Age: 47
Gender: Male
Rank: Wherhandler/ Investigator
Appearance:
Mador is lean and muscled, with the rough and weathered look of a cothold worker, which he indeed was. Now, he's better dressed and fed, though not softened by any means.
His skin, coppered by genetics and Rukbat's rays, is naturally tough and rough, and his hands are well-calloused. He is not a handsome man, but he isn't ugly either – he's more monolithic, like a wind-hewn formation of stone. His chiseled, angular features complete the hewn image, and the occasionally tended scruff of his dark facial hair prevents him from looking wholly inorganic.
He's missing a few teeth, and has a few wrinkles, but overall Mador is clearly a rough man in his prime. But behind his strong, steady body and his powerful silence, his blue eyes are haunted, speaking of a terrible pain.
Personality:
Mador is the sort of guy you want as your friend. He's honest and loyal, never one to betray a trust or a friendship. He'll stick by you and his hunt to the end, and would rather recuse himself than be forced to choose between friends or between his duties and his friendships.
He is, however, a hard man to befriend, as he hides a lot about himself. Its not that he's quiet – he's fairly talkative, even – he just doesn't offer a lot of personal details, and doesn't expect any in return. Somehow, though, his past – and his time spent with the very young Balenna – are common knowledge. He is perfectly happy to let people think what they will of him.
He doesn't mince his words either. What he says is usually the absolute, unfiltered truth as he sees it. While often impolitic and occasionally unkind, he is usually (usually, mind) neutral in delivery, and just as what he says is clear, so to is it clear that there is no malicious intent behind what he says. He's just genuine.
Mador doesn't second guess himself: if he's right, he's right. If he's wrong, he's wrong, and he's willing to admit it and change for the better. In fact, that is what his life has been, up til now – wrong choices that he then fixed.
It's been a long, winding, terrible road for Mador. Forced from his quiet life by nearly unthinkable tragedy, he's had to adjust to incredible grief and loss. In quiet moments, people close to him will catch a haunted, distant look in his gaze, and a palpable sadness that follows him like a cloud. He misses his wife and children, and there is no way to get them back.
That doesn't mean he forgives the scum that murdered them. With his sadness comes a carefully managed wrath. He knows his was not the only tragedy, and that there are many more to come. Mador went to the weyr and became a handler and investigator to take revenge on the holdless bandit filth – on all of the holdless bandit filth – and to try to stop some of those tragedies from happening. Calm and collected and genial off the field or relaxing with his hunt, he turns positively murderous when they are on duty. For Mador, there is no mercy or forgiveness for the wicked, only bloody death.
Even then, though, Mador is never truly at peace.
[ green Madask ]
Green Russian Caravan - Long Way Home Egg
Inspiration: Russian Caravan tea, an elegant blend of oolong, keemun, assam, and/or lapsang souchong teas. While Chinese in origin, as the name implies, Russian Caravan tea was carried by camel caravans in the 18th century across a six thousand mile journey from China to Russia. During the age of the Czars, tea was the most popular drink in Russia after vodka. Russian Caravan tea sports a unique flavor, rich and aromatic with a hint of smoke: anecdote claims this is from the smoke of the campfires and aging from the long journey, but it can also be attributed to the smoke-dried lapsang souchong in the blend.
Name: Madask
Appearance: Anyone who thinks that whers are ugly hasn’t had a proper look at the Russian Caravan green. Sleek and rangy, she’s got a bit of the same long-legged grace as the racing whers, but her motion lacks their natural speed. Instead, what she’s got is stamina: her gait may not be a swift one, but it is smooth and tireless. For a girl of her size, she’s well-suited to pursuing prey across long distances. At 14 hands tall but lightly built, she’ll be too small for a large rider, but if she’s lucky enough to be paired with a handler who’s on the shorter side, she’ll make a fine mount.
Her color is a deep piney green, darkest on her extremities, and lightening on her belly and midsection. The darker and the lighter green mingle in dapples and whorls like drifting smoke, and will likely provide excellent camouflage when moving through thick brush.
Colour: Green
Personality: Elegant, sultry, and playful, the Russian Caravan green has every inch of her mother’s arrogance, but lacking the vicious edge of her wrath. Oh, she’ll preen and strut with the queens, but really at the end of the day what she wants is simple: companionship. She craves attention, whether it’s from her handler or her huntmates or even from her rivals – and make no mistake, she will find a rivalry to keep herself occupied, whether it’s a friendly competition or bitter enmity. She has a long memory towards those she is fond of… as well as those she holds a grudge towards. When she’s old enough to Run, she’ll lead a merry chase and try to get as many of the boys as she can to pursue – because have you seen her? Have you seen her run? She deserves the best of the best, doesn’t she?
She’s not the kind of green who will seek leadership of her own accord; there are stronger personalities and more aggressive females out there, and she is simply too smart to pick any fight that she doesn’t think she can win. In the pecking order of a hunt, she’d much rather attach herself to a dominant gold and find a place as a clever second in command. It’s an innately more stable position in the pack structure: she won’t have to worry so much about being deposed by a bigger badder female, and a strong huntsecond will always be useful. On the other hand, if attached to a strong-willed handler who turns out to be more ambitious than herself, she’ll happily substitute “dominant gold” for “dominant human” in that social equation. If her handler wants to lead, then she’ll back them up as best she can.
This pretty lady’s easy to please, and willing to please in turn: weyrlinghood with her is likely to be a fairly simple and breezy affair, with one exception. Don’t ask her to do guard work. This green is not watch-wher material. She can handle… maybe an hour or so of sitting in one place. Then she’ll start to get bored and need to be bribed to stick around. Then she’ll get annoyed and wander off, regardless of what her handler does to try to stop her. It’s not a matter of attention span: put her on a trail and she’ll track for hours without getting distracted. She just needs a task that’s exciting enough to hold her interest and keep her sharp mind from wandering. If her handler has any desire to travel, they can expect to be pestered regularly to go, to explore, to find somewhere exciting and new. She may be best off attached to a hunt that does regular work outside the Weyr, as it will satisfy her need for novelty and keep her on her best behavior.
Written and coloured for you by Tua.
History:
Mador grew up in a cothold in High Reaches territory, a nice place with good consistent harvests. He married a nice girl and they had three children. The Cothold stayed in the family, and they did well for themselves, some of the family even splitting off to start their own cotholds or, even, marrying into wealthier families. It wasn't the decadent life of a lord or a dragonrider, but it was a good life, and Mador was happy.
But cotholds, even ones in the territories of good holds with regular patrols, are not safe. Mador's cothold was attacked by holdless bandits who pillaged his crops and stores before murdering his family and then leaving him to die as they burned his cothold. By the time a dragon patrol arrived to deal with the situation, he was the only thing that was salvageable - His family and home were gone.
The dragons took him with them, and he was treated for various lacerations, minor burns, and smoke inhalation by the weyrhealer. As he recovered from his physical wounds, he ached from the less physical wounds. But he was not felled. He wanted to pay them back – both the bandits for massacuring his family and the dragonriders for saving him. When he was able enough to work, he asked to join the patrols. Obviously, he was too old to be a dragonrider, but he could figure out a weapon and could ride with a dragon patrol and help them out. Unfortunately, they had no openings for a tag-along, but they recommended him to the wherhandler hunts. He took to the whercandidate training well, finding solace in the discipline of it. Though he did not impress to the first few clutches he was invited to, he became a part of the group through their gruelling exercises.
He had loved his wife dearly, and thought he would never love again, but a few turns after he arrived at the weyr, he happened to meet a young eighteen year old girl. And he fell for her hard. He knew it was sketchy, but she was kind to him and he to her, and the way he felt about her helped to repair some of the damage that had been done to him. Perhaps it was because of this that, in the next wherclutch he stood for, he impressed to a spirited green wher.
With a wher bonded to him, he was formally inducted into the Hunt. Madask grew up well, and they made a good team. With her by his side, he felt reborn, more able to handle whatever life threw at him. And he needed that support when, a few turns later, his weyrmate impressed from the Stands to a small, lean blue. Knowing he couldn't spend as much time with her, he was gracious enough to 'give' her to her dragon. And, in turn, to give himself more to his Hunt. They drifted apart and, after some sadness, he realized he was fine with it. She was young, she had to find her way with her dragon.
Someday, he would too...
