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THE HANDLER
Name: Burem
Age: 42
Gender: Male
Rank: Masterhandler
Appearance: The first term that tends to pop into people's heads when they lay eyes on Burem is "gnawed upon", possibly followed by "UGH."
His hair is thick, coarse and black as the depths of an unlit cavern, and it's tendency to bristle the same way his beard does frequently cultivates the illusion that it has never seen a brush and never will.

The length he wears it frequently depends on how occupied he is with other things, ranging from unkempt length tied with the nearest bit of rag to a short, bristly clip that matches the thick scrub that he uses to try and cover some of his facial scars.

His eyes are a dark rich shade of brown, and in the right face they might even be pretty, with lighter flecks of amber dancing in them, but in Burem's face they frequently just look dark and terminally annoyed. It's also harder to appreciate the prettiness of his eyes, when you're distracted by the slightly bent bridge of his nose, and the curious bend in the side of his jaw where deep scars trace down the side of his face, terminating on his scalp near the half an ear that remains on the right side of his head. There's even a slightly curious dip, only partially masked by bristly black beard, where shattered teeth were removed from his jaw in the back.

The rest of Burem follows in line with his battered face. He's of average height, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, but thick muscles on both torso and legs from heavy labor, and broad hands with surprisingly delicate fingers... or most of his fingers, since he's missing the pinkie finger on his left hand, and the first joint of the finger next to it, and he limps in bad weather just a bit, from twisting his knee early on.

Personality:
With a fair list of highly visible injury, you learn to be thick skinned, or you suffer a lot, and with Burem, it's the first. It helps that he thinks about his appearance mostly in terms of practicality, and not attractiveness, but still, the occasional recoil is a bit annoying. Burem has become so accustomed to his own scars he makes jokes about them, and has duped trainee wherhandlers before into watching to see if he spurts liquid out of the side of his face when he drinks. ((Not unless he spits, sorry...)). But he does get a chuckle out of waiting until concentration slips just enough for them to look away, then flicking drops of drink at them with his fingers.


He does tolerate people's discomfort... up to a point, and with anyone looking to handle Wher's, it's a firm point. You have an sort of vague window in which to get used to the idea that yes, he has scars, and yes, they could happen to you. After this period, he makes a point of first telling people to meet his eyes when talking to him, and if this fails, may resort to firmly taking someone's chin and steering them to look at him. If it actually reaches this point, it's also usually accompanied by a "Come to Faranth" discussion on whether or not you should actually be seeking to handle Wher's if you can't handle the fact they are large, dangerous animals who can hurt you if they decide they feel like it.

He's a highly focused man, especially on subjects (like whers) that interest him, and once he's invested in doing something, especially if it's not a project where he's working with something or someone to give him cues, Burem can loose track of time so vigorously he will miss meals, appointments...bathing and sleeping until someone interrupts him.

It doesn't help that he doesn't like to admit he needs help, not without there being blood and broken bones involved, and even then he may benefit from someone to point out that no, a bone was not sticking out a minute ago, no, it does not just need a little numbweed, and yes, he needs to have that looked at. This tendency applies only to himself, however, and he's frequently the first to send his charges for medical attention if he thinks they need it.

History:

Born to a family invested in Wher Breeding at High Reaches Hold, it's perhaps no surprise that Burem fell deeply in love with the creatures, More so even than his older sister or younger brother, to the extent that, growing up, his favorite toy was a wooden Wher, which he would pretend to blood and adventure with.

They were, in his eyes, creatures arguably even more noble than dragons. While less glorified, and with a different purpose, surely it was still more of an accomplishment to bond to a creature that could choose to reject you, that could stand and fight without you, and which could choose to do so, or not, of it's own will.

Knowing full well it was dangerous, it was this that drove him to being a Wherling, as soon as he was able, and head long into the involved politics thereof, which, frankly, still annoy him. Burem will never be a truly political animal, and while technically socially acceptable, he turns up his lip and nose at those who have purchased their mastery, and finds it hard to put his faith in anyone who has, if he is aware that they did.

His scars came from this time, learning with other Wherlings, and watching others make mistakes. Mistakes which cost him quite a bit, since he was brave enough, or arguably foolish enough, to throw in and help with distressed animals in need, even if they were backsliding on their training, and helping handle an Wher that had been bloodied in an break down spat with another wher, and was bitten on the face for his trouble. His own Wher accidentally tore ligaments in his knee, and playfully bit off his little finger, forgetting in a heated play moment that it had much stronger, sharper teeth, and he uses this as an visual aid to young trainers why it's a very VERY good idea to discourage nipping even if it's "Only playing" or "so cute right now" because such things are the decisions that have a significant impact on whether or not you make it to old age with all your limbs and digits... or if you make it to old age at all.

All this and he continued to love the creatures deeply, and still mourns the loss of his first Wher, a fast, if skittish green, who passed during the dragon plague and has not yet been replaced. To his frustration, they achieved their master rank together only a year and a half before he lost her, taking the rank at the age of 30, almost 31. They walked the tables with fairly little fanfare, which was exactly the way Burem and Bursk liked it. Other more... visually appealing people with less skittish whers, he thought at the time, (and still does) make a far better presentation. His climb to mastery was purely on determination and hard work. He did not, and still does not, approve of bribing for mastery in their profession, though he can... grudgingly... see a circumstance where mayyyybe it might be ok IF you were really damn good but had something else standing between you an legitimate recognition, he's just not sure what could possibly stand between someone and that. I mean that would be stupid politics, which have no place in Wher Handling. Or... don't in a perfect world. Damnit world. Be the way he thinks you should.
((Burem never stood for a dragon, as a side note to his timeline.))

He hopes to teach others, to look on Whers not as a fall back, but as a noble creature worthy of the same love as any dragon, and has spent much of his time since loosing his Wher working with Wherhandler candidates to teach them safe handling, demonstrate what can happen when that 'cute and funny' nipping habit continues to adult hood, and why you should be cautious around any Wher that seems angry, frightened, or otherwise particularly agitated. ((his personal injury list makes an particularly effective list on this.

He was at the Wher during the plague, having come with his Wher to offer services, and looking to offer his services, and does not regret this, since he sees little point in wondering if his lost green 'might' have survived had they been at the Hold instead. The opportunities he's had to work with other interested souls, he feels have been worth the risk, and maybe the loss, though he still misses his green, and side eyes anyone's flit or bond mate that so much as sneezes in a vaguely sickly fashion.

He's also become taken with a rather strange idea, that came from a passing joke where someone suggested it was a shame someone couldn't carry a tiny Wher as protection against thieves, and although he currently does not have a Wher, he thinks it's actually not a damn half bad idea to try and breed a miniaturized Wher. While not ideal for, say, standard missions, he can picture a number of practical uses for smaller animals, and one of his favorites is inviting people to picture a robber being on the wrong end of a pointy surprise after stealing the wrong bag. Also they'd be much easier to feed for people of lesser income, and could help keep down pests. Even a noble lady could handle one...with a bit of proper training of course. No sense making them loose everything that makes a Wher a Wher.... just... smaller
Anyone inquiring why he doesn't just try and breed more aggressive, more intelligent flits will get the full explanation for his reasoning (Including generally not finding flits to be that interesting) and the fact that, well... shaff it. Wher's don't fly. Do you really want something that thinks like a Wher an fit's in a large satchel to fly?
....He didn't think so.