Age: 27
Sex: Male
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Weyr: Other
Rider Rank: Wanderer
Previous Rank/Craft: Previously, Wingleader. Journeyman Healer before that.
Physical Description:
[0000]Height: 6'1"
[0000]Weight: 176lbs
[0000]Hair Color: Rich auburn with golden-red highlights
[0000]Eye Color: Pale golden brown
A tall young man, Shev has a certain air about him that compels (or at least attempts to compel) people to like him. He smiles often and openly, with laughter not far in the offing, and he uses that to his advantage every chance he gets. He could be described as handsome, and has certainly not lacked for bedmates since coming of age, but his tendency to love-and-run has slowed that momentum a bit. He keeps himself in top physical form, and it is quite obvious that he knows his way around many manners of weapons in addition to maps and literature.
He's got sharp eyes when he's angry or determined, but with both seldom stirring past the superficial mask of lazy ineptitude he's cultivated in recent years, his eyes are generally described as warm and sleepy looking. He dresses for convenience and sometimes to impress, it really depends on his mood, but he always dresses for comfort.
Personality:
[0000]Positive Trait List Charming, intelligent, adventurous, exuberant, compassionate
[0000]Negative Trait List Insecure, lackadaisical, self-reliant, mischievous, stubborn
The traits which have come to shape who Sh'valt is as a man are, oddly enough, not the ones that are most apparent at first glance. He is, and always has been, a master of appearing the friendly face and casual partner in crime... mostly because he does come by his friendliness honestly. He's goofy, preferring to crack jokes at his own expense, and he's not afraid to get up and shake off a bad mood with a little dance. His is a compassionate soul, but life and an unreal set of expectations set on him by himself have warped his idea of happiness beyond recognition. He keeps the real 'him' shuttered behind mask after mask of laziness, arrogance, ineptitude, and downright shallow charm. He'll flit between all of those with hardly the bat of an eye, though a close and knowledgeable observer might note the fear that underlies all of them.
He believes he is, at his root, a cowardly man... afraid of who he is and who he might become. His powerful flight response is readily apparent whenever something important comes up. He appears to be deathly afraid of commitment, but those who take the time to get to know him find a staunchly loyal friend - a facet completely at odds with his devil-may-care guise. Pushing him into swearing something concrete is akin to bathing cats, but in the rare moments that he gives his word - he keeps it.
Someone kind might venture that his flight response to his past trauma is hardly the sign of a true coward, merely the result of inexperience, but they would have a hard time convincing Sh'valt of that. Beneath everything, deeper even than that sniveling coward he believes himself to be, Sh'valt is his own worst critic... delivering judgement after crushing judgement for everything and anything he has or considered doing. Not an ounce of the compassion he shows others is spared for himself, and he truly believes he deserves the terrible things that happen to him. He was responsible for those riders, should have been there for them even if it meant his own death... but he had run! Run like a wherry pursued by dragons. As a result he has chosen nothing, to be nothing and no one to everyone so he won't ever make that mistake again. His time Holdless has proved a balm for his shattered nerves, providing shelter and no-questions-asked while he picked up the pieces of his life and made some hard decisions. Finding Aishe's group has helped this healing process further, though he hasn't shared his past with anyone.
Truthfully, Sh'valt is a work in progress emotionally, with the ability to attract and lead people, he could be anything he wants to be. Luckily, no one is about to force his hand as his home Weyr did. There are plenty of ambitious people in Aishe's group ready and willing to take up the mantle of responsibility and leadership, so why push someone against their wishes? Perhaps, subconsciously, Sh'valt knows that and that is why he stays. Maybe someday he'll try again, but then again... maybe he won't. It is far easier to play the part of the arrogant and self-assured when you've got nothing to lose.
History:
Sh'valt's story is not a tale meant to be shared at bedtime with younglings yearning for a happy ending. He is, at heart, exactly why the Dragonriders of Pern have become so diversified... he is an anomaly among his kin and fellow weyrfolk, a 'coward' gallivanting around in the guise of a leader. He is a kind man, but kindness only goes so far when it comes to responsibility.
It begins in the manner of most stories, with an uneventful birth in the reputable hold of Ruatha. His mother, a master level Healer, made sure her pregnancy was attended by only the most talented and knowledgeable of her friends, while his father, the hold's resident Harper, nervously wrote songs about nervousness. His was a small, close-knit family, brought closer by his emergence and the birth of his younger sister two turns later. Son as he was to a Harper and a Healer, he was given the best early education before being sent into the Hold creche during his parents working candlemarks. Barring a week of sullen apprehension at being separated from his momma and papa every morning, little Shonie took to the highly social atmosphere of the creche like a fish to water. He began to look forward to game time with his friends, and attracted a little circle of followers quickly. Paired with his academic aptitude, his father considered him a shoe-in for Harper training... until the poor boy tried his hand at singing.
While this was only the first of many disappointments in his life, Shonie took his inability to follow in his father's footsteps poorly... vowing himself to musical silence. It wasn't hard really, gossip among children spreads fast, especially 12 year olds, and any lessons where singing was involved generally included some joke or another at Shonie's expense. But little Shonskivalt wasn't about to lose out on his social position due to his singing, so he made a point of studying his numbers and letters, excelling academically where those with sweeter voices fell short. It took a turn or so of careful reputation management, where Shonie lorded his superiority over those who teased him and helped those at the bottom of the pile also facing teasing, but he regained his traction in the Hold pecking order... and found himself the apple of his parents eye again.
At 14, he was formally apprenticed to the Healer Hall... leaving Ruatha Hold and all of his friends behind for presumably greener (a pun he still enjoys) pastures. His talent for making friends worked wonders at the the Healer hall, especially once he became good at down-playing his inability to sing with carefully chosen self deprecating jokes he was in control of. He wasn't the star pupil anymore, finding himself somewhere near the bottom of the top 10%, but that didn't appear to bother him. He knew what he was doing (more or less) and had a circle of close friends and casual acquaintances despite being less than 'the best.'
Just after his 17th naming day celebration, a Search Dragon appeared from Southern Weyr... and he was Searched (along with three other boys and one girl from the Harper Hall) with all due pageantry and circumstance. He was riding high at this point, confident in himself and his future in ways he had never dreamed possible! And the clutch! It was near Hatching when he arrived, with him finding out later that a scuffle among likely weyr-bred lads and the emergence of a hidden Queen Egg had prompted this Search outside of the Weyr so close to hatching. He'd literally just settled in and began to circulate again, gaining acquaintances and friends, when the humming began. Like a dream, he was ushered into the traditional robes and presented to the clutch... watching with wide eyes as the first egg cracked it's shell revealing... A bronze, the universal lucky symbol among the Weyrbred, and the graceful creature wasted no time at all in selecting his new lifemate... one recently popular Healer apprentice formerly known as Shonskivalt.
The young man; no apprentice, no, scratch that, bronzerider, exited the Sands to the applause of the assembled and the accolades he always desired. He felt that, without a doubt, he had been born for this moment, born to rest his hand on the downy-soft head of Brulixianth, his dragon. That the little dragonet agreed completely only amplified his over abundance of confidence. This trend continued all through Weyrling Training and his first few years as a Wing Rider and the rest of his training as a healer. Without Thread or any real threats to pull Sh'valt and Brulixianth back to the surface, the pair continued to coast through the ranks and their lives with hardly a batted eyelash or eyelid for the cost of responsibility.
When Brulixianth turned five and successfully flew a junior Queen dragon, Sh'valt quite suddenly found himself as a newly minted Wingleader and weyrmate to Southern's youngest queenrider. One of Southern's older Wingleaders had elected to retire, and the Weyrleader decided to shuffle around the remaining Wings to promote a new Wingleader... as chosen by the Queens. This left Sh'valt saddled not only with a clingy young woman in constant need of his presence, but an entire Wing of dragonriders and all of their associated paperwork. He wasn't exactly pleased with the work, but did it regardless in return for the gain of being a ranking rider in what were tough times for Dragonriders in the North. He was popular with his riders despite his real feelings, given his tried and true ability to attract and maintain social circles like a queen firelizard would a faire. He had made a point of maintaining personal connections from his time at Ruatha and the Healer Hall, connections which came in handy when it came to job commissions and finding extra work to put marks in his rider's purses.
Everything honestly felt more or less right, even the strained relationship with the young goldrider, as that too was part of what he felt he had to have in order to be the image of himself he had painted in his mind.
It was when Brulixianth turned 8 that things started to go wrong. First, Bru lost 'his' queen's Flight... a move that led to some doubt the supposed stability of Sh'valt's relationship with the queenrider, and rumbling among the ranks of his Wingriders. Sh'valt quickly became frustrated with the rumors, the incident calling to mind the merciless teasing he had suffered (and suitably inflated mentally) as a child when he had croaked his first note. He'd been at Benden long enough to know that with literally nothing to do, the rumor mill was the best entertainment the bored Weyrbred had... but he'd always been the darling of the Mill, not the grindstone. He grew irritable and short-tempered, even going so far as replacing his Wingsecond three times in one turn as he and his Wing prepared for the annual Spring Games.
Right before the event, when tensions were at their highest, Sh'valt received word from a contact regarding a job. He grudgingly put the commission to his riders in what had become standard operating procedure for the Wing, accepting their vote to do it with clenched fists and the feeling that he was no longer really in control of his Wing or his life. The job itself looked simple, a sweep of several Holdings to take census data for one of the small-holders. They would be given monetary compensation and lunch for themselves and their dragons... the latter being reason enough to take it. Benden supplied meals for dragons, but everyone knew the purchases were generally cull stock... and hardly the bargain they appeared on paper.
The day of the job dawned poorly, the young queenrider had kicked Sh'valt out of her weyr formally the night previous, and the young Wingleader had spent the night moving his items into the dusty quarters he had occupied as a Wing Rider. In short, Sh'valt was of the opinion life couldn't get much worse, and basically left the running of the Wing to the riders and his new Wingsecond... choosing to find himself a tree to sit under and a lake for Bru to swim in while he cooled off. It took a candlemark or so of meditation before he finally felt calmer, and by then, he'd slowly begun to realize that what he thought he had wasn't what he wanted at all. The realization was a bitter one, but he faced it as best he could, and together with Bru attempted to work through solutions to some of his immediate problems...
And it was then, just when he thought he might have something to set his life back on track... the alarm call came.
Death. Three dragons, their riders slain for no apparent reason, took to the sky and vanished between as the rest of the Wing attempted to rally and get to their own dragons from the trap sprung around them by unknown assailants. The peaceful lunch promised by the commissioner had turned bloody in moments, with it becoming glaringly obvious as still more men poured into the little farm-hold that the commissioner himself was behind the attacks. The reports poured in, both to their Wingleader, and presumably to the Weyr itself as reinforcements were requested immediately.
The finality of Brulixianth's death keen, far as he was from the sight of the massacre, shook the young rider to his core... and he could think of only one thing as two more names and faces floated through his mind and his dragon keened again.
Run.
Run and keep running.
He didn't have anything but the marks on him and the clothes on his back, but Sh'valt wasn't exactly thinking clearly when he climbed up his dragon's neck and pulled from the distant memories of Weyrlinghood and their time spent practicing betweening to every Weyr on the planet. Monaco Weyr, and after that, he'd fly North over the ocean... disappear into the forests of the north....
Why?
To this very day, that question has hung between dragon and rider... a not-quite accusation, but a discord. Brulixianth had never run from anything in his life, didn't understand why they had to leave then, but he obeyed his rider regardless... except for that maddeningly simple question Sh'valt is still trying to answer.
He doesn't know why he ran, probably won't ever know so long as he clings to his cowardice instead of facing it, but he did spend nearly a turn evading capture in the winter wastelands of the North. At least until something else caught up to him, a band of traders who couldn't care less who he was or had been, and their offer was simple.
Join ... or perish, though not by their hands. Like them, Sh'valt has come to realize in that savage turn that he wouldn't last long in the wilderness, even with Brulixianth at his side. Either the wild itself would claim him, or he would be forced back into civilization and the custody of those who wanted him brought to justice. Whether the goldrider leading the group, Aishe of Rhianth, believed him when he said he had nothing to do with the plan to murder his comrades didn't matter, all that mattered was what was he willing to put in to the common pot and pull his weight as the group traversed the planet.
Since then, Sh'valt, known mostly as Shev, has made a point of being anything but a dependable bronzerider. Often brought to task for the most inane reasons, he seemed to revel in the freedom his new lack of responsibility gifted him. As an all purpose rider with the group, he assisted Aishe in every way possible, taking orders and executing them ... followed by a few side trips that would inevitably keep him exactly where he wanted to be.
Nowhere. A no-name nobody doing nothing of note.
He was simply a rider, and contented himself to assisting others and the group as a whole. In return, they would protect him from his ghosts... and that, he thought, was a fair trade. When Thread returned, he found himself among friends, fighting to defend the only home he has left.
Other: N/A
DRAGON
Name: Brulixianth
Age: 12
Color: Bronze
Size: 45ft
Physical Description:
Long and lithe, Bru is a big bronze and he knows it. His hide is a medium shaded bronze with a lighter under belly, a dark dorsal stripe, leg barring, four paler bronze mittens on his feet and a comically cute star and snip (reminiscent of a runner) marking on his face. He also possesses an unusual amount of scars - relics from fighting off slasher wherries and wild whers in the turns he and his rider lacked a Weyr to call home.
Personality:
[0000]Pros: Confident, imaginative, courageous, intelligent, affectionate
[0000]Cons: Proud, rambunctious, impulsive, self-reliant, stubborn
Brulixianth is the kind of dragon who kicks maximus buttimus now, and queries the corpse. A take no prisoners jarhead, the one and only soul he relies on besides himself is his chosen rider. Naturally, he knows Sh'valt isn't a coward... would he have chosen a coward?! Of course not! But he's willing to play along if it keeps Sh'valt happy. He may be a proud beast with a marginal (see: explosive) amount of arrogance, but a bronze can be excused for that right? Riiight. His rider is young yet as far as humans go, but Bru is as confident in his Sh'valt as he is in himself.
Unfortunately, that means Brulixianth is hardly going to help his rider with the whole 'following orders' side of Weyr Living that would actually put him on the path of being the obedient dog. He's a free spirit, shardit, and sure he'll calm down enough to get some stuff done, but they gosh darn better be off on an adventure of their own choosing later! Preferably an adventure dissimilar to the one they took last sevenday, and you better remember that this bronze has a sharding good memory (and surprisingly extensive vocabulary) .... and don't you dare add that 'for a dragon' bit at the end!
When he's not making up for his rider's low self esteem by single-handedly bringing the party and bringing the house down around the party, this dragon actually enjoys quiet snuggle time with his rider and whatever female he's recently flown. He can be downright affectionate when he's in the mood, and appears to have just as much fire in his chest for love as he does for doing things his own way. Likewise, he is staunchly loyal to Sh'valt, and will not tolerate other dragons speaking ill of him in his presence.
Dragon Art or Proof of Obtainment:
