Post by mandafloon on Nov 6, 2011 16:47:46 GMT -5
Username: Mandafloon
Character Number: 3rd
Name: G'vril (Gavril)
Age: 22 turns
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Rank: Wingrider (has massive ambition though, would put himself in for wingsecond or wingleader in a heartbeat)
Wing: Black Cloud Wing or Twin Moon Wing.
Status: Peak condition.
Appearance: In a word, G'vril is opulent. And that doesn’t just mean physically. Tall and slender, he takes much after his mother, though his eyes are fully his fathers, gilt silver in sheen and burning with intelligence and cunning. His frame is slight but nothing like malnourished. His muscles are tight and pressed, sleek and shining through his unusually pale skin. His mother, it is said, has gifted him with both her own fair skin and perhaps a special cream to help guard his sensitive skin from the sun's vicious rays.
With his trademark smirk on his sharp-featured face, Gav is truly a sight to behold. His hair is a delightful pale hue, rare enough indeed, and elegantly smoothed slickly back. Perhaps if you were to sneak into his room early enough one morn you would find it was really a fluffy, bushy mess without some work? Who knows. Somehow he never seems out of sorts, and he gets up too early for you to catch him otherwise any ways. His father’s gift to him, his eyes, are a shocking gray, steely and cold, much like the rest of him. Don’t let the knowing look of malevolence in them stop you from ogling though. You know you want to.
His customary attire is in olive, black, and silver, and is only of the finest quality materials. After all, with his parents’ standing, how could he even think of being seen in anything but the very best leathers and fabrics? Black trousers and a green and silver-gilt tunic are one of the norms, as is a pair of dark bottoms and a white buttoned shirt with a vest of green or black. His boots are of the highest quality leather, as is the bag he carries with him a fair number of days. Both are black with sliver trim. And all of his winter clothing is lined with the softest of furs, as is his bed.
Personality:
G'vril gives a very strong impression on many people. The only child of a lord and lady holder, he was raised in elegance and has a learned outlook of haughtiness towards anyone and everyone he thinks lower than himself. He is assertive and sly, and perfectly willing to do whatever it takes to get what he wants. When he’s angry he is known to first yell, then threaten, then lash out. He may not be the most physically strong person, but his mind is well cunning enough to bring him out on top of most scraps, and he’s alarmingly good at getting out of the trouble that usually brings afterward.
He is a touch girl-shy, and to hide it he usually acts like quite the player, flirting harshly and criticizing harder. He’ll be seen with many of the most attractive girls from week to week, though deep inside he’s really just doing it to not seem so lonely. Along with that, though he is always bragging about his high lineage, he seems almost afraid of his parents, as if perhaps their relationship isn’t all he makes it out to be.
Unfortunately for those who become agitated by his arrogance, he seems to be quite good at anything he sets his mind to. He’s tried his hand at nearly every kind of craft and his quarters are bedecked with the fruits of his efforts, minimal that they seem for such spectacular results. Despite his obvious skills he is generally unhappy with the thought of going further into any craft, namely because it is ‘easy, pointless, and unamusing. And besides…Father wouldn’t like it’. His greatest fear is failure.
History: He is the first and only child of one Lord Holder Azhken and Lady Holder Rossiya. From the moment he was born he was raised in apparent luxury, given nearly everything he wanted. He was taught by his rather cruel parents to looks down upon the main of the populace, despite whatever his original thoughts may have been. He was groomed for leadership for his childhood before being deemed dragon-worthy. His parents resisted at first, but the thought of placing their son even higher in the ladder of power convinced them to send him off. Now on his own, his attitude is shifting a little, though it is hard to tell for sure. Perhaps the discipline of the weyr is for the better o his character. Or perhaps it’s all a show to get in the good graces of those above him and to minimize the threat of those below. Who knows for sure.
Excerpt from another post about his history:
For the larger part of his childhood Gavril had had both of them wrapped securely around his finger. He was not only their first child, but their only child, as they had decided that he was perfect at birth, and did not need a second heir. As such they were vastly indulgent of him, not only putting up with his childhood rants and tirades, but actually encouraging them. His turndays were lavish affairs, and he was never left wanting for anything, food, toys, entertainment. All was given to him at his whim and at any expense, and he grew to love and adore his parents as nigh-god figures.
True they likely had alternative motives. In spoiling him so horridly, he grew to hate being denied things, and began to associate that with bad behavior and failing at lessons. Once learned, the concept of this idea thrived in him, and he quickly took to the front of the classes, even leading some of the harpering ones on occasion. He became a perfect example of upper crust society in it's youth. Polite, controlled, and demanding of praise where due. By the age of six many in the hold were convinced his parents had been correct in naming him not only heir to their lordship over Xymed, but the perfect child.
However, not a year later, misfortune struck the once opulent hold. A disease of the crops left many people who lived beyond the stone walls of their home hungry, and they poured into Xymed, pressing even it beyond it's capacities. As his parents fell to the strain of running such a burdened home, they rounded on their unknowing child. Within the span of a turn the once cheerful and obedient boy had become a defensive, nearly violent whelp. He learned to bear up under the lash of his father's riding crop, and how to hide the marks it left.
As the famine passed, tensions eased. His parents attempted mightily at first to act as if the events in the past two years had not happened, and at first Gavril was all too eager to go along with it. Alas, there was still a good deal of tension between the parents and child, mainly between Gavril and his father. Slowly they drifted apart, becoming cold and aloof to each other. His parents still demanded perfection of their son, but now he was not rewarded for it. 'It is your duty as the future leader of this hold to appear as perfection to your subjects at all times.' was the motto he had branded into his mind every night. He took it to heart and soon adopted one of his mother's favorite tactics for dealing with people of importance. Bribery.
That is not to say that Gavril was without the skills necessary to achieve the visage of a perfect leader. Far from it. From the age of ten until he was 14, he was shuffled from crafthall to crafthall, where he was bent to every sort of task imaginable. He quickly learned that crafters were much to proud of their abilities to be bribed, and he was forced to actually try his hand at the assorted crafts. Much to the surprise of the crafters, and a little of Gavril himself, his talents swelled to life under the slightest tutelage. He could craft fine instruments, carve lifelike statues, tan a herdbeast's hide so well it was like velvet and silk to the touch. Regardless of this, he never stayed at one craft for more than a few months before claiming it to be a 'pointless' endeavor, a 'trivial skill beyond my need to know'.
In the last year of his travels, Gavril learned that once again famine had struck his home. He made haste to return there, only to find that his parents had diverted the crisis through an amazing feat of underhandedness, foul play, and the possibility of murder. After so long amongst the honorable crafters, he was aghast at the behavior of his parents, which extended into daily life, as they realized they had not only a penchant for darker ways, but also a love of it. And despite his desire to be nothing like his parents now, he ended up having to become like them to protect himself from them. Three years later almost nothing remained of the original Gavril, fully replaced by the smirking, critical boy found on the sands today.
Following this he stood, impressed, and has lived life at the weyr since.
Family: Lord Holder Azhken and Lady Holder Rossiya of some hold beholden to Solace but not that prominent.
Name: Ehsazath
Age: 4 turns
Gender: Male
Rank: Iron
Code: #D2BFA8 #752511 #57575D
Status: Peak condition.
Size: 40 feet.
Appearance: A gorgeous beast, he tips the scale for his color's size. He is the biggest, the best, the swiftest Iron on Pern. Or so he and G'vril seem to think. He is perfectly sculpted, despite being to massive, and an elegant match to his rider. Only the best for the best. His hide is a rich blend of grays, ranging from bright near-platinum along his underside to a more steely gray on his flanks. Smears and streaks of reddish hue accent his extremities and bring out the beauty of his slender wedge-shaped head.
His wings are short, typical of his color, lending to his agility. In the air he is a sight to behold, an artist of the sky. On the ground he prefers to walk very slowly...because his gait is rather clumsy, and he wants to both look more impressive, stepping slowly forward like the regal thing he is. (Not to mention it gives him time to be sure he's not tangling his feet.) He refuses to swim, finding the activity frivolous. He bathes only in warm shallows, so that he can lie upon the bottom. He is usually found reclining, one claw folded over the other, eyes half-lidded as he watches all around him with an intensity matched only by his rider's.
Personality: As snobbish as his rider, Ehsazath feels it is his right to be waited on hand and foot, and has yet to learn that he is not the king of everything he sees. Gavril has made attempts to teach him proper respect, knowing there would be problems if he continued on, though they haven't really stuck, as Gav is for one still vaguely proud of the king for being so superior, and he is also (unconsciously) slightly afraid to restrain the dragon and have him result with the same psychological wounds he himself has.
In public he is quiet and somber, even snappish sometimes, but in private he is...quiet and somber and humorous and snappish sometimes? Of course, his humor is often morbid or dark, and his conversation is even more so, though not particularly overdone. He has great ambition, and a flaming desire to show that Irons are just as good, no, better than bronzes. He is wickedly cunning, and often devious when it suits his needs. He would do almost anything to get himself and his rider ahead.
He finds chromatic dragons beneath him, and wouldn't deign to fly for a red or green or black if his life depended on it. He even looks down on coppers, finding them unamusing and a waste of good breathing air. He is kinder towards silvers, but reserves his true adoration for golds alone. Around them he is but a devoted servant, a slave, a lamb to be led to the slaughter...though more than likely he's just a wolf in sheep's clothing, waiting for his chance to take power.
Mindvoice: Ehsazath's mindvoice is deep, gentle, aand refined, if firm. His tone is often falsely encouraging, barely hiding the frosty layer of steel resolve beneath. You want to do what he says, you will do what he says. He is very well spoken when he chooses to speak, and his voice exudes confidence. He is a silver-tongued dragon to match his rider, and they compliment each other.
Egg: Silver Filigree Egg
Hatching Scene: Will do later
Parentage:
Character Number: 3rd
Name: G'vril (Gavril)
Age: 22 turns
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Rank: Wingrider (has massive ambition though, would put himself in for wingsecond or wingleader in a heartbeat)
Wing: Black Cloud Wing or Twin Moon Wing.
Status: Peak condition.
Appearance: In a word, G'vril is opulent. And that doesn’t just mean physically. Tall and slender, he takes much after his mother, though his eyes are fully his fathers, gilt silver in sheen and burning with intelligence and cunning. His frame is slight but nothing like malnourished. His muscles are tight and pressed, sleek and shining through his unusually pale skin. His mother, it is said, has gifted him with both her own fair skin and perhaps a special cream to help guard his sensitive skin from the sun's vicious rays.
With his trademark smirk on his sharp-featured face, Gav is truly a sight to behold. His hair is a delightful pale hue, rare enough indeed, and elegantly smoothed slickly back. Perhaps if you were to sneak into his room early enough one morn you would find it was really a fluffy, bushy mess without some work? Who knows. Somehow he never seems out of sorts, and he gets up too early for you to catch him otherwise any ways. His father’s gift to him, his eyes, are a shocking gray, steely and cold, much like the rest of him. Don’t let the knowing look of malevolence in them stop you from ogling though. You know you want to.
His customary attire is in olive, black, and silver, and is only of the finest quality materials. After all, with his parents’ standing, how could he even think of being seen in anything but the very best leathers and fabrics? Black trousers and a green and silver-gilt tunic are one of the norms, as is a pair of dark bottoms and a white buttoned shirt with a vest of green or black. His boots are of the highest quality leather, as is the bag he carries with him a fair number of days. Both are black with sliver trim. And all of his winter clothing is lined with the softest of furs, as is his bed.
Personality:
G'vril gives a very strong impression on many people. The only child of a lord and lady holder, he was raised in elegance and has a learned outlook of haughtiness towards anyone and everyone he thinks lower than himself. He is assertive and sly, and perfectly willing to do whatever it takes to get what he wants. When he’s angry he is known to first yell, then threaten, then lash out. He may not be the most physically strong person, but his mind is well cunning enough to bring him out on top of most scraps, and he’s alarmingly good at getting out of the trouble that usually brings afterward.
He is a touch girl-shy, and to hide it he usually acts like quite the player, flirting harshly and criticizing harder. He’ll be seen with many of the most attractive girls from week to week, though deep inside he’s really just doing it to not seem so lonely. Along with that, though he is always bragging about his high lineage, he seems almost afraid of his parents, as if perhaps their relationship isn’t all he makes it out to be.
Unfortunately for those who become agitated by his arrogance, he seems to be quite good at anything he sets his mind to. He’s tried his hand at nearly every kind of craft and his quarters are bedecked with the fruits of his efforts, minimal that they seem for such spectacular results. Despite his obvious skills he is generally unhappy with the thought of going further into any craft, namely because it is ‘easy, pointless, and unamusing. And besides…Father wouldn’t like it’. His greatest fear is failure.
History: He is the first and only child of one Lord Holder Azhken and Lady Holder Rossiya. From the moment he was born he was raised in apparent luxury, given nearly everything he wanted. He was taught by his rather cruel parents to looks down upon the main of the populace, despite whatever his original thoughts may have been. He was groomed for leadership for his childhood before being deemed dragon-worthy. His parents resisted at first, but the thought of placing their son even higher in the ladder of power convinced them to send him off. Now on his own, his attitude is shifting a little, though it is hard to tell for sure. Perhaps the discipline of the weyr is for the better o his character. Or perhaps it’s all a show to get in the good graces of those above him and to minimize the threat of those below. Who knows for sure.
Excerpt from another post about his history:
For the larger part of his childhood Gavril had had both of them wrapped securely around his finger. He was not only their first child, but their only child, as they had decided that he was perfect at birth, and did not need a second heir. As such they were vastly indulgent of him, not only putting up with his childhood rants and tirades, but actually encouraging them. His turndays were lavish affairs, and he was never left wanting for anything, food, toys, entertainment. All was given to him at his whim and at any expense, and he grew to love and adore his parents as nigh-god figures.
True they likely had alternative motives. In spoiling him so horridly, he grew to hate being denied things, and began to associate that with bad behavior and failing at lessons. Once learned, the concept of this idea thrived in him, and he quickly took to the front of the classes, even leading some of the harpering ones on occasion. He became a perfect example of upper crust society in it's youth. Polite, controlled, and demanding of praise where due. By the age of six many in the hold were convinced his parents had been correct in naming him not only heir to their lordship over Xymed, but the perfect child.
However, not a year later, misfortune struck the once opulent hold. A disease of the crops left many people who lived beyond the stone walls of their home hungry, and they poured into Xymed, pressing even it beyond it's capacities. As his parents fell to the strain of running such a burdened home, they rounded on their unknowing child. Within the span of a turn the once cheerful and obedient boy had become a defensive, nearly violent whelp. He learned to bear up under the lash of his father's riding crop, and how to hide the marks it left.
As the famine passed, tensions eased. His parents attempted mightily at first to act as if the events in the past two years had not happened, and at first Gavril was all too eager to go along with it. Alas, there was still a good deal of tension between the parents and child, mainly between Gavril and his father. Slowly they drifted apart, becoming cold and aloof to each other. His parents still demanded perfection of their son, but now he was not rewarded for it. 'It is your duty as the future leader of this hold to appear as perfection to your subjects at all times.' was the motto he had branded into his mind every night. He took it to heart and soon adopted one of his mother's favorite tactics for dealing with people of importance. Bribery.
That is not to say that Gavril was without the skills necessary to achieve the visage of a perfect leader. Far from it. From the age of ten until he was 14, he was shuffled from crafthall to crafthall, where he was bent to every sort of task imaginable. He quickly learned that crafters were much to proud of their abilities to be bribed, and he was forced to actually try his hand at the assorted crafts. Much to the surprise of the crafters, and a little of Gavril himself, his talents swelled to life under the slightest tutelage. He could craft fine instruments, carve lifelike statues, tan a herdbeast's hide so well it was like velvet and silk to the touch. Regardless of this, he never stayed at one craft for more than a few months before claiming it to be a 'pointless' endeavor, a 'trivial skill beyond my need to know'.
In the last year of his travels, Gavril learned that once again famine had struck his home. He made haste to return there, only to find that his parents had diverted the crisis through an amazing feat of underhandedness, foul play, and the possibility of murder. After so long amongst the honorable crafters, he was aghast at the behavior of his parents, which extended into daily life, as they realized they had not only a penchant for darker ways, but also a love of it. And despite his desire to be nothing like his parents now, he ended up having to become like them to protect himself from them. Three years later almost nothing remained of the original Gavril, fully replaced by the smirking, critical boy found on the sands today.
Following this he stood, impressed, and has lived life at the weyr since.
Family: Lord Holder Azhken and Lady Holder Rossiya of some hold beholden to Solace but not that prominent.
Name: Ehsazath
Age: 4 turns
Gender: Male
Rank: Iron
Code: #D2BFA8 #752511 #57575D
Status: Peak condition.
Size: 40 feet.
Appearance: A gorgeous beast, he tips the scale for his color's size. He is the biggest, the best, the swiftest Iron on Pern. Or so he and G'vril seem to think. He is perfectly sculpted, despite being to massive, and an elegant match to his rider. Only the best for the best. His hide is a rich blend of grays, ranging from bright near-platinum along his underside to a more steely gray on his flanks. Smears and streaks of reddish hue accent his extremities and bring out the beauty of his slender wedge-shaped head.
His wings are short, typical of his color, lending to his agility. In the air he is a sight to behold, an artist of the sky. On the ground he prefers to walk very slowly...because his gait is rather clumsy, and he wants to both look more impressive, stepping slowly forward like the regal thing he is. (Not to mention it gives him time to be sure he's not tangling his feet.) He refuses to swim, finding the activity frivolous. He bathes only in warm shallows, so that he can lie upon the bottom. He is usually found reclining, one claw folded over the other, eyes half-lidded as he watches all around him with an intensity matched only by his rider's.
Personality: As snobbish as his rider, Ehsazath feels it is his right to be waited on hand and foot, and has yet to learn that he is not the king of everything he sees. Gavril has made attempts to teach him proper respect, knowing there would be problems if he continued on, though they haven't really stuck, as Gav is for one still vaguely proud of the king for being so superior, and he is also (unconsciously) slightly afraid to restrain the dragon and have him result with the same psychological wounds he himself has.
In public he is quiet and somber, even snappish sometimes, but in private he is...quiet and somber and humorous and snappish sometimes? Of course, his humor is often morbid or dark, and his conversation is even more so, though not particularly overdone. He has great ambition, and a flaming desire to show that Irons are just as good, no, better than bronzes. He is wickedly cunning, and often devious when it suits his needs. He would do almost anything to get himself and his rider ahead.
He finds chromatic dragons beneath him, and wouldn't deign to fly for a red or green or black if his life depended on it. He even looks down on coppers, finding them unamusing and a waste of good breathing air. He is kinder towards silvers, but reserves his true adoration for golds alone. Around them he is but a devoted servant, a slave, a lamb to be led to the slaughter...though more than likely he's just a wolf in sheep's clothing, waiting for his chance to take power.
Mindvoice: Ehsazath's mindvoice is deep, gentle, aand refined, if firm. His tone is often falsely encouraging, barely hiding the frosty layer of steel resolve beneath. You want to do what he says, you will do what he says. He is very well spoken when he chooses to speak, and his voice exudes confidence. He is a silver-tongued dragon to match his rider, and they compliment each other.
Egg: Silver Filigree Egg
Hatching Scene: Will do later
Parentage: