|
|
Post by gauze on Jul 11, 2010 0:13:55 GMT -8
wherssssss <3
Name: Kendrick
Age: 27
Gender and sexuality: Bisexual Male
Family: Smithmaster Lothar (deceased), Ireen (deceased), Journeyman Harper Donovan (m, 24 turns), Sendola (f, 20 turns), Basil (m, 17 turns)
Weyrmate: N/A
Wing: N/A
Rank: Wherhandler
Appearance:
Kendrick is the ideal candidate for any physical match. He has, since childhood, focused on his physique and did whatever outdoor activities to keep himself in check. His muscles are kept in shape, and the nearest comparison would probably match that of any active athlete. His muscles are tightly knit around his chest and abdomen, an ample supply of muscle rounds over his arms down to his hands. Yes, he is fit, and that's because he was the athletic, bully of a child out of the batch of siblings he was paired with. He stands in at an impressive six-five--the height he got from his grandfather, bless his soul, for his father was a short and squat man. Everything about Kendrick is, well, intimidating.
That is, until you see him smile.
The serpent of a man is armed with a deadly grin, one which is full of sparkling, flat teeth and an immeasurable amount of charisma pumped into it. Kendrick is seen as intimidating until he turns his charm on, and when that happens he is as amiable and sociable as anyone else, maybe even more so. His eyes are an infallible light green, even inching on a mint tone. The only reason they pop and look so effing brilliant is due to the fact they're under those heavy brows of his. His hair color is dark enough, an average Pernese brown mixed with a hefty amount of auburn. The man keeps his hair cropped short to his skull--which suits him, going for that whole athlete field. As for facial hair, he never allows his stubble to grow longer than a sevenday's length, finding it far too unappealing and itchy if it grows any more.
His skin tone is a natural bronze tone, even keeping the color if he spends an insurmountable time inside. A small amount of freckles are splashed over his collarbone and shoulders, but elsewhere are void--granted, a stray few are strewn about his upper-arms and back. Scars, though, oh those are plenty. Most are old, gathered about his knees and ankles in rough clusters of scar-tissue. The most mentionable mark is the thickly-banded, smooth length stretching over his left pectoral, down across his ribcage to right beneath the lower tip of his sternum, gaining a full run of about two and a half handspans. That one is still a bit fresh, a sickly pinkish-white of new tissue forming. That wound easily is attributed to the his latest mining adventure and the unfortunate circumstances he was stuck in.
More scars litter his body, some in small speckles across his spine. A severe, deep, ragged mark is boldly slapped within the inner palm of his right hand, that was a bitch to deal with. As a child he had sliced his hand open to the point where the healers had to surgically put together a few things--namely about two tendons, almost a third. Being, of course, a right-handed man, Kendrick was forced to learn how to use his left during the healing process he had to go through, as a result he is ambidextrous today, although he had trouble fully opening and closing his right hand still.
Almost always Kendrick is dressed to the nines. He is consistently fashioned in the most pricey material and most expensive threads are used in embroideries. At any event or meeting you can guarantee he'll be done up looking absolutely magnificent in anything that holds to his frame. Outside of the limelight, he casually dresses in breeches and loose, open shirts--something a bit more comfortable for issues which don't have the necessity of formal situations. Bands of flat metal have been molded and bent into rings which sometimes he'll accessorize his fingers with, mainly it's purely defensive, in the off hand that there's a physical argument he would without doubt use the rings to his potential.
Personality:
Kendrick can be stereotypically placed in the ruthless category. He is fierce and intimidating and, well, he hardly had to get physical to admonish that point. He grew up as a right-hand man to his father, and therefore knows how to deal with associates and people in a type of business-like atmosphere that his father had dealt with in the smithing craft. First appearance he can seem understanding, professional, and almost sweet, however with his undermining thinking and venomous persona will slip through soon enough and, oh, how he does love to see others fall around him. Professional-wise, he will do whatever it takes to get what needs to be done finished. As for underlings underneath his position who report to him, he will put them through hell.
Hell, though, isn't as brash in the beginning as you might think. He admires the "tough-love" type of relationships, and puts that through even to those who work beneath him. He's very homed in on detail, and shards if his klah isn't the right temperature you might as well not show up with it at all. He is subservient and vicious, but again, in a subtle way--unless he's alone in a room with someone, then all resistance will break and he will unleash whatever fury he has, be it vocally or not. Although so far Kendrick has been described with such despicable and harsh terms, he does have a few that are worth mentioning. Firstly, he is punctual and very in control of himself when before a group of people. He is put together and established, and oh does he have work ethic like you could not believe.
Granted, if someone does have the patience to warm up to him, they'd see a sarcastic, cynical humor to the man's antics. He doesn't know how to exactly relax and have fun, only because he's been working his whole life and, well, that's how he knows how to act. He does treat those he knows beyond his outer facade with respect, and will show and share with them some benefits that come with his smarts and networking. One main thing that Kendrick does, which is remarkable, well, admirable of him, is that he pushes people to do the best that they can. He will try to motivate them in any way he can think of, even if it means expressing how disappointed he is, giving off the sensation that he'd cut them loose completely if that would switch on their want or need to prove him wrong.
Romantically, Kendrick is hopeless. He has issues with monogamy and settling down, and really, with the latter, he has no intention of doing such a thing, or he used to. He is hardly faithful, namely because when one thing becomes routine, he moves on to the next without really any thought or remorse. Kendrick doesn't enjoy when his personal life becomes as monotonous as his professional life, and when that does happen, he breaks from it to cause some needed chaos. He is constantly seeking something new, and the long trail of heartbreak he's left behind him aren't too keen on his ideas or believes, and really wouldn't mind giving him an earful of what they think. The issue with that, though, is that Kendrick simply doesn't care as to what they have to say, and really won't bother listening completely. If he does, he regards the whole ordeal with apathy.
One bizarre outlet for the man--because every person has an outlet for everything--is music. Although he never was really proud of his spot of talent for the mandolin. His brother was the one who was proficient in the Harper Crafts, and it was from him where he learned to do what he could do with a mandolin. He uses it as an outsource at times, only when frustration overcomes him in a private place. He isn't one who share this fact with, well, absolutely anyone, and would probably react with anger and spite if anyone was to call him out on it. Aside from that, there is really nothing too bizarre about Kendrick--oh, except for the fact that he absolutely loathes small places. He is claustrophobic to a certain extent--again, that fact gives reason as to why he was outdoors most of the time as a child.
History:
Born and raised in Southern Boll Hold, Kendrick was just the son his father wanted. Lothar, his father, was a Smithmaster, and he, Kendrick, was the perfect example of what a Smith Crafter's son should look like. From childhood, he was always primed to be an exceptional Smith to take his father's place. He grew up active, doing everything and anything to broaden his horizons. Kendrick wasn't always so jaded and bitter as he might seem to be now, a good portion of that happened when he really learned about how his father worked, and the relationship, or lack thereof, he had with his mother. His younger brother, Donovan, had always been his mother's favorite. Instead of becoming a Smith, like Kendrick did, Donovan had trained as a Harper, eventually becoming a journeyman and moving on in the world to experience whatever it was that Harper's did.
Following Donovan were two more siblings, Sendola and Basil. Sendola wasn't too close to Kendrick, enough to playfully banter with him and swap stories of scandals and treason, but nothing beyond that. Basil, too, was someone who he didn't pay much attention to. It had always been Donovan that Kendrick was fond of. Growing up they were incredibly close--when Donovan was around, and really things were, in fact, going pretty well. Until, you know, Kendrick found out about his father's dirty hands on another woman. Kendrick found this foul and despicable (oh now naive the boy was), he was a Smithmaster, and acting no better than a horny greenrider, for Faranth's sake. His father's regard, in his eyes, had dropped most unfavorably. Lothar continuously did his best to win the boy's favor back, but to no avail. In fact, Kendrick never did forgive his father, and perhaps that is something that dwells on him.
During the next few turns, everything fell apart. His mother had died before then, due to some foul illness that took advantage of her weak immune system--again, this left Kendrick spiteful, for she never knew of his father dabbing his pen in other ink pots. Smithmaster Lothar, though, was crushed in a collapsing mine, right before Kendrick's very eyes. Kendrick, in turn, was sliced open at his breastbone from the sharp slice of stone that fell towards him. He had then, after being treated, took up his father's wish and continued to work in the Smithcraft. He was quick to act, and really didn't give much thought to Whers.
He had seen them, yes, the ugly looking beasts, but never had he thought about bonding with one before. As an excelling Smithcrafter, he was asked to stand before the clutch of a gold Wher. The man was iffy about the whole subject, and it was when the gold wher stumbled up his way that he bothered to slice his hand open and offer it to the beast. Gold Kendisk and Kendrick had a rough start off, for Kendrick still found the things ugly--but they were far more useful than those silly dragonmen. The wherhandler has grown rather fond of his Wher, and he wouldn't dare admit it out loud, but he does adore the blasted thing, no matter how smarmy it is.
Pets: N/A
Dragon/Wher name: Kendisk
Dragon/wher color: Gold
Dragon/wher appearance:
The wher is more stocky than anything else, that is certainly apparent. The beast is indeed fully grown, and reaches about three handspans beneath the height of a runner. The wher is incredibly barrel-chested, and looks nearly top-heavy when it's whole profile is taken into consideration. The forelegs are thick and strong, as is the neck of the beast. The large, almost comically large head is rather flat. The hind legs of the wher are much thinner near the foot and pad area of where the smallish feet are, and instead make up for it's slimness in the mass of the haunches. Kendisk's tail is a bit on the longer side, as if trying to make up for the thicker neck and shorter wings. Yes, the wher's wings are even more stunted than usual, making any amount of gliding terribly difficult for the beast.
As for coloration, the wher's hide is a rich canary color. Yes, insert any jokes you have about canaries and mines here. The coloration is rich, and looks only to tarnish around the beast's claws and eventually the end of it's tail. A paler shade of calm yellow marks across the snout of the wher in horizontal stripes, fading out around the brow of the beast. This coloration is again present in the wing-membrane and in a thick, bold stripe down the spine of the wher starting from about the base of it's neck to mid-tail length. Specks--ones which really could only be described as freckles--mar the chest of the beast, and is a darker tone than the rest of the beast, almost making it seem like dirt or something of that sort is perpetually stuck to the wher's hide.
Dragon/wher personality:
The gold wher is rather diligent, at least that's what stands out. She is incredibly loyal, and really has no issues standing by what needs to be done. Although her bonded is someone whose incredibly hard headed and no-nonsense, the gold interjects a point of spontaneity into everything. She is curious, to a small extent, and more so humorous about many things. Although she is hard-working, she is at the same time partially playful with everything. The wher is a nice balance for it's bonded, and she often does her best to try and bicker with him about certain subjects the best she can in her own way with emotions and certain images. Yes, Kendisk likes to ruffle feathers, but everything is meant in good humor.
The wher works hard, and she also enjoys her time where she isn't working. The gold is demanding, of course, constantly projecting feelings of discomfort because she may want her hide to be oiled again, or washed if she gets dirtied up. Kendisk doesn't exactly enjoy being pampered though, and often turns into a cranky pants of sorts when things are taken too far. So far, this seems to be the one certain thing that can put the wher in a bad mood. Otherwise, the gold is a very tolerable wher, and isn't snappy or bothered by much, except for the pampering, that always manages to be a thorn in her side.
The wher does have an unexplained attraction to things that shine. Now, yes, she is a wher and she does help in the mines, although the work she does isn't as dangerous as others do, she is a gold, and meant to be working in breeding rather than mine adventures. However, Kendisk is rather close-minded about this, and would spend all day in a mine rather than sitting about doing nothing. The gold won't protest to stay relaxed and without work when there's a clutch to guard, but any other time and the beast won't stand for it, and even if it's the most simple of jobs in the mine, the wher will take it with pride and work as hard as anything else.
Roleplay Sample
The axe fell, and with it Kendrick shuddered as he then realized he was holding the wherry's lifeless head in his arms. He stared at it a moment before dropping the thing, fingers curling into fists after he had done so. "Yeah, I suppose." It's got to be done. Oh how many times he had heard that! Well, this was different, this involved the beasts being fed, and more importantly, probably the beasts that were going to keep him and the other miners alive, and that was what was important. In a way he loathed that Cricel had stepped up to finish the job, he had no issue with beheading anything, but whatever, he simply had to get his hands dirty because he didn't pick up the sharp axe first. Anyways, there were two left to do, and they were going to get done.
It wasn't until the man had waltzed up and shooed them off that Kendrick's heart then jumped into his throat--not with nerve, but with a taste of apprehension. He nodded to The Smither as he moved away with the others. For one small moment right there, one blighting little second, he didn't mind the grime coating his hands, the dirt and grit beneath his fingernails, or the sprays of blood he had gathered from being so close to the wherry's neck when it had been beheaded. There were more important things than this to be concerned with, and he, just then, realized and accepted that. His tongue felt fat and dry in his mouth as he arrived before the Wherhandler.
There was no speech, no drawn out and lengthy lecture as to what was going to happen from the instructor. Instead they were rushed forwards into a single line. Well, Kendrick supposed that they couldn't dawdle right now. They were supposed to just go with the flow. Kendrick was near the end of the line of boys, only because he had come from the slaughtering bit and that run up from there had left a stitch in his side. He stood up then, following the trail of wher candidates who were lurching forwards. He wasn't looking around, and he certainly wasn't worrying about anything. Kendrick was, instead, caught thinking about what the sharding hell they were going to do. He breathed in, unaware that, while lost in his own thought, he had come up to the drudges who told them to come back clothed and ready.
Kendrick didn't make a fuss, he did come from a well-set family, after all. He did what he needed to, making his way to the bathing corridor, covering his intimate parts politely as he dipped into the steamy pools. He didn't mind the other men seeing his nakedness-they had no say in the matter, and they couldn't step out of line and make crude comments--and there certainly weren't any women who were allowed here. No, he didn't care if they saw his scarred skin in all it's glory or even caught a glimpse of what he covered with his hands (besides, boys his age really didn't care about that kind of thing unless girls were around).
No fuss was made as he scrubbed himself, getting the grime and blood that flecked his skin like mock-freckles. He pushed himself forth and grabbed at the robes that he was to wear, adding to the grouping of candidates who listened to the lecture then. He breathed in deeply, finally his legs moving beneath him to usher him out into the cave, almost without him even noticing. He had never personally stood at a hatching before, let alone one for those ugly Whers. He had never expected to actually take part in one, simply because dragonriders were seen as lazy--and Kendrick certainly didn't agree with their antics. Whers had some use to them, especially in the mines.
As he took his place and stared at the eggs--oh shards did one rock?--he found himself slightly nervous. He ran his hand over his hair, feeling the short crop itch at his palm. He had heard of people gored and stripped, although that ran more in the dragon hatchings than in whers. He tore his eyes away from the rocking eggs to look down at his hand holding the knife he had been instructed to cut at his hand with to make the blood-bond. He thought it slightly odd that he had to let these stunted, strange looking creatures taste the blood of their bonded to become closer with them. It was something he didn't understand, probably because he never really could get his mind to grasp around the prospect of a mental bond between human and creature. His eyes bounced up to the eggs again. Well, this should certainly be interesting.
|
|
But it was also an excellent entry, and I look forward to seeing him played!