Name: Z'iv (Zerivon)
Age: 30
Gender: Male
Sexual Preference: Bisexual
Rank: Wingrider
Former Craft: Trader
Description: The rider is of average height, and as slim, supple, and quick as a whip. He has a kind of languid, lazy grace about him, and often gives off an air of either resigned ennui, or wry amusement. The first thing that people tend to notice about him while he's in riding gear are his eyes; bright green as they are they would be quite striking in any face, but thanks to his fine-boned features, deeply tanned complexion, and his inky black hair they really stand out.
When he's not in his riding gear, however, it will probably be his clothes that first catch the eye; once a Trader always a Trader he dresses with colourful, eclectic flare. Some notable items in his wardrobe are a pair of red trousers split down both sides, held together with criss-crossing gold ribbon, a white shirt that has huge sleeves drawn together at the wrists with cuffs that then fall over his hands, and a pair of thigh high leather boots with a notable heel.
As well as an eye catching wardrobe, he has a fairly impressive jewellery box; the actual value of items doesn't seem to matter to him, he'll wear a real gold arm ring alongside simple wooden bangles, the only rule seems to be that he likes the pieces and that they look good with what he's wearing. (Height: average. Build: slim and supple. Hair: black, straight fine strands but thick, shoulder-blade length. Skin: tanned evenly all over; naked sunbathing is involved. Eyes: bright green. Face: fine boned, bordering on pretty)
Personality: An amiable cynic, lazy but given to sudden bursts of activity. Z'iv isn't as much of a contradiction as summarizing him in a sentence makes him sound; he expects the worst of life in general, but not necessarily of the people around him. They're all in the same boat, up the same creek, without the same instrument after all, except for the bastards who get everything handed to them on a gold bronze silver platter. He presumes that people he doesn't know, or knows and dislikes, will try to use him just as he would try to use them, but he trusts that those he does know and like are on his side, and he in turn is on their side. Additionally, while he is cynical, he has a kind of dry, wry, darkly amused attitude to his own view of the world, and about the things that happen to him. Rather than whining that life is unfair and difficult he'll make a witty, snarky, or facetious observation about whatever it is that's just happened, or he expects to happen.
As to laziness, perhaps it would be more apt to say that he's languid, and conserves his energy. If there's nothing that needs doing he won't waste strength by pacing or wadnering aimlessly; he'd rather sprawl somewhere and top up his all over tan. When it comes to time to move, however, he really can move; while he doesn't dance or perform acrobatics as much as he used to he's kept up the muscles, flexibility, speed, and stamina necessary to put on a good show, or run like hell when everything goes Tango Uniform. Even when he is sprinting or turning a backflip, however, he manages to look lazy, as if every motion is completely effortless. As he rather likes his cool and casual image, he does his best to keep up this unruffled air until he's in private, whereupon it's acceptable to collapse in a heap and get his breath back.
While he is gregarious and loves to be surrounded by people, in general Z'iv doesn't chatter on; he's more likely to put in snarky/witty comments, or to make observations/remarks about the people or situation around him than to be the one dominating the talk/gossip. As with physical action, however, when there's something he really wants said, a point he really wants to make he'll use that Trader's mouth to full effect and talk non-stop until he's either been heard out or physically threatened. Yea, he's not a fan of threats. He's been in his share of scuffles, although mainly before he came to the Weyr, but he would much rather talk his way out of a bad situation than fight. If it does come to a fight he'll try to end it as swiftly as possible, with as little bodily harm done to himself as possible. If that means being underhanded and kicking his opponent where it hurts so be it, his hide is more important than his honour thanks so much.
It's also worth noting that he's kind of vain. He's handsome (or pretty), and he knows it; nature blessed him with a fine face, fine eyes, and fabulous hair, and he put in the hard work to make his body good enough to match. Insulting his looks... well it won't get you anywhere actually, at most you'll get a smirk and a short laugh out of him; he's completely secure in his vanity, and while he likes compliments he doesn't really need them.
His confidence is fairly all-encompassing actually; while he believes that the deck of life is fairly well stacked against him getting anywhere he trusts in his ability to count the cards, and believe that if he sets his mind to it (and is willing to put in the effort) he could achieve just about anything. It is only through Erebeth's chivvying, however, that he does make that effort; had he not Impressed he would would probably never have bothered to use his wit and intellect to move ahead in life, and he certainly wouldn't have done so consistently. In his case the dragon really has made the man, or made the man get off his backside and make the effort at any rate.
History: Born to a Trader family in the back of a wagon rumbling from one Hold to another, Zerivon's childhood was chaotic and free. He ran barefoot in the streets, rode runners bareback, and learned how to make a quick mark. Thanks to his pretty face, striking eyes, and agility his speciality became dancing and acrobatics. Sometimes he genuinely earned his money this way, sometimes the purpose of his performance was distracting a crowd so that other members of the caravan could move around picking pockets. He learned the tricks of theft too, and employed these himself when somebody else was on diversion duty, as well as learning to employ sleight of had with flare to entertain and thus earn more money. Like any good Trader he also developed 'the gift of the gab', meaning that he could sell a nonplussed holder his own wherries at twice their value and have them thank him for it.
While this was all well and good, as he grew through his teens he began to develop a feeling of ennui; is this all there is? He was never going to grow up to run the caravan, so he'd always have to hand over a cut of his earnings, and he was bright enough to know that sooner or later his luck would probably run out and he'd be branded as the thief he was. In short, he didn't feel that he could sustain his life as it was long term, and nor did he really want to; as a middle child in a big family, which in turn was one small and not especially important part of the whole interconnected community he felt unimportant and under appreciated.
So it was than when a searchrider from Ista Weyr swept down upon the Hold Zerivon and the rest of the caravan were fleecing doing business with and picked him out as a potential candidate, he took the opportunity after only minimal hesitation. Sure dragonriders were irrelevant to modern life, but he could put up with their archaic ways and pointless drills if it meant he got a dragon. With a dragon, in his free time, he could go anywhere, do anything, bring the rarest of goods from one end of Pern to the other in the blink of an eye. Then they'd see who the most important member of the family, of the whole Trader group was. After pointing out the potential benefits to his parents and to the head of the caravan, Zerivon was allowed to climb onto the green dragon with his bag of possessions and disappear bound for his new life.
The rigid structure of candidate life came as a nasty shock to the seventeen turn old who, until that point, had enjoyed almost complete freedom. Sure he'd had to help cook, wash clothes, look after runners and so on but such chores had only been a small part of his day back with the caravan; having them take up most of his life did not please him at all. Neither did lessons; he was happy to learn about the care of dragons, but he felt that Weyr history and politics were a waste of his valuable time. After a couple of rounds of punishment duties for speaking out of turn, however, he learned to save his snarking for the candidate dorms, away from anyone who might decide to make him clean the latrines for a week straight. The only thing that stopped him from giving up and leaving in the end was the companionship he found in a tough, friendly, and rather handsome weyrbrat named Brekar. Zerivon had had a few girls before, and a couple of boys, but for the first time he found himself actually falling in love rather than just into bed. Brekar's energy and enthusiasm contrasted starkly to Zerivon's rather lazy cynicism, but then it is said that opposites attract. The pair kept their liason quiet, but the people around them probably suspected something was going on at least.
After what felt like forever to Zerivon, the hatching came around. Shells cracked spilling out greens and blues, and joyful bonds were made; the very first of the day was Brekar - B'kar - to a pretty little green who wanted a big strong man to protect her from the big scary world she suddenly found herself thrust into. It was getting towards the end of the hatching when a different colour finally showed itself; a handsome stocky bronze trotted over to a very surprised looking Holdborn lad, shattering the hopes of many of the males on the sand. Zerivon, however, remained indifferent; lessons had taught him well enough that one of the biggest males wouldn't even consider him, a fact that he rather resented. Stupid bronzes didn't know what they were missing, and nor did their uptight riders come to that. When it came down to the cracking of the penultimate shell Zerivon had more or less given up on being picked, and regarded the dark brown dragonet that emerged with slightly bored resignation, waiting for it to choose another boy. A moment later he heard a huff within his mind, followed by a deep quiet voice.
"You understand, Mine. Life is not laid out simply before us, but we must not resign ourselves, we must work hard and claim more than scraps; we are better than that. Come to your Erebeth, there is work to be done."
So the Impression was made, and Zerivon became Z'iv. Over the next few sevendays he had little time to notice anything but Erebeth, but once the dragonet required slightly less attention and he was more used to the routine of it, he noticed that things had cooled between himself and B'kar. At first he put it down to simple preoccupation, but as they progressed through their training he began to suspect that the greenrider was jealous of him. Eventually they had it out, and when accused of wanting a brown more than a 'mere' green B'kar strenuously denied it. He did, however, admit that he wished Z'iv had got a green too; going from being the more dominant partner to being of a lesser rank (in his Weyrbred eyes) did not sit well. Harsh words were spoken by both parties, and the once lovers stopped speaking to one another. Despite the manner of their parting Z'iv was still very much in love with B'kar, and hoped that they could reconcile once they were both more used to their new lives.
This, however, was not to be. Always a flighty, nervous creature B'kar's green ran afoul of the bronze in the clutch, and the bigger dragon started to bully her. One day he decided to spook her by swooping down on her as she fed on a wherry she had just killed. He had expected amusing squealing and flailing, but what he got was one brief scream and then nothing; the young green jumped between in terror and never re-emerged. B'kar, now Brekar again, was a broken man; three days after the loss of his lifemate he asked an older rider to taken him between and leave him so that he could join her. The loss of his first love further compounded Z'iv's cynical outlook on life, but the determined brown dragon by his side ensured that he continued to work hard, and they graduated from training as a fairly well thought of pair, well thought of by those who thought anything of weyrlings that is.
Z'iv has had various flings in the turns since then but has never settled with anyone for more than a sevenday or so. On Erebeth's behest he has striven for greatness, and he has followed through with his plans to hop around Pern doing a bit of buying and selling to a degree, but the return of the Thread has rather spoiled his plans; he became a candidate to avoid risking life and limb, but of course his cynical attitude means than he's not exactly shocked by this twist of fate. Still, while he may be marked out for particular punishment by Murphy's law, at least he has his dragon beside him; despite his grumbling about flying into danger in the end, like any rider, he wouldn't trade his lifemate for the world.
Talents: Dancing/acrobatics, fast talking, and sleight of hand (which can be turned to magic tricks, or thievery)
Notes: Quote - "What do I do? I provide people with a fantastic body to look at, it's my sole redeeming feature."
Dragon
Name: Erebth
Age: 13
Color: Brown
Physical Description: A shadow given shape; he is so dark a brown as to be almost black, and completely unmarked. He's almost the size of a small bronze, but is built more like a blue than anything else. Has a tendency to loom like a hunched spidery gargoyle. His eyes are usually dull green.
Personality: A will of steel, and a manner just as unforgiving and militaristic while he's on the job. Erebeth wants to be the best, wants to rise above the bronzes, to command, to be respected. He sees being hatched brown as a cruel joke, an attempt by the world at large to keep him from getting where he wants to be. The joke, however, will be on the world one day. He's strong, he's smart, and above all he is determined. No number of setbacks will make him give up; he will make use of all of his talents and all of his rider's talents, and haul himself up out of the dirt as often as he must. He will get to the top, or he will die trying. In Z'iv he saw somebody who already knew the deck was stacked against them, and somebody who he believed could be persuaded to strive to overcome this disadvantage with enough prodding.
While he is certainly a very forceful dragon to be around, downright unpleasant if he sees you as a rival, he does have a softer nicer, actually rather protective side that he shows to dragons he cares for. One of the reasons he wishes to rise to the top is because he genuinely thinks he would do a good job, and cares about those around him. If asked he is happy to offer help and advice to those he sees as friends, and if he sees them in trouble he'll do what he can to help whether he's asked or not. Also when among friends he will display a dark sense of humour that is rather similar to his rider's; the difference between them is that Z'iv will still joke on the job, whereas Erebeth becomes straight-faced, totally focused on the task ahead.
Age: 30
Gender: Male
Sexual Preference: Bisexual
Rank: Wingrider
Former Craft: Trader
Description: The rider is of average height, and as slim, supple, and quick as a whip. He has a kind of languid, lazy grace about him, and often gives off an air of either resigned ennui, or wry amusement. The first thing that people tend to notice about him while he's in riding gear are his eyes; bright green as they are they would be quite striking in any face, but thanks to his fine-boned features, deeply tanned complexion, and his inky black hair they really stand out.
When he's not in his riding gear, however, it will probably be his clothes that first catch the eye; once a Trader always a Trader he dresses with colourful, eclectic flare. Some notable items in his wardrobe are a pair of red trousers split down both sides, held together with criss-crossing gold ribbon, a white shirt that has huge sleeves drawn together at the wrists with cuffs that then fall over his hands, and a pair of thigh high leather boots with a notable heel.
As well as an eye catching wardrobe, he has a fairly impressive jewellery box; the actual value of items doesn't seem to matter to him, he'll wear a real gold arm ring alongside simple wooden bangles, the only rule seems to be that he likes the pieces and that they look good with what he's wearing. (Height: average. Build: slim and supple. Hair: black, straight fine strands but thick, shoulder-blade length. Skin: tanned evenly all over; naked sunbathing is involved. Eyes: bright green. Face: fine boned, bordering on pretty)
Personality: An amiable cynic, lazy but given to sudden bursts of activity. Z'iv isn't as much of a contradiction as summarizing him in a sentence makes him sound; he expects the worst of life in general, but not necessarily of the people around him. They're all in the same boat, up the same creek, without the same instrument after all, except for the bastards who get everything handed to them on a gold bronze silver platter. He presumes that people he doesn't know, or knows and dislikes, will try to use him just as he would try to use them, but he trusts that those he does know and like are on his side, and he in turn is on their side. Additionally, while he is cynical, he has a kind of dry, wry, darkly amused attitude to his own view of the world, and about the things that happen to him. Rather than whining that life is unfair and difficult he'll make a witty, snarky, or facetious observation about whatever it is that's just happened, or he expects to happen.
As to laziness, perhaps it would be more apt to say that he's languid, and conserves his energy. If there's nothing that needs doing he won't waste strength by pacing or wadnering aimlessly; he'd rather sprawl somewhere and top up his all over tan. When it comes to time to move, however, he really can move; while he doesn't dance or perform acrobatics as much as he used to he's kept up the muscles, flexibility, speed, and stamina necessary to put on a good show, or run like hell when everything goes Tango Uniform. Even when he is sprinting or turning a backflip, however, he manages to look lazy, as if every motion is completely effortless. As he rather likes his cool and casual image, he does his best to keep up this unruffled air until he's in private, whereupon it's acceptable to collapse in a heap and get his breath back.
While he is gregarious and loves to be surrounded by people, in general Z'iv doesn't chatter on; he's more likely to put in snarky/witty comments, or to make observations/remarks about the people or situation around him than to be the one dominating the talk/gossip. As with physical action, however, when there's something he really wants said, a point he really wants to make he'll use that Trader's mouth to full effect and talk non-stop until he's either been heard out or physically threatened. Yea, he's not a fan of threats. He's been in his share of scuffles, although mainly before he came to the Weyr, but he would much rather talk his way out of a bad situation than fight. If it does come to a fight he'll try to end it as swiftly as possible, with as little bodily harm done to himself as possible. If that means being underhanded and kicking his opponent where it hurts so be it, his hide is more important than his honour thanks so much.
It's also worth noting that he's kind of vain. He's handsome (or pretty), and he knows it; nature blessed him with a fine face, fine eyes, and fabulous hair, and he put in the hard work to make his body good enough to match. Insulting his looks... well it won't get you anywhere actually, at most you'll get a smirk and a short laugh out of him; he's completely secure in his vanity, and while he likes compliments he doesn't really need them.
His confidence is fairly all-encompassing actually; while he believes that the deck of life is fairly well stacked against him getting anywhere he trusts in his ability to count the cards, and believe that if he sets his mind to it (and is willing to put in the effort) he could achieve just about anything. It is only through Erebeth's chivvying, however, that he does make that effort; had he not Impressed he would would probably never have bothered to use his wit and intellect to move ahead in life, and he certainly wouldn't have done so consistently. In his case the dragon really has made the man, or made the man get off his backside and make the effort at any rate.
History: Born to a Trader family in the back of a wagon rumbling from one Hold to another, Zerivon's childhood was chaotic and free. He ran barefoot in the streets, rode runners bareback, and learned how to make a quick mark. Thanks to his pretty face, striking eyes, and agility his speciality became dancing and acrobatics. Sometimes he genuinely earned his money this way, sometimes the purpose of his performance was distracting a crowd so that other members of the caravan could move around picking pockets. He learned the tricks of theft too, and employed these himself when somebody else was on diversion duty, as well as learning to employ sleight of had with flare to entertain and thus earn more money. Like any good Trader he also developed 'the gift of the gab', meaning that he could sell a nonplussed holder his own wherries at twice their value and have them thank him for it.
While this was all well and good, as he grew through his teens he began to develop a feeling of ennui; is this all there is? He was never going to grow up to run the caravan, so he'd always have to hand over a cut of his earnings, and he was bright enough to know that sooner or later his luck would probably run out and he'd be branded as the thief he was. In short, he didn't feel that he could sustain his life as it was long term, and nor did he really want to; as a middle child in a big family, which in turn was one small and not especially important part of the whole interconnected community he felt unimportant and under appreciated.
So it was than when a searchrider from Ista Weyr swept down upon the Hold Zerivon and the rest of the caravan were fleecing doing business with and picked him out as a potential candidate, he took the opportunity after only minimal hesitation. Sure dragonriders were irrelevant to modern life, but he could put up with their archaic ways and pointless drills if it meant he got a dragon. With a dragon, in his free time, he could go anywhere, do anything, bring the rarest of goods from one end of Pern to the other in the blink of an eye. Then they'd see who the most important member of the family, of the whole Trader group was. After pointing out the potential benefits to his parents and to the head of the caravan, Zerivon was allowed to climb onto the green dragon with his bag of possessions and disappear bound for his new life.
The rigid structure of candidate life came as a nasty shock to the seventeen turn old who, until that point, had enjoyed almost complete freedom. Sure he'd had to help cook, wash clothes, look after runners and so on but such chores had only been a small part of his day back with the caravan; having them take up most of his life did not please him at all. Neither did lessons; he was happy to learn about the care of dragons, but he felt that Weyr history and politics were a waste of his valuable time. After a couple of rounds of punishment duties for speaking out of turn, however, he learned to save his snarking for the candidate dorms, away from anyone who might decide to make him clean the latrines for a week straight. The only thing that stopped him from giving up and leaving in the end was the companionship he found in a tough, friendly, and rather handsome weyrbrat named Brekar. Zerivon had had a few girls before, and a couple of boys, but for the first time he found himself actually falling in love rather than just into bed. Brekar's energy and enthusiasm contrasted starkly to Zerivon's rather lazy cynicism, but then it is said that opposites attract. The pair kept their liason quiet, but the people around them probably suspected something was going on at least.
After what felt like forever to Zerivon, the hatching came around. Shells cracked spilling out greens and blues, and joyful bonds were made; the very first of the day was Brekar - B'kar - to a pretty little green who wanted a big strong man to protect her from the big scary world she suddenly found herself thrust into. It was getting towards the end of the hatching when a different colour finally showed itself; a handsome stocky bronze trotted over to a very surprised looking Holdborn lad, shattering the hopes of many of the males on the sand. Zerivon, however, remained indifferent; lessons had taught him well enough that one of the biggest males wouldn't even consider him, a fact that he rather resented. Stupid bronzes didn't know what they were missing, and nor did their uptight riders come to that. When it came down to the cracking of the penultimate shell Zerivon had more or less given up on being picked, and regarded the dark brown dragonet that emerged with slightly bored resignation, waiting for it to choose another boy. A moment later he heard a huff within his mind, followed by a deep quiet voice.
"You understand, Mine. Life is not laid out simply before us, but we must not resign ourselves, we must work hard and claim more than scraps; we are better than that. Come to your Erebeth, there is work to be done."
So the Impression was made, and Zerivon became Z'iv. Over the next few sevendays he had little time to notice anything but Erebeth, but once the dragonet required slightly less attention and he was more used to the routine of it, he noticed that things had cooled between himself and B'kar. At first he put it down to simple preoccupation, but as they progressed through their training he began to suspect that the greenrider was jealous of him. Eventually they had it out, and when accused of wanting a brown more than a 'mere' green B'kar strenuously denied it. He did, however, admit that he wished Z'iv had got a green too; going from being the more dominant partner to being of a lesser rank (in his Weyrbred eyes) did not sit well. Harsh words were spoken by both parties, and the once lovers stopped speaking to one another. Despite the manner of their parting Z'iv was still very much in love with B'kar, and hoped that they could reconcile once they were both more used to their new lives.
This, however, was not to be. Always a flighty, nervous creature B'kar's green ran afoul of the bronze in the clutch, and the bigger dragon started to bully her. One day he decided to spook her by swooping down on her as she fed on a wherry she had just killed. He had expected amusing squealing and flailing, but what he got was one brief scream and then nothing; the young green jumped between in terror and never re-emerged. B'kar, now Brekar again, was a broken man; three days after the loss of his lifemate he asked an older rider to taken him between and leave him so that he could join her. The loss of his first love further compounded Z'iv's cynical outlook on life, but the determined brown dragon by his side ensured that he continued to work hard, and they graduated from training as a fairly well thought of pair, well thought of by those who thought anything of weyrlings that is.
Z'iv has had various flings in the turns since then but has never settled with anyone for more than a sevenday or so. On Erebeth's behest he has striven for greatness, and he has followed through with his plans to hop around Pern doing a bit of buying and selling to a degree, but the return of the Thread has rather spoiled his plans; he became a candidate to avoid risking life and limb, but of course his cynical attitude means than he's not exactly shocked by this twist of fate. Still, while he may be marked out for particular punishment by Murphy's law, at least he has his dragon beside him; despite his grumbling about flying into danger in the end, like any rider, he wouldn't trade his lifemate for the world.
Talents: Dancing/acrobatics, fast talking, and sleight of hand (which can be turned to magic tricks, or thievery)
Notes: Quote - "What do I do? I provide people with a fantastic body to look at, it's my sole redeeming feature."
Dragon
Name: Erebth
Age: 13
Color: Brown
Physical Description: A shadow given shape; he is so dark a brown as to be almost black, and completely unmarked. He's almost the size of a small bronze, but is built more like a blue than anything else. Has a tendency to loom like a hunched spidery gargoyle. His eyes are usually dull green.
Personality: A will of steel, and a manner just as unforgiving and militaristic while he's on the job. Erebeth wants to be the best, wants to rise above the bronzes, to command, to be respected. He sees being hatched brown as a cruel joke, an attempt by the world at large to keep him from getting where he wants to be. The joke, however, will be on the world one day. He's strong, he's smart, and above all he is determined. No number of setbacks will make him give up; he will make use of all of his talents and all of his rider's talents, and haul himself up out of the dirt as often as he must. He will get to the top, or he will die trying. In Z'iv he saw somebody who already knew the deck was stacked against them, and somebody who he believed could be persuaded to strive to overcome this disadvantage with enough prodding.
While he is certainly a very forceful dragon to be around, downright unpleasant if he sees you as a rival, he does have a softer nicer, actually rather protective side that he shows to dragons he cares for. One of the reasons he wishes to rise to the top is because he genuinely thinks he would do a good job, and cares about those around him. If asked he is happy to offer help and advice to those he sees as friends, and if he sees them in trouble he'll do what he can to help whether he's asked or not. Also when among friends he will display a dark sense of humour that is rather similar to his rider's; the difference between them is that Z'iv will still joke on the job, whereas Erebeth becomes straight-faced, totally focused on the task ahead.
