarled but not hideous. Her eyes are comparatively rather large, giving her a somewhat naive and young look. All limbs are rather long and gracile, and she manages to be quite agile.
Overall, her hide is a rich leaf green, full of the vigor and life of a warm spring day. Neon green speckles and bursts atop her wing membranes and down her spine, a few spots of a more limey color found here and there like little flowers hiding among the grass. Three neat bands of forest green stripe across her muzzle, a few more streaking on her neck just behind her headknobs. Finishing off, very faint tiger striping of a cooler shade of green mark what parts of her body aren't already splashed with something else.
Personality:
Tarisk is enigmatic if just for the fact that she is distinctly social. While Whers in general tend to be a bit more introverted, Tarisk is out there, her personality for all to see. She is a social butterfly, and on cool evenings she often gathers a flock of flitts about her, just for the company. Even a random hapless wandering Weyrfolk can be the victim of her joy, even if her side of the conversation is poorly worded at best and just a rush of pictures and feelings at worst. Quite a kind little Wher, few dislike her, and those that do generally are the kind that don't care for socialites anyway.
Though she is a independent individual, Tarisk none the less has an undying devotion to her handler. It is postulated that she will suicide if Tariv dies before her, which is quite possible. She dotes on him like a secondary mother, and when she does clutch, she guards her clutch as fiercely as any Queen. Still, bribe her enough to be her best friend, and she would let anyone grab her eggs.
Mindvoice:
For the most part, Tarisk does not have much of a voice, as her grasp on language is tentative at best. Most often, when she tries to speak, one receives more an impression of thoughts with pictures and feelings. She can get her meaning across for the most part, but those unfamiliar with her may find themselves completely lost in the jumble. When she is able to use words, they flutter like a moth, cheery and gentle, yet having an underlying coarseness to them. Despite her demeanor and effort, the roughness associated with Whers still shines through.
Name: The Shadow
Age: Hatchling
Gender: Female
Rank: Obsidian
Species: Crawler
Appearance:
Rather large for an Obsidian Crawler, when full-grown, Styg will easily stretch a full nine inches, if not a hair more. Thin and sleek, she gives the impression of a living dart. Able to slip into some of the tiniest of cracks, she often seems to come out of nowhere. Her coloration is mostly black and charcoal with a decidedly rosy overcast. Streaks of silver and white highlight her thighs, back, and ridges, giving the impression that this crawler has the metallic sheen of a royal color, though her hide is actually matte.
Personality:
Quiet, Brooding, Shy, Irascible
Egg: That One Egg
Hatching Scene:
A squeak? What was that?
Tariv lifted his head, peering around bleerily. Another squeak caused him to glare into the darkness. Lumbering, he shifted from his cot, trying to see in the inky blackness he had created in his room. There was a loud clatter, causing him to curse under his breath. Blind groping found the perpetrator - a plate that Zim had brought some time ago, along with an old, dried meatroll. That solved one mystery.
But what was that squeaking?
Something brushed against his arm, and moving with a swiftness he had not displayed in days, if not weeks, he found himself grasping a slithering body. As quickly as he had the thing, it was gone, slipping out of his hand easily. It returned after a moment, perching on his hand and munching on the old roll. A void in the darkness... a shadow.
And it disappeared. Scampered off. Off to stalk somewhere else.
Tariv gave his new Shadow a few moments of pondering, before laying back down yet again.
Parentage: Unknown
Character Number: 3
Name: Tariv
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Homosexual
Rank: Wherless
Wing: Ground Crew
Status: On suicide watch
Appearance:
There was, perhaps, a time when this man could have been considered handsome. Rugged, certainly, not necessarily clean-cut by any means. Most of this has since been taken violently from Tariv. A shadow of his former self can still be seen beneath the jagged scarring that covers a good portion of his body, though, considering his occupation, most of this is lost in the darkness.
Tariv is built solidly. He is, by no means, overly muscled, but this Wherhandler is certainly toned. Heavy labor in his day-to-day activities keeps the muscle on and the fat to a minimum. At six feet, he's above average but by no means an exceptionally tall man. His complexion is rather dark, especially for someone turned nocturnal, maintaining a fair tan color despite a lack of sunlight. He has a triangular face with a well-defined jaw, surrounded by rough, wiry jet black hair kept in an uncomplicated, short style. Beneath thick eyebrows are narrow eyes in a striking gray-blue, not that many get close enough to see that, or have enough light to really notice. About half of his nose and a chunk of his narrow lips are missing, traced along the scars that cross his face.
Tariv's clothing is simple, in part because no one ever really sees in, and because his day-to-day business is too rough to really risk any nice clothing. For the most part he just wears leather in whatever natural color it was, cut for basic use and comfort. Occasionally his clothing will come with some design tooled in, but generally this is a result of him being rationed clothes that have been stylized and not his own personal choice. The only deviation from this is a somewhat battered ring on his right index finger, a gift from his mother that he holds dear.
Personality:
The nocturnal lifestyle of a wherhandler has suited this man to a T. Always more of a solitary person, having a schedule that causes him to avoid the majority of the Weyr's populace works just fine. He is quiet, for the most part, and it is quite difficult to spur him into conversation. That's not to say he completely shuns socialization, it just needs to be on his own terms. A bit of an eccentric, there are a few... strange habits that Tariv clings to, though he keeps them to himself. His fellow Wherhandlers sometimes attribute this (accurately or not) to some brain damage they say occurred when he was attacked by felines. Despite this, they stay a close-knit group, since that's really all each other has. He retains a certain charisma from the long line of traders he is descended from, but this is rarely shown.
Once a handsome man, Tariv always had women flocking to him during his visits to Holds. Despite, or perhaps because of this, he always seemed to avoid females of any kind, save for visits from his sister or when he would assist his mother in selling her wares. Confused about his true feelings regarding love interests, some of which were shunned by some of the more conservative holders, Tariv turned his emotions inward. After the attack, with his body disfigured, he became even more of an introvert. Depression seems to come to him quickly, though it never lasts long. It's not allowed to last long.
There is a certain strength to Tariv's demeanor; decisiveness and strong will. Much like a speeding train, once he gets going, there is little that will stop him, regardless if he is right or wrong. Part brawn and part sheer stubbornness, he does not give up. Whether this can be empowering or intimidating varies on the situation and the other party involved. As it stands, there is an aggressiveness that clings to this man, making him well-suited to the slightly more feral dragonkin he and his comrades handle.
History:
Tariv was born in a small hold to one of a caravan's traders and his jewelry smith wife. The youngest of thee boys, he found himself somewhat spoiled until his little sister was born. Rather than find himself stinted by the new baby of the family, he took a shine to her, and eagerly helped his mother as best he could while still being a toddler himself. When he was old enough to join the caravan, he would spend his free time crafting little baubles for her, or collecting shiny stones. Though he mostly kept to himself, he still found his place within the caravan, and managed to be a decent merchant once he was old enough to properly ply wares. When his younger sister started showing some skill in music, it was he who saved up the marks to buy her a simple flute.
For the most part, his early life was not very remarkable for a trader's child. It wouldn't be until his seventeenth turn that his life took its first major turn. A day's travel out of a Hold, his caravan was hunkering down for the night. No one suspected the danger that was stalking them in the trees. Two people were already dead before anyone realized the ambush a pride of felines had laid. Unsuspecting and unprepared, the caravan would have been mostly wiped out if it hadn't been for the timely intervention of a wing of Whers. Sent out by the Hold, they were on the hunt for the very felines now attacking the traders, the beasts having terrorized the Hold's citizens one too many times. Licking their wounds and gathering what strength they had, the caravan was forced to return to the Hold in order to recuperate and recover from their losses.
Once his grievous wounds were healed enough to venture from the infirmary, Tariv went to go investigate the creatures that had managed to save him. With his father and brother dead, the boy no longer felt his place was in the caravan. Not when he owed his life to the Whers. As soon as he was declared fit and healed, he began his apprenticeship with the Wherhandlers, waiting for the next clutch and his opportunity to try to bond one. When that day came, he found one lithe, little Green approached him, twisting about his legs like a cat looking for attention. Surprised at the little female, but not about to deny her, Tariv found himself bonded strongly to Tarisk.
It was a few turns after the pair graduated from Wherling Training that the first falls of the Thirteenth Pass began. While some Wherhandlers stayed behind at the Hold to continue protecting their home, others, such as Tariv, were recruited to the Weyr to protect their homeland by Threadfighting. Though Tariv did not necessarily mesh well with the other Wherhandlers, Tarisk proved herself to be a very agile and accurate Threadfighter, and a somewhat decent clutcher for not being a Queen.
Things had been rather uneventful for the pair for their first two years in the Weyr, for all that being active Threadfighters can be uneventful. One evening, however, Tariv found himself feeling particularly belligerent... in part because he was trying to mask the more amorous feelings that had been keeping him awake for most of the day. Tarisk hadn't been moody at all, a sign he had normally taken to mean she was close to her run. He found her suddenly pacing, impatient, scratching at the door just as something else scratched back. When he threw open the door to find who was bothering him at this hour, the Wherhandler was flabbergasted and then horrified as the thirteen-year-old boy began creeling for love. It was when his Green made a feral growl that Tariv tugged the boy into his quarters, not wanting the Candidate to get mauled. As Tarisk shot off into the darkness, calling out for all males who dared chase her. Finding himself feeling aggressive, horny, and holding onto a willing (if exceptionally taboo) partner, Tariv slammed the door to his room and did as flight-induced Weyrfolk are wont to do.
Several hours later, Tariv woke to find himself curled protectively around Zimarin, a rather happy Tarisk snoozing nearby. After a moment of sheer terror, he made sure the Candidate was (mostly) unharmed, then banished him from the Wherhandler Quarters. Despite his efforts to distance himself (and thus prevent anyone from finding out what he had done), he always found Z'marin right around the corner, or something similar. Eventually he would find all endeavors to keep away from the Bluerider completely in vain, ultimately giving up when he found Z'marin at his doorstep, grieving the loss of his flitt. While comforting the Weyrling, one thing led to another, and Tariv found himself explaining to a rather confused Blue that he had just been cuddling Z'marin. Unfortunately, it worked a little too well.
Once Z'marin graduated into a full Dragonrider, Tariv found himself avoiding him less and less. Though he's still not accepting of the arrangement, or the fact that a half-pubescent boy is (slightly successfully) attempting to woo him, the Wherhandler still allows Z'marin's occasional doting, and the occasional night of 'weakness.' As of recently, Tariv has been seen with Z'marin more recently; the Bluerider is more than happy to try to console the ex-Wherhandler after the accidental suicide of his Green. Spurred on by a panicking Grenth during Southern's attack on Maai, Tarisk attempted to chase after Maai's assassin, only she lacked coordinates. Unable to disobey the Queen, she Betweened without coordinates, never to be seen again.
His will completely decimated by the loss of his companion of eight years, Tariv sunk into a deep depression, broken only by Z'marin's concern when so much time had passed without a glance. Finding comfort with the boy in his arms, and feeling distinctly nihilistic, Tariv has decided he doesn't really care if anyone finds out or what they think about the arrangement. He already feels dead, there's nothing more they could do to hurt him.
Family:
Father: Vorem, Trader, deceased
Mother: Rynsis, Jewelry Smith
Brothers: Vrynem, Trader, deceased; Minesis, Trader, 28
Sister: Suminys, Journeyman Harper, 22
'Mate': Z'marin. Dragonrider, Blue Garanth
Species: Wher
Rank: Green
Code: 1aa71a
Gender: Female
Age: 8
Status: Deceased
Appearance:
For a species known mostly for its bulk and brawn, Tarisk is surprisingly dainty. Of course, one could never consider this Wher small, or even beautiful, for that matter, but she certainly strays over to the more aesthetically pleasing side of the spectrum. Her face is more kind than other Whers, certainly gnarled but not hideous. Her eyes are comparatively rather large, giving her a somewhat naive and young look. All limbs are rather long and gracile, and she manages to be quite agile.
Overall, her hide is a rich leaf green, full of the vigor and life of a warm spring day. Neon green speckles and bursts atop her wing membranes and down her spine, a few spots of a more limey color found here and there like little flowers hiding among the grass. Three neat bands of forest green stripe across her muzzle, a few more streaking on her neck just behind her headknobs. Finishing off, very faint tiger striping of a cooler shade of green mark what parts of her body aren't already splashed with something else.
Personality:
Tarisk is enigmatic if just for the fact that she is distinctly social. While Whers in general tend to be a bit more introverted, Tarisk is out there, her personality for all to see. She is a social butterfly, and on cool evenings she often gathers a flock of flitts about her, just for the company. Even a random hapless wandering Weyrfolk can be the victim of her joy, even if her side of the conversation is poorly worded at best and just a rush of pictures and feelings at worst. Quite a kind little Wher, few dislike her, and those that do generally are the kind that don't care for socialites anyway.
Though she is a independent individual, Tarisk none the less has an undying devotion to her handler. It is postulated that she will suicide if Tariv dies before her, which is quite possible. She dotes on him like a secondary mother, and when she does clutch, she guards her clutch as fiercely as any Queen. Still, bribe her enough to be her best friend, and she would let anyone grab her eggs.
Mindvoice:
For the most part, Tarisk does not have much of a voice, as her grasp on language is tentative at best. Most often, when she tries to speak, one receives more an impression of thoughts with pictures and feelings. She can get her meaning across for the most part, but those unfamiliar with her may find themselves completely lost in the jumble. When she is able to use words, they flutter like a moth, cheery and gentle, yet having an underlying coarseness to them. Despite her demeanor and effort, the roughness associated with Whers still shines through.
Name: The Shadow
Age: Hatchling
Gender: Female
Rank: Obsidian
Species: Crawler
Appearance:
Rather large for an Obsidian Crawler, when full-grown, Styg will easily stretch a full nine inches, if not a hair more. Thin and sleek, she gives the impression of a living dart. Able to slip into some of the tiniest of cracks, she often seems to come out of nowhere. Her coloration is mostly black and charcoal with a decidedly rosy overcast. Streaks of silver and white highlight her thighs, back, and ridges, giving the impression that this crawler has the metallic sheen of a royal color, though her hide is actually matte.
Personality:
Quiet, Brooding, Shy, Irascible
Egg: That One Egg
Hatching Scene:
A squeak? What was that?
Tariv lifted his head, peering around bleerily. Another squeak caused him to glare into the darkness. Lumbering, he shifted from his cot, trying to see in the inky blackness he had created in his room. There was a loud clatter, causing him to curse under his breath. Blind groping found the perpetrator - a plate that Zim had brought some time ago, along with an old, dried meatroll. That solved one mystery.
But what was that squeaking?
Something brushed against his arm, and moving with a swiftness he had not displayed in days, if not weeks, he found himself grasping a slithering body. As quickly as he had the thing, it was gone, slipping out of his hand easily. It returned after a moment, perching on his hand and munching on the old roll. A void in the darkness... a shadow.
And it disappeared. Scampered off. Off to stalk somewhere else.
Tariv gave his new Shadow a few moments of pondering, before laying back down yet again.
Parentage: Unknown