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Name: Brakesh
Age:25
Gender: Female
Craft/Rank:
Wher Handler/Guard
Appearance:
Brakesh is a fit woman of athletic build and slight frame, topping out at approximately 145lbs, with blue eyes, and dirty blonde hair not completely unlike the shades found in her wher cropped short and shaggy. Her pale skin is almost always at least a little grimed, the girl bears striking features: high plush cheekbones dusted with freckles and early sunspots, sharp near angled eyes. Her expression is almost eternally pulled into a sharp stare, that same wild haunted look that was found in that little child running the streets. Her lean frame seems better suited to a minstrel or painter, but rather, time and determination roped it with lean, hard muscles.

Personality:
Brakesh is a guarded girl, with a harsh and cerebral exterior. Many mark her as crude and blunt, even emotionless at times, and they would not be entirely wrong. There are a select few people that the girl cares about, but once won the girl seems almost a completely different person. She and her wher seem to share a lovingly loyal streak, but hers is a trust given much more guardedly than her wher. Brakesh often sees no point in pleasantries finding them boring more boring than a bronzerider lecturing on the importance of color, so don't bother bringing up the weather. There is almost always something more intersting or important to be done, so make it interesting or don't bother. Her very nature with most is brisk and to the point, often leaving people in the dust in conversations only to have to roll her eyes, and explain it all over again. She absolutely hates being underestimated, so if she catches a wiff of 'what a cute little girl,' be prepared for a swift demonstration of exactly how precisely wrong you are. Thankfully, her temper has calmed in years, and it has been a full five turns since one of these demonstrations involved physical trauma. Some may cite the 'fresh tush' incident as proof that this is not true, but Brakesh contests that 'It was my first day on the job and the prisoner got handsy. F***er deserved it,' to which Brask will only sneer--leaving the impression that by the wher's math, the prisoner deserved far more than he got. The prisoner was sent to the healers with a broken nose and two cracked ribs, and Brakesh got to meet the warden a second time on her first day, but as she so elequently puts things, "I haven't gotten my a** grabbed in three years, now have I?"

In all truth, Brakesh bears no more ill to the prisoners than she does anyone else. If anything, the young woman seems more comfortable around them than anyone else. They aren't so different, after all. Many of them come from the same place she did, the only difference between them being that an old man had worked a miracle for her. She is just as gruff around the prisoners, but they bear a certain familiarity to her, a certain strange comfort. In an odd way, she finds them more honest than most, more direct, and if nothing else, far less boring. She knows better than to trust them, but she also knows better than to trust most people in general. The constant familiarity of the past three years has left her relaxed enough to chat, when the conversation is interesting enough, and trade quips with those who will.

With a strong sense of right and wrong, and a terrible need to set wrong things right, Brakesh seems to have a knack for inserting herself into fights that are not her own. She is an odd type of creature, bound to her morality for her own sake and no one else's--a trait that is perhaps the most surprising thing about the girl, perhaps stemming from a debt she can never repay. Regardless of her feelings toward a person, if she sees them in trouble or if they have true need, Brakesh will step in. No matter how reluctant, if she can set something right she will, and in her mind, she'll owe you nothing for it. She's helped you for her own reasons, don't ask why, and thanking her will only get you a lecture for putting yourself in whatever idiotic situation you managed to, an outline of exactly why you deserved to get whatever was coming to you and a very blunt (and likely repeated) warning that if you manage to get yourself into a similarly stupid situation, she will not be helping you out, and will stand back and watch you get precisely what you deserve.

Currently the only tried and true way to tell if the girl likes you is to approach her wher, as his feelings toward others never contradict his handler's. It is roumered that this has spurred a running game among prisoners and a few guards, involving bets of one form or another in which one is dared to touch the wher. Speculation increases or decreases the ammount of the bet, depending on wether it is thought to be more or less likely that they will succeed. Brask merely calls this 'tagsies,' and seems to enjoy the activity, which is believed to be the main reason the grumpy guard hasn't put a stop to it yet. The game had continued for months before it was revealed the young woman had any knowledge of its playing. "Did you idiots really think you'd be anywhere near my wher if I didn't know about it?"

On some level, one not too often visited, Brakesh realizes how disconnected she seems, and how much difficulty she has making friends. She tells herself that she is perfectly fine, but there are times when that couldn't feel further from the truth. There are times when words simply spill forth, and she can see the damage they cause when they land, but she can never take them back. She isn't heartless, and even though she hates to admit it, there are times when she is simply a girl, really no different from any other.

(( apologies for cursing, i tried to find a more suiting word, but nothing else quite suited Brakesh's crude nature. ))
History:

The basic history is that she was born in a northern weyr, lost both of her parents by age six. She mangaged to scrounge as a street urchin, but at the age of twelve, by a stroke of luck(and stupidity) she's taken in by a wher breeder when she shows the tenacity of trying to steal food from his largest bronze wher ( who happens to be Brask's father, a solid, old fashioned wher who seemed to have the same decreased human agression as Brask, otherwise she certainly would have been killed). But things are set in a way. The people who've always seen her as that dirty child and future duster still do, even when she's given a wher egg, and taken in off of the streets. Roumers begin to circulate that the wher breeder (an older man with no children or wife) will be leaving his business to Brakesh when he dies, news that doesn't please quite a few. The girl has an avid fear of dust, and a severe prejuduce against dusters. They ruin lives, and will never change, but that doesn't stop those old foes from thinking she will never be anything different from her parents. Her years in the northern weyr are never easy, with riders on her tail, and the dragon watch always looking over her shoulder. One step out of line, and they let her know it. The older her wher gets, the more raucous he becomes. He doesn't understand fully what is going on, but he knows that those members of the dragon watch treat his beloved handler differently, and treat him differently.
More importantly, he knows that he does not like it. This is where Brask gets his prejuduce toward dragons, dismissing them as big, useless animals who eat more than they work.

The beast then only knew that he wanted to protect his handler, and did so by persecuting the drgaons of the watchmembers that persecuted his handler. It was never anything large at first, just a minor annoyance that the dragons laughed at, picked fights with simply to hear the stupid beast rave. The larger Brask got, the more afraid Brakesh became that her beast, lunging at the end of his chain, roaring and snapping at dragons, would be not so humanely put down. Most members of the watch in the Northern weyr were good men, and not even Brakesh could rightly blame them for thinking so little of a daughter of two dead dusters. A little theif and brawler that they had known for years. She has a chance to build a life in the northern weyr, a rich one as a wher breeder when her mentor passes on, but the more agressive Brask becomes, the bolder some of the less kind become. There comes a day when Brask lunges at a WatchMember, only to be smashed across the face with a club. Brakesh collected and calmed her wher, giving as many apologies as she could to the Watch Member. As hard of a life as she's had, she has never had the heart to lay a hand on her wher, and he has never given her reason to, and perhaps she never would have made a proper wher breeder because of it. That same day she volunteered herself and Brask for Warden's Weyr. Perhaps it wouldn't be as fabulous a life as a wher breeder, but she had never liked to be too comfortable anyway. It felt strange to her.

From there, she's kept her nose down, and worked hard. Brask still taunts the dragons, though there is not near the aggression shared between himself and the dragons of the northern weyr. I would guess she would have been at wardens for no more than three years now, and at current time is 25, so that puts her transfering at a capable 22-23 turns.
Other stuff:
Keep an eye out for my much longer version of Brakesh and Brask's history! (If it's alright with you guys, I'll send it to the staff when I am done, just to make sure that the longer version is approved as well, but it will be working off of the same outline used in the history currently, should lengthy reading want to be avoided <3 I just wanted to make sure I had Brakesh up by the touching! )

Name:
Color: Bronze
Age: Ten Turns
Appearance:


A large wher, even for a bronze, well built in both structure and muscle, at first glance. Upon further inspection, at least by a seasoned handler, it would reveal that the beast's head is entirely too big, his tail oddly small, and his wings undersized--even for a wher. The beast's body and hide are obviously where all of the good genes went. A wide, deep chest sets ample room for thick shoulders and forelimbs that seem to be specificly crafted to dismantle just about anything that gets in his way.

Personality:
There is no kind way to describe exactly how stupid this creature actually is, but at very least, he seems to make up for it with a dogged determination. He doesn't seem to be at all acquainted with his size or his strength, leaving him clumsy and careless. Oddly enough, however, he seems to lack almost all of the human-aggression associated with his kind--much to his handler's dismay. He is eternally loyal and loving to his master, elevating her, and any other humans that strike his fancy to the level of gods. This is not to say, however, that he is completely docile, by any means. Brask has a particular prejudice against dragons, often describing them as "STUPID FLITTY FLY-ER THINK THEY BETTER THAN BRASK. BRASK STRONG. BRASK SHOW BIG FLITTY-FLY-ER HIS BIG STRONG. MAKE FLITTY FLY-ER AFRAID."
It is unknown what divine grace has protected the wher thus far in his anti-dragon tirades, and thankfully they usually only get so far as hollering and posturing before the saner dragon simply ignores Brask, or Brakesh arrives to haul her wher off by the nostril. No matter the outcome, it seems that Brask finds himself (or at least thinks himself ) the victor of the battle. "THAT RIGHT FLITTY FLYER. KEEP TOOTHHOLE SHUT LIKE BIG HATCHLING." And often loves nothing more than relating the stories of his wondrus deeds as well as anyone with such a limited grasp of vocabulary (and most of the world in general) can. "BRASK BIG, MOMMA, BRASK MAKE FLTTY FLYER SHUT TOOTHHOLE. BRASK DO GOOD, YES? BRASK GOOD?" More times than not, his handler arrives in time to quell any blood shed, but this is a skill his handler has acquired over time and experience.
Thankfully, the wher's prejudices do not seem to extend to firelizards, but Braken has never really been able to work out whether he actually likes the little creatures, or merely hopes one of them will venture close enough to become a delightful little snack. After an incident that left a firelizard without its original 'forked' tail, Brakesh pretty much refused to let any of them near him again. Herdbeasts, oddly enough, he is fine with. The creatures can walk all over him, in every manner speaking. If it were not for the fact that the wher will delightedly obey any command given by his master, and the deep love that he and his reluctant handler share, the beast would have been culled long ago, if for nothing other than pestering the dragons. Brakesh is sure that Brask does not understand why the dragons are held in such respect, and he so low. He does his work, he provides safety, security and more in the mines, doing work that no man could, so why should he be so looked down upon? He may be an unintelligent creature, but he seems to have a strong sense of right and wrong. Brakesh herself attributes this mostly to the wher's dogged determination, but there have been times, very few and far between, when the wher has asked, or said something that should have been beyond his grasp. Most notable of these occasions stems back, once again, to his dislike of dragons. Often Brakesh would watch her little wher when he was young, staring at the dragons, his expression tight and strained. It was hours before the wher tore himself away, and came to his handler, "BRASK WORK. HARD-LONG WORK. PEOPLE NO LIKE BRASK. CALL STUPID. CALL UGLY. SOME NICE, BUT MANY MEAN." The wher, then only months old, bared his teeth at his own thoughts. "BIG-WINGS DO NOTHING. SIT. EAT. LAZY BIG WINGS NOTHING BUT HARD ON HARD-LONG-WORK BRASK. MAKE HARD WORK MORE HARD." Again the wher had paused, the mental stimuli more exhausting than any hard day in the mines, and producing a visible strain on the young wher. "PEOPLE LOVE BIG-WINGS. PEOPLE NO LOVE BRASK. NO LOVE AT ALL." His handler sat in silence, eyes wide. It was obvious that this was an idea that should have been far beyond his grasp, the poor stupid creature, and yet here he sat and strained. Their bond would never be as strong as a dragon's, and perhaps it was not quite the telepathic empathy that the glorious dragon riders were privileged to, but the handler's heart burned with anger, and sadness, along side her wher. If the creature could have cried, Brakesh was sure he would have. "STUPID FLITTY-FLYING-BIG-WINGS. EVERYONE LOVE STUPID BIG-WINGS. NO-ONE LOVE STUPID WRINKLE-WING BRASK." Brakesh gathered the months old wher, already too large for any such childish cuddles, in her lap pulling him close to her anyway. "Don't be silly. I love Brask." There was no such thing as too large for cuddles.