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Name: Zeraiah
Age: 19
Sex: Female / Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: He's not sure. Women. He's pretty sure he likes women.
Craft: Unofficial beastcraft.
Rank: Apprentice level
Location: High Reaches Weyr
Physical Description: He isn't slender exactly, but narrow. Long-limbed and somehow almost graceful for all that he lacks any -true- grace; his arms and legs are a little too long for that. In another world they might call him willowy or pliable or flexible. He's not a stumbling brute, in other words, or in any danger of frightening someone in a dark alley, given that he's a couple inches shy of six feet. He has sharp cheekbones and a very straight nose, a slightly squared jaw, freckled skin and hazel-grey eyes that sometimes reflect strong colors in the sky. Dark auburn hair is cut short, but it is thick, top locks perpetually sliding forward into his eyes, the back tied into the smallest flip of a tail at the nape of his neck. Callused hands have long fingers, blunt and marked with scars here and there. His clothes are well-kept, but nothing fancy. His boots are worn and well-broken in.

Personality: First and foremost, Zeraiah wants to help. It's one of the main reasons he will give when asked why he's come to the Weyr. Hands are needed, knowledge should be shared and he has both that he'd rather use than waste on idle tasks. He is hard-working and dedicated to hard work, wherever that work might take him. He shrinks at very few challenges, save perhaps cooking. Don't ask him to cook. Mend a shirt? No problem. Stir a pot? You should really find someone else.

He is friendly, if not boisterous or exceptionally outgoing. He won't give a stranger the stink eye or turn a shoulder on someone wanting a chat, but he's more likely to welcome the straggler to share his table at mealtime than he is to invite himself to the table at the heart of living cavern activity. He may not volunteer a lot in conversation, but he listens well, and he can be counted on to keep a secret if the secret's made clear. In small groups, he's a pretty decent storyteller but he will rarely seek the spotlight or a large audience.

Displays of physical affection make him uncomfortable. Not yours, necessarily, unless they're particularly intimate, but he's not so good with the physical, himself. He will shake hands and he might clap someone on the shoulder in a very happy moment, but hugs are right out. He's very aware and very protective of his little bubble of personal space. He will retreat if someone stands too close, and continue to retreat until he's backed into a literal corner. Tight spaces and restraints are also bad news in his world. He isn't afraid of the dark, but he doesn't tolerate games involving blindfolds well. Fair warning.

He has somewhat regular nightmares, and as a result sometimes suffers from insomnia. He also sometimes simply chooses not to sleep to avoid them. He is fond of the small hours of morning before people start bustling and things start happening. He also favors perches where you can see long distances across Pern, so if you're looking for him in the middle of the night, that's likely where he'll be.

Positive Trait List Helpful, friendly, patient listener.
Negative Trait List Claustrophbic, guarded/reserved, workaholic.

History: Zeraiah was born in a small cothold just outside Keroon proper. Born the middle child (and middle daughter) of seven, he went to work in the family trade nearly as soon as he could be trusted to walk and carry small tools without injuring himself. Though familiar with runners, of course, the family specialized in breeding and training of herdbeasts for use as work and draft teams. Zeraiah learned to avoid being trampled, how to climb out of a confused mass of beasts to escape over their backs and how to sneak out to sleep with new calves before he learned to read his first word.

He did, however, learn to read. To write. To do figures, all as part of learning the trade. As he grew, however, he also learned that he could not forever track through the beast pens in borrowed trousers and oversized boots. He as a daughter of the family, was expected to learn to mend and clean and knead dough for biscuits, too. He was fitted for dresses and taught to braid. Not leather for a set of reins but hair, and not simply to keep it efficiently out of his eyes but for looks. For effect. His mother made him Turnday dresses and he wore them -- not comfortably -- but because it was expected, they were worn.

He didn't really argue his double-dutied life. It was the way of things,, it was the way it would be and he would simply accept that some things felt strange and wrong. His older sister had confessed that she didn't much like cleaning, so why wouldn't it be natural to resent the chore? His brothers fidgeted in their fancy Turnday clothes, too, so if the dresses made him feel wrong, well, weren't they all feeling the same?

It wasn't until the summer of his thirteenth Turn that it all changed. He was ready to pledge himself to the Beastcraft Hall. He was willing and eager to learn new lessons and techniques so he could come home, as his oldest brother often did, and make improvements to the family's holdings. He wanted to be able to lead teams to market, to barter and trade like his father did.

He was refused. Rebuked. Not just by his father who dismissed the idea out of hand. Not just by his mother, who argued that sometime soon he'd understand how much happier his life would be if he would simply follow his sister's lead. Not just by both his sisters, who were confused and worried and didn't understand. He was rebuked by the brothers he'd looked up to all along. His heroes, his inspirations, who had carried him on their shoulders and asked for his help mending fences and clipping hooves in earlier days. they began insisting that he "act like a girl" as well. They refused his company to market. They chased him out of the pens.

Zeraiah rebelled. At first at home, refusing to do the chores "assigned" to him. He would not clean, he would not wash, but he would muck for hours on end. When that was denied him, and his sisters were assigned to keep him busy, never letting them out of their sight, he refused to eat. He found a way to sneak out of the house when all the rest had gone to sleep and he ran.

He was returned three days later by a neighbor to an embarrassed but grateful family. It was the first time he'd tried such an escape. It would be far from the last. The harder Zeraiah resisted his role, the greater the threats became. One day, maybe they wouldn't look for him when he ran. One day, maybe they wouldn't take him back when he came home. Nothing ever felt dire enough to stop the rebellion, though, until his 15th Turn.

His father had threatened to marry him off, to make all this drama someone else's problem. He would wash his hands of Zeraiah. In response, Zeraiah ran away again. When he returned, a sevenday later, it was with a bruised hand, a blacked eye and his waist-length hair cut short, above his ears.

His father's temper erupted.

If he wanted to work, he would work, his father promised. If he didn't want the niceties of the cot, he would sleep in the barn. And he would stay in the barn, a command enforced by his father tying him before he slept every night. Knees were bound together with rope, his arms bound to his sides, and the door to the barn was barred from the outside. He was fed, he was clothed, he was allowed to wash, but his freedom was gone. He would not be allowed to embarrass the family any more and his antics would not be tolerated. If this was his choice, this was the price.

It was his life, for nearly a Turn. He fought for a time. He was stoic, after that, and then resigned. He did his chores, he ate his meals, he slept alone, when he slept, and he woke to do it all again.

Until his older sister visited to plead her case. She was getting married soon, and would be leaving. If, she bargained, Zeraiah would relent a little while, Raianna promised things would get better. She had spoken with her husband to be. He had agreed that there could be room for Zeraiah in their household after the wedding day. It was six months away and wouldn't a little peace now be worth it for the rest of a life to live as he chose?

He gave in. With Raianna's support and confidence to back him up, they convinced their father to lift his harsh rules. Color touched his mother's cheeks again. His brothers went back to teasing him, they way they had when he was small. His father stopped shouting. Things were as good as they could get.

And then Thread fell.

In the chaos, Zeraiah lost his second oldest brother, his little sister, and the family lost half of the herd. His sister's wedding happened very quietly. Zeraiah did not move into their home.

Instead, he left his grieving family, and joined a caravan traveling to High Reaches. There, he reasoned, he might do some good. He could use what he knew to help those in need. There, he imagined, he might make a name for himself. There, he hoped, there'd be no more arguments. And from there, one day, he might go home again, when lives were rebuilt and hearts restored.

But not until he could be himself.

Other: Anything else you want to add? Zeraiah has started over again, since joining the caravan that headed to the Weyr. He has not told anyone the truth of his story and certainly hasn't exposed himself intentionally and is in fact very careful (and painfully reluctant) to let *anyone* in on the truth, so please don't assume it can be sussed out without some real effort.

Candidate Specific Questions
Do you want them to have an official Search RP? No
Do you understand they will age every passing year regardless if you're there to RP the or not? Yes
Do you want them to have a possible Stands Impression? No