THE RIDER
Name: Leorroin
Age: 19
Gender: Male
Appearance:
- Hair: Sandy blonde and cut just barely an inch from his skull, the wisps are rather soft to the touch. Something he is proud of, and is rather enthusiastic about being able to grow his hair back out once able.
Eyes: Almond and usually narrowed out of some perceived fault by another, those pale green eyes can take on quite the laughing round when he feels he's in acceptable company.
Skin: Medium Caucasian, a summer boy through and through. Light tan that runs a more of a ruddy tinge all due to that time outside and maybe a faint hint to old blood.
Bodytype: Close to 6' Leorroin is a tall youth, one with slender limbs and sleek form. Some muscle tone can be seen in his limbs and torso, but his is a figure that runs lean rather than bulk.
Personality:
- The most traditional look for this young man is very simple: shoulders lax, head slightly tilted to the side, and his eyes rolled so high towards the sky one might be sure they're about to roll to the back of his skull.
Leorroin is a man of quick wit, and an eye for detail. Slow to act, yet quick on judgement of the world around him, he's the lad as comfortable standing in the center of attention as reclining in the background. People are made to be handled and told meaningless nothings and dazzled by appearances. Or so are his perceptions. Growing up around merchants who literally looked to see how much their own daughters could be sold off in marriage, Leorroin sees little initial value in personal relationships. Or people, for that matter. It's all about the connections they bring, the skills or resources they can tap into that Leorroin typically cannot himself. Every interaction is a business deal on some level. Perhaps unfortunately for him, his birthright had not taught him to fully appreciate or seek the use in all the people he meets, see the deals that could be made at every turn. First impressions are the majority of all he counts. Often, the first can be the last with him.
Strike Leorroin's fancy, and it's an easy smile you'll see on his face. Decent manners, ones he'll happily polish up even further if someone has definite clout in the region, or very obviously ranks above him in some fashion. He won't go down on bended knee or lavish praises he does not see due, but he'll ask questions. About the other. Friendly, of course. Only trying to get to know them. And see how he could put this connection to potential use. In the contrast, should someone look especially drab, dull, or clearly below his station, the Leorroin whom is encountered has little patience for... well, anything. Flippiant to problems or warnings, he treats those he views as lesser--in any capacity--as just that. Beneath him. Worthless of his time. His eyes will roll so often as they speak, they might question how he's not making himself dizzy.
He does have a universal trigger though, one note that will--regardless of rank, gender, identity, species, anything--have Leorroin rolling his eyes to the moon. Whining, complaining, gripping or moping about someone's situation. Or life. Or hair. Or anything. He will eye-roll, he will gag, and he will without any hesitation tell the person off. He hardly enjoys his own position in life, yet here he stands. If he's to be expected to pull his weight and fight his personal demons, well then. Any body around him best expect he'll be giving them the exact treatment and expectations. If he can do it, so can they. Period. For all the good and bad such views can bring to a person's expectations, Leorroin is the last person any supposed friend or even random encounter can expect to confide in. He will give them disgusted looks and begin prattling on about how they'd best do better, because he won't hear the excuses.
Should that complainer be someone who could, potentially, be of use to him? Possess a talent, skill, or resource he could use? They become a minor exception to his rules. Though he'll humor no whining or self-pity, he will support their endeavors to nurture the aspects he finds useful. In this, Leorroin shows his brand of affection. A glimmer of what lies beneath the frills and trinkets. Even if he is unable to teach or personally assist in endeavors, he quickly sets it as a goal to find them resources or teachers who can. Need a study-buddy? A sound board? Sparring partner? While he might not be the best for all situations, they are the few moments Leorroin will put himself out there for another. All in the name of getting what he wants, of course. That's all it is. He refuses to believe he could harbor affection for anyone other than Hedenoth. Even his own mother and siblings are held in a distant, you-were-of-use-to-me, place in his mind. Such is his outward reasoning. The lad has a tendency to overlook even his own personal feelings towards other people in how often he tells himself they are only assets...
The fact of the matter is, Leorroin lacks the points of reference for closer relationships. Friends have not existed in his life, only business associates and a few sparkly faces he might share a few laughs with. No one he would dare confide in. Not knowing how easily his own words could be used against him, or complaints sent back to his family. On personal matters, he is closed off. Separated now from his family, aware that few--if any--he deals with now hold connections to his old life, it is growing slightly easier to open up. But he still is reluctant to go into detail, glossing over events or reasoning. He can be kind, offering a shoulder if someone he believes has worth--no he doesn't care about them, he refuses to accept this. Period--when simply trying to support them to chase their goals is not enough. Laughter can be genuine from him, and not laughing at someone, either. The concept that the urge to assist someone, support them however he can, foster these positive emotions and goals--make someone happy--is actually because he wants to support a friend is near blasphemous to him. Habits die hard for Leorroin.
History:
- He didn't actually want to become a rider when he went to High Reaches Weyr. Never was an intention of his. The prospect of actual work was--and still is--a painfully foreign concept to this lad. Born the second eldest son of a very well to do merchant, Leorroin expected a life of moderate means and general comfort. For the most part, he got just that. His young mother was the third wife of the merchant Judorri, and only the second to birth a son. The first had born a strapping lad and a proper little girl, Jedeca and Cadorii respectfully. Rumor was, she was the perfect bride to the draconian merchant. Just as conniving, just as slippery, just as pleased to show off her husband's wealth by lavishing herself with as many expensive trinkets as possible. She lived to be a walking sign to his success. The rumor also claimed that was the reason behind her death--vanity got to her. Someone slipped something into her makeups. She wasted away, quickening her own death as she'd packed on the cosmetics to try and conceal the deathly pallor and look of bones showing through her fading flesh. The second bride had been even younger than Leorroin's own mother, and had barely survived her daughter's birth. Veriia was a tiny, skittish little thing. Sickly, many would say. Always would be. Her mother didn't survive her second child's birth. Neither did the child. Judorri was supposedly more upset by the fact the stillborn was a son, rather than the fact his second wife was now dead. It'd taken him not even a turn to find another wife. Lyeria continues to live--a feat for the wives of Judorri--even over two decades after she was wed to the far older merchant. By the time Leorrion was born, Jedeca was already seven turns his senior, Cadorii and Veriia eight and three respectfully. They were all well on their ways to being groomed to be proper assets of Judorri. Which left Leorroin with a very special role:
Somehow not dying of boredom, as was the curse of all second-born sons.
He did well enough at this. Fond of maps and learning the ins and outs of his father's suppliers--the man was a near jack of all trades, shipping almost anything from bolts of fine cloth to masterfully crafted weapons, the most common healing herbs to the finest of foreign spices--he kept himself occupied enough learning some of the various cultures, Weyrs and Holds. His father's trading moved the family about every turn or few, wandering between Benden Weyr and some of its Holds, to Igen Weyr, and finally High Reaches Weyr. Always, the women were not allowed to travel to Igen, a practice Leorrion began to take notice of around his fifth turn or so. Jedeca had swatted away his younger brother's questions, and not even the young Leorrion was foolhearty enough to question Judorri directly. It was within the lands surrounding Igen that Leorrion began to notice how peculiar his father and brother's treatment of their female relatives were. On the rare occasion he would mention it even to his mother, Lyeria would smooth away her son's troubling thoughts with mention of soft dresses Judorri had gifted her with, or the newest trinket he'd given her to adorn herself. Perhaps she would speak of the gifts Judorri had given his daughters, instead, polished and prim young ladies he would parade around higher society functions. At such a young age, Leorrion saw how his sisters were treated as herdbeasts at the auction block, buffed and painted into gleaming gems for the highest bidders to admire and covet. Or so at least was their dear father's plans. Jedeca, a puffed bird of his own making, was being groomed to take over the family business after their father. Never a tail-feather out of place, Leorrion would say, and indeed Jedeca spent about as much time preparing for the day--and each meal, and each function--as their sisters and mother. In contrast, their youngest brother only put in moderate effort to his appearance, knowing he would be looked over swiftly--assuming eyes came to him at all--in favor of the heir of the trading company and connections, and his beautiful sisters. Jedeca was even the one put in charge of finding suitable husbands for his sisters.
Something he pawned off to Leorrion. Like many, many other things. Things that Leorrion rarely touched, unless he felt that twinge of boredom coming over him. To be fair, he did find it amusing to see which of their suppliers owed them what, and which clearly seemed to be conning his family out of better deals. Did he raise a red flag? Never. It wasn't his business. He was merely doing the busy work for his dear brother and father. If they wished to address such heinous issues, why... they would simply have to look at the books themselves. It was under this atmosphere Leorrion learned some of his most valuable lessons. The first and foremost, looks mattered. Looks got you the appeal, looks got you the goods, and most certainly looks got you the deals. For as wicked as Judorri and Jedeca were, their charming looks and polished apparel always seemed able to hide their scales and slime. Second, Leorrion understood the concept of bribes. That some people were so willing to forgive the inexcusable, simply by giving them small moments of affection and shiny babbles. Tiny amounts of affection could go a long way as a bribe, he learned, watching how his mother and sisters coped with their situations. The third, and perhaps most important to the young second son?
There is always the Thread in the details. Not keeping track of them could lead to losing track of a great deal of marks.
Or perhaps even one's life.
While Leorrion had no proof his brother and father were behind various murders--though he had to wonder, as deals and trades went various ways throughout his life--this fine fact came more into play for Leorrion himself. At the ripe age of eighteen and a strapping young lad himself, if he did say so, he'd joined his family in their business trip to the High Reaches Weyr. A Hatching was to take place, with young candidates gathering up to hopefully Impress on a dragon. The sight of the large creatures put Leorrion on edge, far more used to the cattle and beats of burden that... didn't have the capability of breathing fire. Or flying. Though he was used to encountering them somewhat in his visits to the Weyrs, attending a Hatching was not the highlight of his trips. Usually, he found a way to opt out of the occasions, meet up with his brother during the feasts and later festivities. Unable to escape this time due to his father's rather stern eye, he was stuck--Leorrion had tried to explain to him a few times on their trip in they really were missing goods their most recent supplier had sworn was there. Note, it wasn't. Leorrion was for once trying to speak up about the con man getting conned. He'd sat amongst the others in the stands, watching with his hand in his palm as the dragons emerged. He kept glancing away, hoping to not hear the sounds of youngsters getting mauled.
Hearing the sounds of people very close to him shouting, however, was a cause for him to look up.
Hearing a rather forceful, unnerving voice batter around his skull was an entirely other situation.
<Come down here or I will go up there. That stench better be coming from the large one beside you. I will not be pleased to smell that stench always.>
Leorroin's first impression of Hedenoth, as he only vaguely comprehended the fact he had just Impressed a dragon, was that at last. Someone else finally agreed his father needed to stop wearing that ridiculous perfume.
Unfortunately, that was close to the last time the two agreed on something since Leorroin was admitted as a Weyrling. He'd gone willingly, make no question of that. Mind boggled, rather blindsighted, but willing. There was little he felt he could return to, after his father began parading him around with faux cheer and enthusiasm. Turning down the dragon was financially impossible. Perhaps even morally, as he felt the male's presence loud and clear in his mind. Alas. His last few months of training left... much to be desired. He likely would have adjusted better, had his initial assumptions been proven true. Surely a merchant's son wouldn't be expected to train so hard, right? Surely they'd go easy on him... right? As of yet, he'd yet to find a trainer or a moment his partner dragon were willing to go easy on him. The warnings that many of the other Weyrlings around him--himself included--could be dead before the turn or next are up were rather startling concepts. A reality check that had him heavily debating his sanity for agreeing to this. An eye for goods and books only did him so much good when trying to comprehend weapons drills. He is holding tight to that eye for goods and books, to the fact he's good with numbers. It is by this he usually tries to keep an ear to the ground for what Fifth-One is up to, well aware of his family's natural loathing for such wings in every Weyr. To him, it's a natural choice to lean towards. Not that Hedenoth agrees. The dragon's been doing his best to convince Leorroin to look towards one of the other wings, one where they would do something "exciting." Chasing down bandits and pirates would be fun. Leorroin has been attempting to humor him, and while he'll admit the idea of chasing down criminals is... rather exciting yes, maybe undercover work would be more to his tastes... Less chance of a pirate shoving a blade through his belly. People he can deal with. Weapons? Eh.... Even if the idea of being a big-shot hero is a rather appealing one. One that Hedenoth is quick to try and support.
The two bicker about goals. Often. Both are at least grateful there's still time yet to decide. And improve skills. In theory.
It's in that same vein Leorroin approaches the thoughts of his family. He could point Fifth-One to quite a few crimes they've committed. Once a fact that brought a joyous, amused laugh to him now twists his stomach. Thoughts he tries to avoid, he's relieved there are--for the time being--far more pressing things for him to be concerned with. Such as how to share a room with an ever growing bronze. Or how rather plain his surroundings are. The quality of living he's since found himself in are a far cry from his... typical accommodations. It's almost hard to not complain now and then about it all, but he's at least somehow managed to keep it tucked away.
THE DRAGON
Name: Hedenoth
Age: Six months
Colour: Bronze
Feel of voice: Trembling earth, fissures and gravel. Smooth stone, sun-warmed now and then.
Appearance: Thick boned, thick hide, thick skull. Hedenoth fits his stubborn temperament, and little of him suggests an easy argument. Darker streaks fall from the inner corners of his eyes down his cheeks like warpaint, more strikes along his muzzle, horn nubs, and finally down his back. Slashes of this darker color separate from the rest mark his limbs and wings. His underbelly is a muddier shade than the rest of him, more grey than simply a darker tone. His wings fade into a brighter hue of the spectrum, a color that repeats in accenting strikes across his face and back.
Personality:
- If there were a likely perpetrator of attacks on candidates during the Hatching, this brute would be one of the likely suspects. As tolerant of whining and moping as his partner, where Leorrion is willing to guide and shove someone to better themselves, Hedenoth sees only a body to be trampled and left in the dust. Cowering in front of this dragon is ill advised. Those who take a stand--even a shaky one--are treated with far more level-headed tolerance. He is not a complete fool--not even he expects all bodies around him to possess all the huff and gruff as he. Hedenoth does, however, expect others who share his presence to have backbone somewhere under their fluff. Even a small one is preferable and treated with far more respect than a what he perceives as a sniveling grub. He has little restraint in speaking to others he deems worthy of himself, and in fact seems to find it to be very relaxing to converse about any topic if he believes he is speaking to someone of value. Someone with a backbone. Extra marks for someone with sense as well. Any who show what he views as weakness, however? Will likely not hear him speak. Instead, he will snarl and growl in vocal silence, lashing out with wings and tail and limbs to remove them from his presence if he can. He won't draw blood... intentionally, but there is a clear message for any who deal with Hedenoth. Be strong, stand up, and you will survive with minor bruising, if even that. Flinch and duck, and you might just be buried under the earth before the day is gone.
That is not to say Hedenoth is a temper ready to explode at the slightest tremble. Strict, yes. Overbearing? Certainly. He views literally pushing and harassing others as a form of teaching. The concept that only the strongest survive is a motto of existence to him. Tough love is, in a sense, the only sort of affection the dragon understands. Or at the very least dishes out. Even those he could be considered fond of likely would suffer nips and swats and constant shoving to do better. Be better. It is his way of saying his is proud of what they are, and what else they could accomplish. He'll just likely never say those actual words.
