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Name: Tacelon
Age: 15
Gender: male
Sexuality: heterosexual
Craft: Harper
Rank: Apprentice/Candidate
Appearance: Tacelon is of a stocky build, though not fat, and is a nondescript, middling height. He considers much of himself nondescript; aside from grey eyes the color of a stormy sky, his short hair in an unremarkable brown, his face, though a little wide, is not one that sticks in the mind, and his skin is the same light tan as anyone who spends time on the drum heights. His face sometimes seems like it’s fixed in a resigned expression that, while not especially unhappy, is far from cheerful.

Personality:
Tacelon is accustomed to being disappointed. As a result, he’s pessimistic, and has low self-esteem; he believes he will amount to little and the best he can hope for is small goals. In his mind, Impressing a fire-lizard is likely one of the very few times he’ll ever succeed at an important goal. He is very quiet and speaks as little as possible, but has a habit of drumming (with his fingers or any tool in his hand) to reflect his moods. His firelizard, named Clarion, often sings his moods as well, and has such an expressive vocal range at times he seems like he’s taken over as Tacelon’s voice. Tacelon will doggedly keep to his tasks no matter what, since he is used to pressing on through adversity, and hardworking, since he’s of the opinion that working diligently is the only way he’ll have any chance of making anything of himself.

Although he can be surprised when something unexpected comes up and hesitate while figuring out how to proceed, he rarely panics. He is respectful and polite, though with all things he tend to express this more with body language than words. Clarion often copies such actions when possible (when Tacelon bows or waves for someone to go ahead of him through a door, Clarion will do the same from its perch on his shoulder). He rarely will initiate a conversation, and often comes off an introverted due to how little he speaks. However, he will gladly initiate contact if it does not require him to speak much, such as offering to help with work if a questioning look (and accompanying trill of query from Clarion) will suffice. Although he speaks little, he watches and listens a lot, and is perceptive. He’s humble, more out of the opinion that his accomplishments really aren’t all that great than from any desire to seem modest.

History:
Tacelon’s family comes from a smaller hold beholden to Nabol Hold. His father a woodworker, and his mother was a housewife who did some sewing on the side. As most children do, he adored his mother when he was a young child. When he was about 6, she died in childbirth with his youngest sister. His father raised him and his 4 siblings by himself, aside from when he hired a wet nurse for the baby. The father decided that the elder siblings were old enough to help raise younger, and he did not want to let go of any of his children, so he did not foster any. He was a strict disciplinarian with high hopes for his children; if he felt they did not do well enough at a task, he let them know in no uncertain terms, and was sparing with praise.

Tacelon had lapped up tales of other regions and as a result developed a bit of wanderlust, with a dream of traveling Pern. Throughout his life the dream never quite died, though it withered and waned as it seemed increasingly unlikely. He would have liked to apprentice to a trader, since they traveled all over and provided a useful service. However, his father denied him, firmly telling his children that it was not a respectable life for a proper holder. He would have liked to be a Runner instead, but even when he was fittest he didn’t have the build, stamina or athletic ability. He eventually settled is dreams on being a Harper, which was met with Father’s approval and encouraged by the Hold Harper. He wanted to be a Harper for all of a Harper’s duties besides music: teaching, mediating, bringing news, and most of all traveling to do so. However, could also play and sing well, which it why he met with the hold Harper’s approval.

Shortly after he was accepted as a Harper Apprentice and sent to the Harper Hall, a grave illness wrecked his voice, reducing it to a gravely rasp with a nonexistent singing voice. While it was only a bit of a strain to speak and doing so caused him no pain, he was embarrassed by the coarse voice and rightly thought it could sometimes be hard to understand. As a result he became taciturn, speaking as little as possible.

Since singing and extensive speaking was effectively denied him, he applied himself to learning instruments in hopes that he could still travel as a Harper. With a bit of luck, he managed to acquire a firelizard, bronze Clarion, and taught it to sing along with his music, having it take the place of the vocal parts he could not sing. Clarion stuck close to him at all times and often voiced his moods, helping others understand the quiet boy. Tacelon also taught Clarion to sing various notes with perfect pitch, which was useful for tuning instruments. To better command the flirelizard without speaking, Tacelon also taught him to respond to a set of whistled instructions based on drum codes.

Despite all his efforts with learning instruments and training Clarion, he found that aside from Gathers, there was little call for an effectively mute instrumental Harper. If he still wished to travel, his best bet was working in drum towers, where he could at least be posted somewhere new, and maybe change around now and then.

He had resigned himself to drum tower training when was unexpectedly Searched. Seeing a chance at a dragonrider’s coveted ability to travel anywhere on Pern in the blink of an eye, (and since dragonriding was a profession his father would approve) he quickly accepted. He has little hope that he’ll actually Impress, but at least thinks he’ll see more of Pern than wherever he’ll end up when he’s learned his craft. He expects that once he grows too old to be a Candidate any longer, he'll return to the Harper Hall and continue working towards his Journeyman rank, at which point he may be posted at another hold.

Anything else?:
-Can play drums, pipes, flute and guitar, picks up new instruments reasonably quickly. Owns a flute and a small hand drum.
-is as adept at understanding Clarion’s moods as Clarion is at picking up his

RPs:
Sins clutch Touching

SRP: A New Friend
(sequel to flit egg contest entry)
(1,245 words)

Tacelon hurried off into the Harper Hall, trying to think who would be best to notify about the eggs. Maybe a Master wasn't the person to go to, after all. They were probably too busy to bother with a green flit's eggs. The Headwoman? Surely she'd know how to take care of eggs, and who to give them to. She would probably be in the kitchens this time of day. He was turning to head that way when he nearly bumped into an older man. He stepped back, murmuring something apologetic, then noticed who he'd nearly collided with. It was the Master who'd been his voice teacher when he still had a voice to speak of. He ducked his head politely and yielded the hallway, waiting for the Master to pass on.

Instead the Master smiled at him. "Ho there, what has you in such a hurry?" he asked kindly.

Tacelon hesitated. This Master had always treated him kindly, even after his voice was damaged. Maybe more so, then. And he had asked, and didn't seem to be busy himself. After clearing his throat in a vain attempt to smooth his voice, he rasped, "I found a clutch of flit eggs in the blackrock shed. The mother's a green, and not around much. Doesn't seem safe for them."

The Master grinned at the news. "So you were looking for someone who can take better care of them than the errant mother, I take it?" he asked. When Tacelon nodded, he said, "Then lets go take a look at them, shall we?"

Tacelon lead the way back to the shed, and they came across it just in time to see the green flit away again. "Well, while she's off, that gives us a bit of uninterrupted time with the eggs," the Master commented. Once they;d entered the shed, Tacelon didn't even need to point out the nest of pale sand around the few eggs. The Master headed right over and peered at them, turning aside the eggs carefully to look them over. "They're still quite soft," he commented, "some time away from hatching, if I'm any judge. And my gold has laid more than one clutch, so I've seen new eggs before. We have plenty of time to find suitable owners for them." Then he glanced up at Tacelon. "Would you like one?"

Tacelon's surprise did not hide the slightly guilty expression to his face, and his hand twitched to the pocket where he'd tucked the pilfered egg. The Master just smiled kindly at him. "Already helped yourself? I figured you might, any boy would. Come, let's have a look at it. I won't take it from you," he added, when Tacelon still hesitated.

Slowly the boy pulled the egg from his pocket and held it out, only to have it examined as carefully as the others. "It looks in good shape as well. And a fine, big one it is. But a pocket isn't a safe place for it. Let's get it a warm place in a pot of sand by a fire." The two of them gathered up the small clutch and headed back into the Hall.

Homes were quickly found for the eggs, mostly among deserving Journeymen. The clutch was nestled protectively in a pot of warm sand by the hearth fire in the kitchens, and guarded attentively by the Master's gold flit. Tacelon stopped in at least once a day to check on it, hardly believing that he actually had his own flit egg. True, it still had to be hatched or Impressed, but the simple knowledge that he had an egg to himself was strange and wonderful. When the eggs grew harder and he was told they might hatch any day, he checked in as often as possible, until the laughing kitchen workers had to shoo him out whenever he poked his head in. He didn't want to miss them hatching, even though he'd been told more than once that he'd be fetched when they began to crack.

He happened to be copying records when the Master's gold swooped in and landed on his desk, humming. He didn't even need to read the note she held, he knew what the humming meant. He scrambled out of there, nearly upturning his stool in his haste to get to the kitchens.

As soon as he got there, one of the kitchen workers thrust his egg and a bowl of meat scraps in his hands. "Get yourself off to the corner now, as quiet a place as you can find here. Feed what comes out, and give it feelings of love," she instructed him. Apparently this was not the first flit hatching she'd seen. He nodded his thanks and headed to a nook by a dish cupboard, where he crouched down, set the egg on the floor, and watched it intently as it began to twitch. He hardly noticed when a young Journeyman settled down nearby with his own egg and bowl of meat.

Tacelon's egg twitched a few times, rocked a bit, and then fine cracks began to form. He was riveted on the sight, and only looked up when a cracking-crunch sound followed by creeling was heard nearby. He glanced up to see the nearby Journeyman feeding bites of meat to a little brown hatchling. Tacelon was just thinking how lucky the young man was to get a brown when a series of crunches sounded from his own egg. He glanced back down in time to see a bronze head emerge from the egg, which rocked for a bit before splitting open to release the rest of the hatchling flit.

Tacelon could only stare for a moment as the flit staggered to his feet and began to creel his hunger. A bronze? He didn't deserve a bronze, he was only an Apprentice, and one that was going nowhere in a hurry, at that. A Journeyman deserved a bronze. Oh, why hadn't he taken the smallest egg or something?

The continued creeling caught the attention of the Journeyman, who looked over. "Shards, boy, don't just stare at the beastie with a face like a stunned wherry. Feed the creature! He'll fly off or go between for sure if you don't."

That jolted Tacelon into action. He might never get a chance at a flit again, and he didn't want this little one to die because of his hesitation. He quickly picked a bit of meat from the bowl and held it out to the bronze. The little guy snapped the morsel up and creeled for more, which was dutifully provided. Tacelon found himself marveling at the tiny creature. The sinuous way his neck moved as he snapped up the food, the gleam of firelight on his hide, the delicate tracery of markings on his forelimb and tail, the way that threads of blue began to twine into the hungry red of his eyes, the blue growing larger as the youngster's belly began to fill. By the time the bowl was empty, Tacelon was smitten with the little bronze, and the firelizard happily curled up into the boy's lap to sleep. Tacelon gently stroked the neck of the sleeping hatchling, an uncommon sense of wonder pervading him.

"Looks like you got him. Congratulations," came a voice from nearby. Tacelon had almost forgotten the Journeymen, who was likewise now holding a sleeping flit. The boy looked up at him and gave him his first genuine grin in Turns.