Name: T’rik, formerly Tarikkan, affectionately ‘Rik
Age: 29
Nameday: 3546.01.27
Sex: Male
Sexual Orientation: Bisexual
Weyr: Western Weyr
Rider Rank: Wingrider
Previous Rank/Craft: Caravanner/Merchant
Physical Description: A wiry fellow standing at 5’10, T’rik is not an impressive man at first glance. He has a merchant’s measuring grin, and mischievous hazel green eyes. But upon closer inspection, it is easy to see the sunny, effervescent quality to his expression, to see the compact muscle in his lean frame, and to appreciate the slender, almost gaunt angles of his youthful face. He is a man who has seen the worst of the world and still continues to smile.
With a very pale complexion, any hint of colour seems to pop on his figure. He has short, messily-cut, spiky bark brown hair, and sports a permanent five o’ clock shadow (which he does take a great deal of pride in, and effort into maintaining). He likes the overall roguish, devil-may-care look, even if he cannot entirely pull it off due to a complete and utter lack of seriousness. He has a long, thin nose, bow-shaped lips, and very expressive eyebrows to emphasise big, round, thickly-lashed eyes.
His build speaks of a certain nimbleness and dexterity- which he possesses in spadefuls. He unfortunately is a little less endurant than other riders, and tends to contract whatever seasonal bug is doing the rounds with a degree of ease. Broken bones also tend to be a running joke with him- most especially wrists and ankles. A long scar trails down the top of his left thigh, starting slightly below his pelvis and ending at his knee joint; it has caused him issues with walking, due to the severity of the torn muscle beneath. Bad dismounts are especially problematic, and he takes great care with his straps. His dress sense can lean a little towards fancy shirts and impractical trousers, but he understands his duty to his Weyr and to Pern, and has a set of working clothes that he cares for like any other rider might. He prefers tones of brown and green, to complement his eyes.
Personality:Intelligent and witty, this young man was gifted with a brilliant sense of humour, charisma and a particular kind of magnetism. It is his strongly-held belief that most any bad situation can be talked out of, and that he is the right man for the job (he is not- do not send him on any diplomatic tasks). T’rik is the picture of social grace and charm, all smooth-talking and casual, easy-going friendship. He is also, however, abysmally bad at focusing on a single task, and can become somewhat recalcitrant when annoyed. His youthful spirit and approach to life is undeniable.
This young man enjoys good conversation, preferring to spend time with more sociable people. He measures a portion of his happiness by the amount of folk who would stop him in the weyrbowl to say hi. T’rik delights in bringing smiles to those friends and acquaintances who seem forlorn or melancholic. He is engaging and personable, although at times a little emotionally shallow: complex problems requiring a confidant may need another set of ears. In the right circumstances (and with the right wine plus bedfellow), he can be brought to commiserate past experiences- otherwise, he does his utmost not to dwell on the past. T’rik possesses rather fantastic people skills, and has a well-trained eye for measuring others and their needs. He prides himself on his ability to sell an impossible idea to a reluctant companion.
T’rik is a rather relaxed, happy-go-lucky and playful sort. At his core, he is genuinely warm-hearted and good-natured. Unfortunately, he deals with the perceived day-to-day drudgery with a particular brand of selfish whimsy, and may strike some as callous and a bit of a practical joker. He is most definitely restless- a fidgety, always-on-the-go type who is happier when in motion or time enjoying leisure. Unfortunately, this sunny disposition gives him an unfailing, quasi-naive optimism: even when a situation is dire, T’rik will grin, grit his teeth and tell those who might be listening that everything is going to be okay. Even when it’s not. He can be insufferable. He can be utterly frustrating to manage.
He has an irreverent attitude towards hierarchy and authority that must be kept in check. As a child he was always a bit wilful and adventurous, and it has bled into his adult life as a general lack of concern for anything important or urgent. He just can’t bring himself to care about drama or problems- be they his or anybody else’s. Stuffiness frustrates him, and though he understands he needs to rein in his attitude or face Consequences, he still complains in private, to those he can and does trust. That being said- he doesn’t hate authority because they are in a position of power: it’s those who enjoy wielding their power and shoving it over the lower-ranked that irk him. He’s witnessed enough power-hungry people in his life to never want to see them again.
For all of his flightiness, his selfishness, his chatty, charming ways, T’rik is a kind person deep down. He does care dearly about his friends, and shells, some of his family too. He values social attachments despite his casual approach to them. He is a reliable, dependable fellow when it comes down to the wire, determined to do what good he can for the world in which he lives. T’rik has impressive personal resilience, cultivated over Turns of soul-searching and striving for independence.
Positive Trait List Sunny - Jocular - Dependable
Negative Trait List Irreverent - Restless - Panglossian
History:The second-born son of a steward, and the nephew of the Lord and Lady of Koras, Tarikkan knew relative comfort and stability as he grew. This turned out to be rather unfortunate for those around him: the small, mountainous minor Hold only held so much appeal to an adventurous, inquisitive and keen young spirit such as his. From the day he could outmaneuver his carers, Rik sought new experiences and trouble alike. Some of his siblings joined him in his whimsical wanderings sometimes; other times, family members would often reluctantly drag him back home.
It was idyllic, if not ideal. Looking back now, Rik appreciates his home and life far more than he ever did as a child. Growing up, he chafed against the boundaries set upon him by his rigid father, and bristled against the
stupid Harper teachings. It wasn't a matter of him being unintelligent- far from it, the young boy was far too clever for his own good. It was just so… tedious. So irrelevant. Who needed to know their ballads when they were all written down anyway? And who cared exactly how much greenery ranged in the cracks of the Hold’s stones? Not him, that’s for sure. That was somebody else’s job.
His father intended for him to follow in his footsteps, to ascend to stewardship as some cousin or other became Lord or Lady of the Hold. Young Tarikkan couldn’t imagine anything more dull, and at age fourteen began to plot his escape. He studied maps- and his sudden interest in scrolls and records and learning brought a wave of relief to his parents. He engaged caravanners and merchants in discussions of their trade routes, and the places they visited. So many exciting stories, and so much to see!
He decided he would visit Western Hold. Another continent would make it harder for his family to protest or convince him to return, or worse. Tarikkan made plans, gathered resources, and one night stole away on a caravan that was heading towards a port. From there, he embarked on a ship as a passenger. Life was exciting. Life was good. He was a sixteen Turn old brat with a head full of dreams and a desire to see the world.
Upon arrival, he sought work amongst the merchants and traders of Western Hold. A jovial fellow took him on, seeing potential in his silver tongued ways. Deskyn managed a rather large caravan group- he engaged crafter families, harpers and entertainers, and even a bronze dragonrider amongst them! There was much to learn, although Tarikk had already some skills in bartering and inventory stock as the son of a steward.
Things went very wrong three Turns later, aged nineteen. The caravan was ambushed, the dragonrider having gone ahead to scout. Armed with basic weapons, the caravanners made a solid attempt at repelling the bandits, but many were slain. Tarikk went down in the process- sustaining a nasty gash across his right thigh that left him unable to support his own weight. O'dyn, the dragonrider, returned almost immediately. With his help the bandits were dispatched.
The days to come are hazy memories for the young man. He remembered the deep, sorrowful keen of the bronze as the rider came to terms with the death of his wife. He remembered being taken aboard the dragon's back, and the dark, nothing chill of
Between. There were healers, sutures and someone kind enough to feed him soup whilst he was suffering fever-dreams. At some point in time, he found himself being able to see clearly once more. There were so many dragons! He began to learn to walk again- rehabilitating from the injury with persistent, sunny optimism and dedication.
Deskyn had died in the attack. His daughter had too- but her children had survived, assisted by their bronzerider father. The caravanners held talks of their future. Some wanted to disband. Others fractured into smaller groups, returning to western Holds. As for Tarikk, he longed to stay at the Weyr. The ballads from his childhood suddenly seemed a lot more real, and life was good here. This could be a
great life, if he could find a way to be useful, even indispensable…
He offered his services as a dogsbody. Still nineteen, he found himself helping with runners, gutting fish, fixing netting and other menial tasks. And then one day, Ansheth, the caravan’s bronze, leaned towards him and whispered in his mind;
you would make a good rider, should you choose that path. The shock of mental contact caused him to drop the basket he’d been carrying- but more than that, the possibility… even the faintest chance that he might
belong. He
could be a dragonrider.
Two Turns later, his fate changed. A rather lean, almost skeletal-looking blue broke free from his shell before settling down in the sand, apparently bored with the whole circus that was the hatching. There were whispers that he was tired, that perhaps he wasn’t quite ready to face the world… but Tarikk got a rather strong sensation that he was just biding his time, waiting until he knew--
You do think a lot, don’t you? You’re not as aggravating as the others present, which is nice. I suppose food is the next order of business, unless you want your Kiyanarth to waste away. It was a voice that sounded much older than a young baby dragon ought to produce. There was a bit of a drawl, a haughty hint of humour that bordered on sardonic. And yet, twinkling rainbow eyes stared at him from across the sands. The blue’s gaze was fixed on him.
“Oh. Kiyanarth! Of course!” It was slow and steady- the dragon was self-controlled straight from the shell. Yet that adoring, certain, self-assured love and pride trickled slowly into his mind, awakening a new sense of self- summoning such deep love and affection of his own he couldn’t quite stop the tears trickling down his face.
Why are you- look, don’t cry. There’s no need. Hello. I’m here. Yes. I’m real. Wherry-brain. The drawling humour returned once more, and he shifted from his spot on the sand to greet his bonded with a gentle, loving headbump.
Narth was… well, he was a character. He maintained appearances of a grumpy, taciturn, old-before-his-time blue; but beneath that haughty, standoffish exterior was a dragon who cared so much he would bleed for his bonded and friends. He was clever, but snarky, and was considered recalcitrant in training only because he spent too much time pondering if the orders given were the best and most effective. He
thought too much. T’rik had to learn how to take orders himself, and tried to teach him likewise. It was not the easiest process- but eventually they graduated. Not top of their class, but bright enough not to be bottom.
They joined the fighting wings. Kiyanarth made some friends amongst his peers- which was a rather lovely experience, overall. He did his best to fit in, and as he aged became more amenable to taking his leaders’ orders without second-guessing their experience and wisdom.
And everything fell apart, three Turns ago, when Thread returned.
A large clump of thread swept towards a wingmate during their first Fall. The brown had not seen it coming, but Narth had. He put on a burst of speed and opened his maw wide to flame, but a sudden gust of wind pushed it off course.
The clump veered towards him, before wrapping around his right foreleg. He bellowed. T’rik screamed. Shocked, the pair dropped like a stone, before T’rik had enough sense to take them
Between.
They crashed into the the weyrbowl of Western, unable to adjust their landing in time. Narth groaned and screamed, T’rik sliding from his back to rush to his head. His dragon’s eyes were grey with pain. The moment stretched endlessly, pain and torment intermingling. Together, they endured.
The foreleg had to be amputated.
It took a couple of Turns to heal, recover and rehabilitate. T'rik's unvoiced sympathy was a boon Narth did not realise he needed; his rider had been in the same position, Turns ago. Now they were both limpy-freaks! His dry, sarcastic wit might have made him seem grouchy to the rest of the world, but it helped Narth make his peace with his tripod-ness. To this day, the pair still amuse themselves with a game of nickname creation.
Other: Siblings and family members are available for adoption if desired. ^^
DRAGON
Name: Kiyanarth
Age: 8
Color: Blue
Size: 29.5’
Physical Description: A bright, almost hypnotising blue, Narth is a lean, tall dragon. Despite maturing into a capable, muscular adult, he still retains the skeletal air of his hatchling days. He looks underfed, despite a very healthy appetite. One might describe his hide as icy, or snow-touched, and a dark swirling pattern traces around his eye.
As a result of the first 'Fall, Kiyanarth lost his front right leg.
Personality:A critical and judgemental dragon, Kiyanarth has a rather mean and severe opinion of strangers. He is slow to trust, preferring to speak only to his rider and close friends. As a result, he can seem cold and standoffish. Those who mess up in Threadfall are especially bad- and he'll remember wingmates' poor performances for weeks afterwards. He has high expectations of his fellows, but also possesses a rather destructive opinion that they are all going to fail him anyway, shells. When it comes to authority, he has gotten better at following orders over the Turns, though he still gives respect only to those who earn it.
But there is very little Narth wouldn't do to help or support others, as much as he might bemoan this fate. He is kind deep down, and filled with a certain amount of good intentions. He is a willing ear for those he considers friends, and surprisingly more empathic and mature than his grouchy, irascible ways first suggest. Though stubborn in his opinions and advice- he wouldn't give them if they weren't
top quality- he can be soft and gentle if needed; no plight too silly or heavy to bear.
When it comes to love, he is picky. Kiyanarth appreciates and values his own company- whichever lady chooses him needs to do likewise. He is
pretty fantastic, afterall… It would take a very particular kind of dragon to get him to settle- loving and prickly and affectionate and full of good humour- preferably the dry kind. Well, he isn't fussed if she's not around. He is very confident in his own self and abilities.
Positive Trait List Compassionate - Intuitive - Intelligent
Negative Trait List Brooding - Judgemental - Dry
Dragon Art or Proof of Obtainment: Main Thread dice roll
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