Rider
Name: C'mant
Age: 47
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Rank: Trine Wingrider - > Eventually moving to Euclid
History:
Long ago, young Conermant's parents had a debt to a journeyman weaver, a maker of clothes. The man was reasonable, and they were paying it off bit by bit, but then their cothold hit a run of bad luck and they could not pay. So, their son – the second of three - was sold as a drudge to the journeyman who needed the help and was happy to forgive the parents debt in favor of the child.
Conermant's earliest memory was of being shown amazing textiles and clothing and being instructed, on his first day, what he was supposed to do. None were for him, of course, but the young boy often dreamed of a day when they could be his, when he could revel in their finery.
Life was good for the little boy: far from being a depressed drudgebrat, Conermant was treated well and given ample oppurtunity to see the craft in action. He wanted for little, to be honest. The journeyman became fond of his little drudge boy. He was unmarried, and for a time fancied the boy his surrogate son. When the boy's debt was paid, he hoped to send him into the craft. In turn, Conermant grew to see the man as a father figure. The bond between them, it seemed, was too strong to be broken, and they seemed to be heading towards a beautiful partnership and future together.
But as Conermant grew older, that familial closeness began to sour, and his world began to spiral downhill as paternal love became something darker, not right at all for the boy. The relationship deteriorated quickly. Though the boy knew his rights as a drudge, Conermant did not want to use them - to do so felt like a betrayal of a man he had once considered a parent.
Fortunately, the situation was not allowed to become any worse. Conermant was Searched and became a candidate to High Reaches weyr. Free of restrictions, Conermant thrived. He was not the best student, and certainly did his fair share of mild misbehaving, but he was happier than he had ever been before, even amidst the colorful cloths. And, like any young boy of dragon age, he was excited: who wouldn't want to be a part of the magical mythos of the dragons? What Pernese boy didn't want a dragon (preferably bronze?) He was living the dream, and the nightmare that had been brewing in his life was left far behind.
He stood for his first clutch a turn later, right as his voice, a favorite of the weyrharper, began to crack. As did his dragon's eggshell. To his great delight and surprise, one of the Bronzes of the clutch, after making an imperiously military round of all the candidates (male and female) made an immediate march to him and, with a powerfully authoritative voice, chose him.
Thus did Comerant become C'mant, and Smamurth became his. He trained as a rider, grew up, did his dues, tried politicking, and generally was unremarkable if pleasant. Things went well.
Que five turns later - age eighteen. The Journeyman, the spectre of decayed trust, returned to his life. He had fallen on hard times and perhaps a few too many liquor bottles (whether because of C'mant's leaving or not) and needed marks. He demanded that either his the debt that C'mant carried be paid. Otherwise – and this was the ultimate cruelty – he would tell others in the Weyr what had happened between them.
C'mant could not let that happen. High Reaches was traditional – enough that even a rumor of involvement, of any sort and from any time, of a bronzerider with another man would cause scandal. Scandal was the enemy of a comfortable life, the scourge of complacency, and would haunt him for his whole life. It was the last thing C'mant wanted.
So, he decided to pay the man off, with a little extra just to make sure. He arranged to meet with the marks. He even brought them with him. Up until the moment he was alone with the man, up until the moment he saw his face, he was ready to pay him off. But then he saw the face of the man he once thought of as his father, and he snapped.
They never found the body, of course. C'mant was thorough, and between kept its secrets. Everthing was cleaned up and explained away. For a while, it shocked him that he had gotten away with such a heinous act. After a while, he accepted it, and went on with his life.
In time, he forgot all about it. Life unfolded pleasantly. He participated in flights, duelled once or twice – never going for a kill, of course – was as free and loose with his women as dragons were in their flights, and was generally a normal Bronzerider. He was transferred for nominal reasons to Trine, and was just as comfortable there as before. Again, flights and flying, the life of a pampered Bronzerider. His dragon wanted something more, but honestly, his dragon was comfortable too, thinking of poetry and admiring clouds.
Oh he did his part, sure. He was not as lazy as he looked, and if he was told to do something, he did it with a big smile and a can-do attitude. He probably fathered children, as any traditional flight-borne weyr resident did, but he never knew or cared. He was happy in his life. Even when Thread returned and the Revolt occurred, he remained himself – pleasant and greying but still active and healthy.
And then things changed.
He discovered Ksenija.
When he first saw her amidst the new candidates at Trine Weyr, love hit him like a ton of bricks. He had not loved – properly loved – in decades. This was not the fleeting 'love' of hormones in a Flight, or the far off pining love for a beautiful mate. This was filial love, one he knew all too well and was wary about. He knew, with an uncanny and confusing certainty, that this girl was his daughter. He didn't remember her mother, but it mattered not. Waking like a bear out of hibernation, he had no choice but to try to act like a father – something inside him would not permit otherwise.
Except he did not know how. So, instead, he watched from afar as she stood, and met her – by chance – around the weyr, exchanging a few words. With every observation, his certainty became clearer until it was as if it was a fact – this was his child.
With Euclid weyr came an opportunity for his dragon to carve his name into history (potentially) and C'mant decided that he would humor Smamurth and that he wouldn't mind a change of scenery... but there was still the matter of Ksenija. What would he do with her? He knew he would have to tell her before he changed allegiances and before she stood for a clutch a third time. He would have to talk to her. Soon...
Description:
C'mant is slightly portly, fat over muscle, the picture of ease. His hair is greying and his face is genial, ruddy and framing smallish blue eyes that shine with an inner coldness at odds with his warm features.
When not in rider gear, he likes to dress up however he can, with whatever he can afford, seemingly proud of his body and thick figure.
At Euclid, he dresses well but tastefully, his marks good-naturedly going into the fledgeling weyrhold's coffers instead of to nicer, newer outfits. He hopes to return to his nice clothes eventually, of course. His favorite colors, when not in uniform, appear to be yellows and reds – he dares not wear purple or blue, though he favors those colors as well. Still, many colors will catch his eyes, and he will wear them. For someone so portly and well dressed, he moves well, purposefully and forcefully, unhindered by either girth or cloth.
Note: His voice is resonant and clear. It lends itself well to singing. Though not professionally trained, he often accompanies harpers at formal dinners, if they need a voice of his kind.
Personality:
Outwardly jovial and friendly, C'mant is your archetypical nice guy. Though slow moving at times, he bursts with more enthusiasm than his passion for fine clothes can contain. He also likes good food, and anybody that can cook – not him, he is quick to note – immediately gets good, consistent praise from him. Though he prefers to live comfortably, he is not workshy and is happy to do his part if others will do it with him. He would rather not work alone, or be alone, and he is often seeking out others to chat, assist, or otherwise spend time with.
In general, C'mant is considered a pleasant if unremarkable man. He does whatever he does, and he's not too stuck up his own arse (so far as Bronzerider's go). He is liked, and considered likable, if forgettable... and for the most part, that is what he is.
Deep beneath, however, revealed only by his chilly blue eyes, is something hard and cold and altogether unpleasant, something that is both cutting and unexpected.
The truth is, C'mant is like a bear. He is big and warm and soft and usually sleepy and content. But there is a ferocity inside him, a passion that rouses slowly but is ruthless. The truth of the matter is that he has killed before, and if given the means, motive, and opportunity he is capable of killing again.
He has the potential to be an agent of vengeance and a stalwart protector, a fierce advocate and a force to be reckoned with, but usually, that force sleeps deep within. But make note, it will return, and with it, his predictably good nature might not be so good anymore.
Other:
On Dragons:
Dragons. What about them? C'mant is a rider, a stereotypical one at that, but that doesn't completely define him.
On Whers:
Whers are whers. C'mant has no strong opinions on them.
On the Resistance:
Other than the fact that he is in it, he has no strong opinions on the movement. He's just going with the flow...
On the Revolution:
Again, he is just going with the flow. Aside from his dragon's determination that they are the 'enemy', he also is well aware that his life would not be comfortable among them and he values, quite a bit, his comfort.
On Euclid:
One of the few decisions he has not simply drifted with – he and Smamurth both want a change of pace, to some extent, and the place is a curiousity. Then again, with the mass exodus from the cramped conditions of the weyr, maybe it is with the flow after all.
On his Dragon:
C'mant does not love many things. He is fond of his dragon, and they are bound by mind, but he does not love him. They are friends, allies, and partners... but not much more.
On Threadfall:
When Thread is in the sky, dragonmen will fly. And so, that is what he does.
Dragon
Name: Smamurth
Age: 34
Colour: Bronze
Description:
Smamurth is a dark, dull-reddish bronze (closer to brass), easily mistaken for a very big brown until light strikes him. He has lighter, strikingly-tan colored edging around the ends of his wings, his wingbones, the end of his tail, and along the contours of his chest and stomach.
Size: Above Average
Build: Above Average
Personality:
Smamurth is an honorable Bronze that takes on the sheen of a gentleman but the violence of a soldier. Fancying himself a warrior-poet, he is prideful and appreciative of creativity and the arts. He would say he has such talent and creativity himself, and that is open to interpretation, but he at least gives it a try.
He does at least have the right eye for it. Short though his memory might be, he catches detail and he remembers things longer than he normally would via his poetry, which acts as mnemonics or notes for him.
In general, though, Smamurth keeps his own counsel. He is an averagely ambitious bronze – that is, he is ambitious, but content to sit upon his shiny-hided laurels and watch the leaves fall, or listen to wherrysong in the moonlight. He has every trapping of being a dignified, respectful, and creative dragon.
Except for one thing: he idealizes battle. Not merely a battle between his brethren for the favor of the queen, and not some struggle against a fell and thoughtless enemy that falls from the sky. No, Smamurth rhapsodizes about war, the battles between dragons and the humans they protect. Though this is a new sort of chapter in Pern's history, and not altogether a good one, Smamurth is one dragon that welcomes it as an inevitable glory: One day, he will fly in battle, and he hopes the harpers tell of his deeds.
His rider comes secondarily to this. Obviously, he would be going into battle with Smamurth, as his rider, but in the end it is Smamurth that will be the epic hero, his rider the mere enabler.
Meanwhile, as an uneasy and busy peace lingers on the land, Smamurth sits and watches and dreams of glory.
Other:
On Dragons:
Smamurth does not believe in the color status quo exactly, but he is happy to be at the top of it none the less. He believes that the colors smaller than brown could well be heros and worthy of song, but he believes they don't try hard enough and are not dignified enough. Yet.
On Whers:
Smamurth thinks whers are disgusting. But – he would also admit – there is some beauty to them and definite poetry to the story of their creation, that Wind Blossom failed to create what her grandmother could, that the scion fell far from the tree...
On the Resistance:
What of it? Smamurth's opinion on Trine is of no consequence.
On the Revolution:
The revolution brought war – Weyr-scale war – to Pern, and with it the glory and violence Smamurth seeks. He may agree with some of its ideals, but he has decided that they are the enemy and Smamurth will fight them.
On his Rider:
Smamurth and C'mant are allies and headmates. Smamurth chose him, and would never regret his choice, but he would be the first to admit that C'mant is no warrior. Or is he? Point being, there is an understanding between dragon and rider, and the two make many compromises to keep each other happy.
On People:
Smamurth keeps to himself. If it does not involve organized violence or dragony things, Smamurth is likely not to care.
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