Approved by Tawny

Name: Feragall

Age: 25

Gender: Male

Rank: Wher Candidate

Appearance:

Feragall is a short young man - only about 5’3” - with a close-cropped head of curly ginger hair and pale skin. Although built low, he’s undoubtably built sturdily, with wiry muscle that is the product of dragon candidacy followed by wher candidacy. He’s surprisingly strong, and has a knack for finding the right place to lift things that no one man should be able to lift. When permitted, he has a taste for pretty jewellery and brightly coloured clothing and furs, and particularly loves southern fashions.

He has a large beaky nose and an easy - even handsome - smile, and expressive green eyes which make it incredibly difficult for him to hide what he’s feeling at any given moment... not that he really wants to, but it would be nice.

Personality:

Feragall is brave - but perhaps this is simply foolhardiness, as he never stops to think before he plunges into a situation. As far as he is concerned, there is no other option besides bravery. Although another option may occur to him after the event, in the heat of the moment he’ll always do the brave thing… which may also be the very, very stupid thing. He’s undoubtably going to pay for this, which is made worse by his unwavering loyalty.

When Feragall makes close friends, he will never betray them, never let them down, always stand by them, do his best to conceal their faults and support them in every way. This isn’t always a good thing, however, and he will find it hard to adapt it to a world that has more shades of grey. He will only let go of such friends when faced with overwhelming proof of their wrongdoing… and then kick himself for being so stupid.

He is also a kind man and frankly a bit of a bleeding heart, brought to tears easily and ready to fight the cause of righteousness (or possibly just give wrongdoing a good kicking) at any given point. He’s not blessed with an over-abundance of brains, and definitely struggled with the written parts of candidacy.

Honour is deeply important to Feragall, and it can honestly be said that he would die before dishonouring himself. He fully subscribes to the oaths he takes, and will never lie or fail to pursue glory. Although handling a wher is not as glorious as being a rider it’s a close second, and the Weyr *needs* it’s wherhandlers to take the burden of law-keeping during a pass. Feragall is desperate to serve the Weyr and to repay a little of what’s been given to him, and will leap at any chance to prove himself.

However, Feragall’s main flaw is that he holds grudges like nobody’s business - he will never forgive, he will never forget, and his good opinion once lost is lost forever. He’s also got a bad habit of simply picking things up: food is never safe around him, and he’ll cheerfully pick off of other people’s plates, and small valueless items like bottles of ink or mugs may simply be walked off with.

Feragall loves to fight, and he also loves to drink: these two things are not unrelated, and often occur in close proximity to each other. He’s the sort of man who can (and possibly will) start a fight in every inn just for the fun of it. He’s a skilled swordsman, though he knows just as much about using his fists and feet - and often prefers them. He's also prone to romance and romantic notions - it's a rare sevenday when he's not wooing a lady or gentleman, and he has a tendency towards writing terrible poetry in true William McGonagal style.

Pros: Brave, loyal, faithful, kind, true and honourable, irrepressible, romantic and prone to Poetry, absolutely fearless

Cons: Foolhardy, not bright, holds grudges like nobody’s business, *never* looks before he leaps, thieving tailfork (this thing he picked up doesn’t belong to him? but he just picked it up!), rowdy, likes to fight and drink.

History:

Born 178, HR Weyr.
Enters candidacy 190
Dragonplague 193, oh dear oh dear
Part of the desert clutch, but didn't impress
Didn't impress at all
How does this affect him?
Turn 199, ages out.
Mope mope mope
Wher candidacy? Well, if you can't ride...

Feragall was six when he was brought back to the Weyr in 184, along with his twelve turn old sister, by their mother. The green rider had left the Weyr fourteen turns earlier for a marriage to a fairly prosperous Nabolese Holder - it was true love, though G’lien found it difficult to exchange the freedom and power that came with being a rider for the life of a Holder’s wife, something that did from time to time put considerable strain on their marriage.

She didn’t return to the Weyr so much as flee - her husband’s family became embroiled in a blood feud, and after his death she felt that her position had become untenable… and that the life of her children was in danger. G’lien packed them onto Caravath in the early hours of the morning after her husband’s murder and never went back. The Weyr took her back into a low wing (something that G’lien found a little humiliating), and there were a series of negotiations over whether her children would be eligible for candidacy.

Feragall found the whole experience terrifying and - unsurprisingly - deeply upsetting: overnight, his father and everything he knew disappeared, and he was reduced from the favoured heir of a small hold to just another child in the creche. His big sister disappeared into candidacy, and his mother was suddenly busy, and… well, no-one really had the sort of one-on-one time for him that perhaps they should have done. He acted out, he gleefully started fights, and quickly became a ‘problem’ child and no-one’s favourite to watch.

After six months of this, an unamused creche worker found him a foster-mother: Jerien was a retired bronze rider who took very little nonsense, and Feragall would (if he actually thought about it) credit a lot of himself to her. They were very close until her death three turns ago at the age of seventy-eight: she curbed his worse tendencies and encouraged his better, and Feragall still fondly remembers her teaching him to read and write (something he struggled with: it’s entirely possible that he is dyslexic, and no-one ever, ever, will look forward to reading his chickenscratch reports).

He entered candidacy at the age of twelve in 190, following his older sister who had impressed several turns before. The first clutch he stood for was Sereveth’s in 192, but he failed to Impress… something that would become a pattern. The next turn is one that he doesn’t like to remember much: his mother and sister died in the early months of the plague, and he was sent away to Igen with Hiraeth and her suitors. The fifteen turn old not only failed to impress in that rather bloody incident, but nearly found his story cut short at the claws of a panicked green. His stomach and chest have a series of deep scars caused by the hatchling, who’d knocked him over and clambered straight over him. The young man returned to the Weyr shattered emotionally - and a little physically. After several months getting back up to a physical state where he could stand again, he stood. And stood. And stood.

He eventually aged out in 199 after Evmeth’s clutch, something which seems to have knocked the young man back. After all, the idea of being a rider was his life - it was what his mother had wanted for him, and… well, what else was he going to do? He could go ‘home’ to his hold, but if he chose to do that - well, he’d be involved in a blood feud from the get-go and honour-bound to avenge his father’s murder in a way no rider would be.

The answer turned out to be ‘sign up with the wherhandlers’… after a few months of moping around the Weyr and only waking up in other people’s beds. It was during this time that he attracted Jereil, a drudge who was looking for something a little better… albeit not entirely by working for it. Although all his friends warned him against the utterly stupid affair, it only broke off a few months ago when she found a better offer in a handsome green rider. Being Feragall, he didn’t see through her until then - and is still deeply proud of their son (who may or may not be his - he declines to investigate further, because it’s Not Important) Fereil.

He feels now that signing on with the wherhandlers is one of the best things he could have done - he feels comfortable around the big beasts in a way he didn’t really in the air, and squiring to Porthan was more fun then it should have been. The clustershaffup that lead to his squiremaster’s whers death was one he was involved in, and he came out of the fight mostly intact but without his master: after all, he couldn’t squire to a man without a wher. Instead, the candidate was transferred to Phantom Hunt under a new squiremaster… after helping his friend get very, very drunk.