Post by Kira on Sept 10, 2010 0:56:07 GMT -5
Player:
Name: Kira
Are you 17+?: By more than I like.
Contact Information:
AIM: KiraRP
Email: KiraKattRP@gmail.com
Past RP Experience: …I’ll copy this from one of the others later.
Character:
Name: V’taph (Valitaph)
Age: 49 (or thereabouts, really) (Early Autumn)
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Bi. Strong females and girly men are <3.
Occupation: Wingrider, WeyrHarper
Description: V’taph has very dark hair bordering between brown and black, which he usually keeps cropped relatively short. (It was easier to use wigs or extensions that way. And not as much to stuff under a riding cap.) Sometimes he’llforget to cut it let it grow out a bit, and when it does it falls in gentle waves that don’t quite curl. Bright blue eyes shine out from under a strong brow, and take the cake as his most attractive feature. A strong jaw that is usually covered in stubble completes his look. He dislikes beards and luckily doesn’t get that scruffy that quickly, but if he’s not playing a role that requires him to be cleanshaven then he’ll often forget to shave for a while. His face, overall, is somewhat forgettable to most people, not really having any strikingly unique features.
He doesn’t care too much about clothing and will wear pretty much anything, but he does prefer to keep stuff in darker neutral tones. Things that blend in well to the background or the forest are the best, in his mind, but he is far from picky. Most of his clothing is chosen for durability and to fit closely but not snugly. You won’t often find him with more than his arms bared (if that), but he’ll strip down for hard work in the heat or a nice swim. It’s not so much any sort of self-consciousness that drives it – as he could care less – but more the fact that he doesn’t like to be unprotected.
His body is covered in a myriad of scars from both fighting and the occasional Threadscore, and he probably knows the story behind each one (good luck getting him to tell those, though). He’s in excellent physical condition, despite his age, though he has gained a little more weight that has nothing to do with muscles in the past couple years. Strong legs, arms, shoulders, chest, and back make him look every bit the capable figure he is. He’s not at all vain, but he’s kept himself in shape simply so that he could do his work better and more efficiently. He’s not overly tall, being of about middling height or perhaps a smidge shorter, but he can be more imposing than many men much taller and more built than he is. While he’s moderately attractive, there’s a fair amount of better eye-candy around the Weyr than him.
While he usually carries himself with a quiet calmness and sureness about him, he can brighten up at any point into the jovial Harper. He usually has a smile on his face in public – whether he is happy or not – and will often offer a roguish grin and a wink to most people who catch eyes with him. His expressions are in no way a good way to gauge his mood, for he trained long and hard to master them and it would take a very jarring shock to elicit a completely genuine expression. There aren’t many people he’d let down his shields around, so calm and happy are usually what most acquaintances will see. When he’s alone, he rarely smiles unless Veneth gives him reason to.
He has a deep, clear singing voice that is pleasant to the ear, and even when projecting to a whole Hall or Gather, has a quiet quality to it that makes people hold their breaths and lean in to listen closer – caught up completely in whatever emotion he seeks to evoke.
Personality: V’taph seems like a mess of contradictions. He is friendly, but closed off. He’ll chatter with anyone, but prefers to remain silent. He loves to be where the action is, but is more comfortable sitting back in the shadows. He’s gentle and calm, but also fierce and forceful. He’s a protector of life, but has taken more lives that he cares to recount. He admires honesty, but can lie with the ease of long-practice. He is forever stuck in limbo between the two sides, unable to even settle in the gray area between them.
In his everyday life, he tries to be as pleasant as possible while not getting walked on. He rarely goes out of his way to start conversations that won’t inherently benefit him, but he’s not averse to speaking when someone makes a point to get his attention. He’s always willing to offer a helping hand, but don’t expect him to do all the work for you. He can be a good leader, but he has little patience for those who refuse to be led. He loves it when he can actually teach someone something, but he’s not the greatest teacher ever (or at all) as he has a hard time explaining things in simpler terms. He understands things a certain way, and if you don’t quite understand it exactly as he does, he’s a bit lost on how else it could even be seen.
The only two beings in the world with his full loyalty are Veneth and MasterHarper Cyril. Yanira, the old and now former Headwoman of Harper Hall, also has a place in his heart. The Benden Weyrleaders were considered good friends and had his loyalty right after Cyril, but he’s still up in the air about whether he’ll treat his new Weyrleaders with the same kind of regard. He’s a very respectful sort of fellow in general, and will likely not disrespect anyone unless they need to be knocked down a pinch. Hard workers and honest people will earn a special kind of regard from him, and will be privy to a much gentler side of his self.
He keeps most of his real emotions to himself, though he does enjoy it when he finds people he can let down some of his walls around. Veneth is the only one who’s seen his soul completely bared, though Cyril takes a close second. He’s getting older, and while he’s had his share of lovers, he’s beginning to think it wouldn’t be so bad to settle down with one. He knows enough about himself to know that it won’t be easy for any potential weyrmate, but if he or she is strong enough to try then it shows they are deserving of it. He doesn’t necessarily long for the grand romances of Harper-tales, but a companion to share the rest of his turns with is sounding better by the sevenday.
He absolutely loves children, and is mildly sad that he’s never had any of his own. He always made sure to keep tabs on any women he’d shared furs with for long enough to be certain that they hadn’t become pregnant, but either they didn’t or they’d had someone take them between (while he doesn’t protest the practice, he would refuse to take them himself). If he had become a father, he would have raised his child(ren) as best as he was able, making sure that he or she had been loved and known that they were loved. The worst thing in the world to him is an abandoned youngling, having known what it was like to grow up with no concept of love for his first few turns. He has a very tender heart under his very thick skin, and children are an absolute weakness to it.
He can lie as easily as he breathes, but he abhors doing so and will seek truth whenever possible. Lies are reserved for when he’s undercover on a mission and must do so to save his skin. When he is on missions, he’s as cold and calculating as they come. He will try to keep fighting to a minimum, but if he’s confronted he will make certain that he wins – and will use lethal force if necessary for his goal. He has no pity for those who would seek to better themselves at the expense of others, and will ruthlessly dig out their secrets and crimes in order to bring them down.
He almost never lets completely loose – which Veneth gets on his case about – but none would be able to tell from the front he presents. He has a witty remark or a winding tale for any who call on him, as he is a Harper, and he’ll break into song at the slightest request. He’s learned his way around the dancefloor, and would almost seem like a terrible flirt from the way he teases those around him.
All in all, he’s a good-natured sort of person, but has a little too much hard emotional stunting underneath it to be as good of a person as he’d like to be.
History: No one really knows what name V’taph was born to, not even himself. As soon as he was old enough to run with the youngest of the street-rats his mother had abandoned him. He was small and easily forgettable, and while he survived he never really developed any sort of kinships with the others – which was partially his own doing. Running the streets of Fort Hold, he did what he needed to live. He foraged through the waste of the wealthy and learned how to nick a few fractions of a mark from a person’s pouch. He was small and easily overpowered, so he tried to avoid conflict as often as possible. He learned to talk fast and run faster, and when possible to lead his attacker to an area where they would get in trouble. When the larger boy or boys would be pulled off of him, he’d deftly slip back into the crowd – small and untraceable. This, obviously, did not help him in the ‘friend’ department.
It was one day during an excursion into the Harper Hall rubbish heaps that his misfortune began to change. …Slightly. He knew the Headwoman, Yanira, had a bit of a soft spot for the street-bound children and him in particular. She’d never taken the time to learn his name, certainly (and not that he had one), but every now and then she’d call him ‘sweetheart’ and give him a fresher scrap or two. She would, also, gracefully ignore any scavengers in her rubbish.
There was one apprentice at the Hall that all the younger street-rats knew to steer clear off. Beterko was tall, gangly, thirteen, and angry. He knew better than to take out his anger on any of his fellow apprentices though, or they might kick him out. …But no one really paid attention to the street trash. And as was our darling boy’s luck, he of course ran afoul of the grinning bully. After some mad squabbling in which Beterko hit more pavement and air than boy, the lad managed to wriggle away and set off in a run. Thoroughly angered by his now-scraped knuckles, Beterko threw caution to the wind and gave chase after the younger boy through the Hall. The boy was fast and agile, but Beterko was long of leg and enough of a brute to go barreling through the people the boy dodged around. Essentially fearing for his life (and not baselessly from the vitriol being spewed from a few paces behind him), the boy took up a yell. For about fifty paces the boy managed to keep a loud, steady note – and then took a deep breath and did it again.
Naturally, the racket from both boys and the shouts called after them by those that had gotten bumped or manhandled drew a fair amount of attention. In a stroke of chance, the MasterHarper had been walking across the grounds debating a list of Gather songs with two of his masters. As the spectacle that passed by on the other side of the courtyard raced past, the MasterHarper raised his brows and said, “Now that is a set of lungs. And untrained, for that isn’t an apprentice.” The boy was dressed in filthy rags and caked in more dirt than a mudpuddle.
On about the fifth yell and while looping back through the courtyard, the MasterHarper proved he was still spry in his older years by reaching out and snatching the fleeing boy by the collar. This halted his progress almost as well as the positively withering glare stopped Beterko. After the MasterHarper was finished chewing Beterko out and sending him to be punished by his own master, he turned to find the younger boy had snuck almost out of his tunic and was ready to run. With a laugh, the older man deftly tugged the tunic back down and with a strong hand led the boy to Yanira.
In little under a candlemark, the wary boy found himself sitting opposite the Master Harper in his sitting room, clean and wearing a second-hand set of clothes that were still a far cry finer than anything he’d ever owned. The MasterHarper gave a rather lovely spiel about the potential he saw in the boy from his earlier display and some other nice things that the boy was sure were just frippery. No one could be trusted to say what they meant, and adults especially so. He would just wait this out and eat a few more of the rolls that had been provided, and then slip away as soon as was possible.
The Harper was internally growing a bit frustrated, knowing that nothing he was saying was penetrating the boy’s shell. With a sigh, he asked, “Child, what is your name?” Perhaps it would be better to be blunt. …And oh, it was.
“Dun got ‘un,” he mumbled.
“…How do you not have a name? There is nothing anyone calls you?”
“Nope. Nobody care fer nuffin’ ‘bout me. I’m m’ own,” he responded proudly, lifting his chin at the declaration that he belonged to no one. The only person you could count on was yourself, after all.
The MasterHarper realized this would be a little more…difficult…than he had first imagined. “Alright, let’s try this again. My name is Cyril, and I am the MasterHarper. Do you know what that means?” It was only years of training his expressions that kept Cyril from laughing when the narrowed eyes went wide and the boy froze with half a roll crumbling from his mouth. The boy nodded slowly, shrinking back into his chair. “And I have a proposition-”
“A what?”
“…A deal. I have a deal I’d like to make with you.”
“I don’t got nuffin’ ta trade.”
“Ah, but you do. I will clothe you, feed you, and house you – but you must do two things for me.” He paused, letting the boy squirm for just a moment. “Follow all of my rules, and attend all the lessons I assign you.”
The boy waited for a moment, wondering what it was that was required of him in return. That couldn’t be the request, right? That was just another stipulation – had to be. The only ‘lessons’ he’d ever been ‘taught’ were the kind that left him bloodied for some misstep or another, but he knew the rich folk learned stuff – like how to tell how many marks they had (he’d always just gone by the weird symbol on them, and if he didn’t have the right one…he didn’t buy something) and how to write stuff. Useful, but boring. But he could stand boring for a steady meal… “…That’s it?”
“That’s all.”
“Deal.” And a sweet deal it was. Who wouldn’t take it?
“Hmm…one more thing.” Of course, the boy thought. “You shall need a name, so we should find one for you.”
“…Oh. Sumfin’ wicked!” he exclaimed with glee, and after a candlemark of arguing back and forth – no, no you cannot be named ‘dagger’ or ‘epitaph’ and how do you even know that word? – they finally came to an agreement. The boy seemed to delight in validation, and wanted a…‘wicked’…name, so they finally agreed to combine ‘valid’ and ‘epitaph’ into a workable name: Valitaph.
Cyril smiled as he had Yanira shuffle the boy off to his new quarters. He would see how excited the youth remained after his first sevenday of classes.
Unexpectedly, Valitaph took to his classes with ardor. To him, they were his ticket to a nice meal and a warm bed every night, and he wasn’t about to lose that. Some of the Harpers were frustrated with him at first, thinking him both daft and rude, but once some of his teachers figured out that he was just uneducated and had no inkling of what manners even were they were able to set him straight. He quickly became a model student with a strong voice – nothing spectacular, but they hoped for it after his voice changed – and an eager mind. He always kept his things neat, never skived off classes, and only broke the ‘no fighting’ rule when he was being chased by one of the other boys. He usually avoided his classmates outside of the classroom for that reason. He’d often sneak off to go climb a rooftop and play a wandering tune, go charm the kitchen ladies (especially Yanira) into giving him something sweet, or hide in one of the other classrooms and listen to the voices and music being blended there (sometimes in awe, and sometimes fighting off giggles). He didn’t think much of such things, or that anyone really noticed. Which he was very, very wrong about.
Classes were tiring, but he kept to them. Hours upon hours of singing and letters and numbers and musical notations – and that was to start. Then there were instruments. And then there were the advanced classes. His classes with Master Cyril were his favorite, as the man was stern but kind. He always demanded the best – and would push you for it – but he didn’t get angry if you didn’t quite make it so long as you did your best. So when Cyril approached him for some additional training, he jumped at the chance.
At first, a lot of it didn’t make sense. Sometimes it was lessons in talking, sometimes lessons in reading expressions. He was tested often on what he could tell just from the way someone moved, and was explained to what they could tell about him from the way he moved. Accents were good fun, from the lowest of street-talk to the most courtly of fripperies. He slowly became aware of every nuance of speech and every twitch of the body – both his own and those around him. He was taught attention to details, like noticing the bloke who peeked in the room a half-candlemark before and being able to describe him in detail. Acrobatic feats and climbing were done with ease, having not forgotten at all from his days as a thief. He wrinkled his nose when they brought out makeup, but when they showed him how to use it to change his appearance into someone totally different…he was enthralled. He was told that he must keep these lessons to himself, and to not even speak to others who sometimes appeared in the classes about them outside of the classes themselves.
When he was thirteen, he was poking around the Records room and found an account of the life of one of the MasterHarpers of the last Pass. He didn’t just sing and dance and even act as a mediator, but he also went undercover on numerous occasions. He had such daring adventures all across the land, and Valitaph was fascinated. There were even mentions that some of his apprentices who weren’t much for the singing bit had taken after him, acting as much more subtle peacekeepers and spies. Slowly…he began to piece together the stuff he had learned in his lessons as stuff that would make him able to do exactly what those men and women had done. He took his revelation to MasterHarper Cyril and stated it plain as day – for he never had taken to mincing his words around the man – and received only an eye-twinkling grin and a finger touched to lips as a response. And he grinned in return.
He set about diving into his studies with even more of a fervor, excited for the possibilities. He practiced his skills as often as possible, hiding and listening, trying to be inconspicuous, chatting it up with everyone he met. Soon he knew likely more than he ever wanted to know about what went on in both of the Halls and the Hold, and he’d happily gossip most of it along to a laughing Cyril (and sometimes Yanira) whenever he was invited in for tea.
When he was fifteen, he received his first assignment. He infiltrated the minor Holder’s court with ease and gleaned all that he needed – plus some extra – and returned with a cocky grin to relay his intel. But that was only the beginning. He was given harder and harder assignments, but every time he pulled through. He was hardly seen around the Hall proper in those days, and when he walked for his Journeyman knots at seventeen there were more than a few people who wondered who the shell he was.
His treks became more dangerous then, often lasting longer with more intricate disguises. Most of them went off without a hitch, though there were a few that became sketchy. There was one point where he even was forced to fight his way out and had to kill a man, but a long conversation with the MasterHarper afterward soothed his soul on that matter. He looked to the man like a father, and knew in his heart of hearts that he’d do anything that Cyril asked of him – and would for the rest of his days. When he was forced to fight – and even sometimes kill – in the future, he did so with the full knowledge of why he was doing it (he was the one with all the intel, after all) and with little remorse. Those who sought to hurt and to oppress were in the wrong, and he would do what he could to manipulate their fall. He preferred to avoid violence if possible, but wasn’t afraid to do his bit if a skirmish erupted.
When he was twenty-one, he became involved in a particularly long-lasting ruse. He managed to weasel his way into the graces of a minor Holder, acting as one of his adoring sycophants. There had been whispers that this particular Holder was plotting a coup on one of the Lord Holders and was secretly amassing his troops for an assault. He was envious of the wealth the Lord Holder of Benden had, and desperately wanted if for himself. Fancying himself the next Fax, though far more subtle and intelligent and not about to be caught or killed, he decided to begin his conquering at Benden and then spread outward.
Valitaph had been a spy in his courts for almost eleven months when news came of a Hatching at Benden, and the Holder was one of those invited to watch from the stands. He took his most adored subjects with him – which Valitaph had made well sure included him – and took seats in the front row as he felt were his due. Valitaph was sure to remain on his toes, but he couldn’t help the excitement of it all. He’d infiltrated a couple Weyrs for short periods as a drudge, but he’d never had the privilege of seeing a Hatching. He’d just passed his twenty-second turn, so he was too old for dragons, but it still sent a thrill up his spine. Something told him that something would happen that day to change his luck – though he couldn’t tell if it were for good or for ill.
The first three-quarters of the Hatching had gone splendidly, and there was good cheer all around. There had been a bronze first, and a queen amongst their lot. Most of the unhatched eggs were moving as well, and they’d had none go between yet. There were some whispers starting, though, as one tiny brown finished weaving his way through the Candidates for a third time, keening his sorrow. Valitaph felt his heart break at the thought of the hatchling not being able to find His – being left to between since he couldn’t simply fare for himself. Forgetting his role for a moment, he leaned forward and urged that the little brown try again. His had to be there. He wasn’t alone. No youngling should ever be alone, and he just needed to find where His was hiding. At first he thought nothing of it when the dragonet began weaving back in his direction with a new vigor. Perhaps he’d just found His after all.
But then the hatchling had passed the row of Candidates and was waddling toward the wall. There was general shock when the dracling began trying to scale the high wall to the stands, falling back again and again. When he made a sound of pain after a particularly awkward fall on his wing and then got up to try to climb again, Valitaph shook himself out of the shock and leaned as far over the ledge as he could without falling in the desperation to get him to stop. ‘Please don’t, little one. Please don’t hurt yourself any more.’
And to his wonder, a beautiful little voice rang in his mind. There you are, Mine! I was worried! I couldn’t find you! Why did you hide from your Veneth? Don’t you want your Veneth?
The next candlemark was spent in a whirl of overwhelming awe as he was led off to the area for new Weyrlings, broken only by affirmations to the most amazing creature he’d ever encountered. A part of him that had still been that lonesome little orphan healed a bit, and added to that was the knowledge that this little one was saved from the loneliness of a death between because of him.
And then reality set in, and he was scared to death. How was he supposed to continue his role now? It wasn’t like he could hide Veneth, or the fact that he’d Impressed, as the Holder had been right sharding there when it happened. And there was no way that they’d be able to get another Harper into his position in time – the man was almost ready to make war!
During the Hatching feast that erupted right afterward, he managed to get a few words to the Weyrwoman’s ear, and shortly found himself across the table from the heads of the Weyr: the Weyrleaders, the Weyrling and Candidate Masters, the Headwoman, and a few of the highest-ranking Wingleaders. He warned them that nothing he said was to leave that room, and was given their assent, backed by the great gold herself. Explaining to them in as little detail as he could while impressing its importance, he managed to get across who he was and what he was doing. The next day, the MasterHarper was flown in and Valitaph’s story was confirmed. Though hundreds of turns had passed since the days of Lessa and F’lar and MasterHarper Robinton, the current Weyrleaders remembered well the old tales of their former sovereigns. They would help, in whatever way they could.
And so, it was devised that Valitaph – now V’taph, for all rights – would be allowed to continue on his mission. The Holder was delighted to now have a dragonrider as one of his faithful followers. And so, for the duration of his Weyrlinghood and half a turn after that, V’taph went by his false name – also properly elided – and gained all the evidence necessary to finally convict the Holder of the treason and war-mongering he was guilty of.
Though he was now free of his supposed last mission, he still felt a loyalty to his Hall greater than any he would feel for his Weyr. He explained this to his Weyrwoman, and in her wisdom she granted him the right to take whatever leave he needed to serve his Hall – so long as the Weyr could ask missions of him at certain times as well. Happily, he served both Hall and Weyr, training Veneth to be his second greatest asset after his own self.
The dragonpair were inseparable, finding a strength and love from one another that V’taph had never even imagined, much less hoped for. In the days when the man might have gone hard and cold from the things he had seen and done, the dragon kept him full of life and light. Veneth thrived on the harsh training that V’taph set for them both, sometimes making it hard for His to stifle his laughter as the creeping dragon made up stories in their heads about dashing adventures they were having instead of the more boring missions. Where V’taph kept Veneth in line when it came to his mischief and game-making, Veneth made V’taph lighten up and play the jaunty Harper now and again.
It was with Veneth’s absolute pride that V’taph walked the tables for his Master’s knots on his forty-sixth birthing day. V’taph felt a pride all his own when Cyril was the one who stepped forward – with tear-bright eyes – to tie the new knots on his shoulder. His stoic nature broke into raucous laughter when he had to pry a weeping Yanira off of him, her maternal ways finally becoming apparent when she blubbered on about ‘her little boy’ and ‘all grown up’ and the like.
Realizing he was now nearing his fiftieth turn, he decided it was finally time to retire from his missions. He wasn’t nearly as spry as he was in his younger years, though he was still a fair deal faster and more limber than most others. His age was beginning to show, and it was getting harder to disguise himself as a younger man. Plus, with Thread falling again these past several years, he and Veneth were needed more in the fighting wings than in the shadows of Pern. With Cyril’s fatherly blessing, he was relieved from active duty, though he was still to keep his ear open for any interesting tidbits he could pick up.
He was, however, a man who was not able to be completely still. He’d heard of the disaster of Silver Cove, and how a good majority of the survivors had relocated to a new Weyr. Still, their numbers were devastated, and they would need any help they could get to rebuild. Certain that a fair number of their wingriders – and even ranking riders – had been lost to between, he put in for his transfer to the fledgling Weyr. The warmth would be good for his old bones anyway, and who would object to a WeyrHarper?
Fun Facts:
• He’s not fond of muscular men that could easily overpower him; prefers a gentler sort. Alternately, overly weak women are worthy of disdain, and a stronger presence is more appreciated.
• Has been to every single major Hold and central Hall – and a fair number of lesser ones – at some point or another, under some name or another.
• Has a fair number of scars littering his body. Street-rat turned Harper spy turned Dragonrider (and Harper spy) – his life has certainly left its marks. Most of his Threadscores he managed to convince the Healer to heal in a way that one couldn’t quite tell if they were indeed scores or fighting wounds from a knife or fire. It’s not that he wants to seem more ‘manly’ but more that when he did go undercover that it was easier to explain.
• Loves children. No, really, he does. …He’s just not very good with them.
• He’s fascinated by fire-lizards, and has always wanted one – if only for the apparent convenience of sending discreet messages.
• Knows more about makeup and fashion than most Holder’s wives due to his prior needs for disguise, but is very reluctant to admit this.
• He never watches Hatchings, as a general self-rule. He can’t stand the thought of an unwanted youngling, and any leftover Candidates or betweened or dud fledglings break his heart far more than he can bear.
Bonded Critter(s):
Type: Dragon
Name: Veneth
Color: Brown (932724)
Age: 27
Description: This brown, from a distance, is almost painfully average. Though rather small in size for his color, everything else seems to be plain and “normal” about Veneth.
Upon closer inspection, though, one will find that his hide is made up of twisting, twining whorls of color. Instead of looking splotchy, the shades grade seamlessly into one another. One can place his or her hands in two different spots and be resting on two completely different colors…and be unable to track the progression from one hue to the next between those hands. It often makes for very good camouflage in shaded or wooded areas, and has made him less-conspicuous on several rooftops. Overall, he has the effect of being a slightly darker medium brown.
His musculature is lean, but powerful, and he is much more agile than his form implies. Added to this is the fact that rider and dragon have taken to years of practice both on wing and on the ground to increase this agility. Quick maneuvers and nigh-impossible turns and directional changes have ensured that very few Threadscores have actually landed – and have been very effective when stealthily winging into a small area. Practice roaming on land has not only given Veneth a graceful stride, but he can be fluid enough in his movement so as not to cause a sound or a vibration with his step.
He’s very cognizant of the position of every piece of his body, and very, very rarely will he stumble or knock into something (or someone) by accident. He knows it amuses V’taph to no end when he “accidentally” whaps someone with his tail or buffets them with a wing – and then apologizes in so much flowery language as he’s learned from his rider that he rarely incurs him victim’s wrath. He’s trained his slightly-elongated tail into being almost prehensile, and will sometimes get away with snaking it around behind someone and tapping them on the opposite shoulder.
Personality: Veneth is a happy little brown. He has a huge curious streak and likes to be playful, treating most situations as a game of some sort – albeit a serious game at times(like during Threadfall). He likes to joke around with other dragons and has a mischievous streak that may or may not have enlisted the help of various fire-lizards (and sometimes other dragons) in playing a practical joke on another dragon, twoleg, or both. Water dumped on people’s heads, small flowers or colorful strips decorating the unsuspecting – even once going so far as to smear (pink) paint all over one (very vain) sleeping (bronze) dragon. (No one could figure out where he got the paint…)
He has a serious side, but it generally is only displayed during some of V’taph’s more covert operations. He will wing above an area and use his excellent vision to be an aerial spy for his rider, and the two of them have trained their link to where V’taph can often look through Veneth’s eyes and see for himself. Another part of their training was with mental ability – figuring out how to place the small whisper of a suggestion from Veneth’s mind into others’ minds that they should look away or not notice a certain area. It’s by no means perfected, even after years, but it has saved both rider and dragon in a few tighter situations.
He is confident in the fact that his rider loves him beyond all measure, and that is really all he needs. He’s very flirtatious towards any and all female dragons, but would honestly prefer to curl up with his rider over any of them. He rarely worries about most other things unless they mean potential danger for his rider. He’s acted as V’taph’s confidant over the years, and retains a surprisingly good memory of their various exploits. Other events in time…not so much, but they’re not really that important, right?
Fun Facts:
• Would sometimes use his quick wit to help V’taph piece together and argue out various clues and motives on his cases, and finds it to be the most fun kind of game.
• Loves detective stories with a very secret passion. That V’taph teases him for.
• Fully enjoys that fact that no one can see under all of V’taph’s layers or is privy to all of V’taph’s secrets except for him – not even the MasterHarper can boast that.
• Loves watching hatchlings waddle around. He thinks it’s adorable.
Type: Fire-lizard
Name: Tiieh
Color: Dud (sickly-yellow shading)
Age: 4mos. (Mid-Winter)
Hatching Info: 7th from the Nuts Egg, Sundae Toppings Clutch, Brillia's by Toll.
Description: This fire-lizard is a tiny specimen, easily smaller than even most greens. Everything about her sizing identifies her as the runt of the clutch. Her limbs are a bit on the thin side, which makes them look too long for her tiny frame even though they are effectively proportional. Her toes are all webbed together, and she has an extra toe on both of her hind-limbs. She has wickedly sharp claws at the end of each of her toes, looking even longer than normal because of her skinniness. Her wings are long when outstretched, but aren’t quite wide enough to sustain lengthy flying; they also appear to be very fragile with almost transparently-thin wingsails. Her hide is a sickly-yellow color that could be argued as a yellowed-out green or a very pale and dull gold. Her tail – in opposition to the rest of her – is quite long, but retains the thinness of the rest of her frame, making it very good for wrapping around and clinging to things but not so good for steering. Her bones are very weak and will break much easier than normal from any impact, but her slight muscles are corded with enough strength to support her and allow her to carry things easily. Her eyes bug out of her head just slightly – as if they’re too big for their sockets – making her look almost comically wary of everything.
While her flying abilities are severely limited because of her frail wings, she is very good at clinging, climbing, and crawling along surfaces because of her sharp claws and long limbs. She can’t effectively Rise, but will make an approximation of a mating flight every eight months. She is, unfortunately, unable to actually clutch. She has very little stamina, which also cuts her Flights a bit short. As if to combat her inability to physically move long distances, she is able to wink in and out of between with very little effort.
Though not actually sickly, she is twice as prone to illness as other fire-lizards. Her eyesight is somewhat keen in the dark, and she dislikes overly bright lighting. Her sense of hearing is VERY sensitive, and while she can use it to easily locate things and judge distances, she can often be seen flinching at the most normal of loud noises.
Personality: ((skittish, but curious; wary; clingy; spaces out; needy; avid memory; good at finding things; once trust is earned, trusts completely))
...I need to find my file, 'cause I had this finished. *hopes she, er, didn't delete it...* >.>;
Fun Facts:
• If she had fully developed, she would likely have been a gold.
Craftskills:
Craft: Harper
Level of Proficiency: Master
Specialty: Espionage, disguise, fast-talking, lyrical composition, singing.
Weakness: …Teaching.
Name: Kira
Are you 17+?: By more than I like.
Contact Information:
AIM: KiraRP
Email: KiraKattRP@gmail.com
Past RP Experience: …I’ll copy this from one of the others later.
Character:
Name: V’taph (Valitaph)
Age: 49 (or thereabouts, really) (Early Autumn)
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Bi. Strong females and girly men are <3.
Occupation: Wingrider, WeyrHarper
Description: V’taph has very dark hair bordering between brown and black, which he usually keeps cropped relatively short. (It was easier to use wigs or extensions that way. And not as much to stuff under a riding cap.) Sometimes he’ll
He doesn’t care too much about clothing and will wear pretty much anything, but he does prefer to keep stuff in darker neutral tones. Things that blend in well to the background or the forest are the best, in his mind, but he is far from picky. Most of his clothing is chosen for durability and to fit closely but not snugly. You won’t often find him with more than his arms bared (if that), but he’ll strip down for hard work in the heat or a nice swim. It’s not so much any sort of self-consciousness that drives it – as he could care less – but more the fact that he doesn’t like to be unprotected.
His body is covered in a myriad of scars from both fighting and the occasional Threadscore, and he probably knows the story behind each one (good luck getting him to tell those, though). He’s in excellent physical condition, despite his age, though he has gained a little more weight that has nothing to do with muscles in the past couple years. Strong legs, arms, shoulders, chest, and back make him look every bit the capable figure he is. He’s not at all vain, but he’s kept himself in shape simply so that he could do his work better and more efficiently. He’s not overly tall, being of about middling height or perhaps a smidge shorter, but he can be more imposing than many men much taller and more built than he is. While he’s moderately attractive, there’s a fair amount of better eye-candy around the Weyr than him.
While he usually carries himself with a quiet calmness and sureness about him, he can brighten up at any point into the jovial Harper. He usually has a smile on his face in public – whether he is happy or not – and will often offer a roguish grin and a wink to most people who catch eyes with him. His expressions are in no way a good way to gauge his mood, for he trained long and hard to master them and it would take a very jarring shock to elicit a completely genuine expression. There aren’t many people he’d let down his shields around, so calm and happy are usually what most acquaintances will see. When he’s alone, he rarely smiles unless Veneth gives him reason to.
He has a deep, clear singing voice that is pleasant to the ear, and even when projecting to a whole Hall or Gather, has a quiet quality to it that makes people hold their breaths and lean in to listen closer – caught up completely in whatever emotion he seeks to evoke.
Personality: V’taph seems like a mess of contradictions. He is friendly, but closed off. He’ll chatter with anyone, but prefers to remain silent. He loves to be where the action is, but is more comfortable sitting back in the shadows. He’s gentle and calm, but also fierce and forceful. He’s a protector of life, but has taken more lives that he cares to recount. He admires honesty, but can lie with the ease of long-practice. He is forever stuck in limbo between the two sides, unable to even settle in the gray area between them.
In his everyday life, he tries to be as pleasant as possible while not getting walked on. He rarely goes out of his way to start conversations that won’t inherently benefit him, but he’s not averse to speaking when someone makes a point to get his attention. He’s always willing to offer a helping hand, but don’t expect him to do all the work for you. He can be a good leader, but he has little patience for those who refuse to be led. He loves it when he can actually teach someone something, but he’s not the greatest teacher ever (or at all) as he has a hard time explaining things in simpler terms. He understands things a certain way, and if you don’t quite understand it exactly as he does, he’s a bit lost on how else it could even be seen.
The only two beings in the world with his full loyalty are Veneth and MasterHarper Cyril. Yanira, the old and now former Headwoman of Harper Hall, also has a place in his heart. The Benden Weyrleaders were considered good friends and had his loyalty right after Cyril, but he’s still up in the air about whether he’ll treat his new Weyrleaders with the same kind of regard. He’s a very respectful sort of fellow in general, and will likely not disrespect anyone unless they need to be knocked down a pinch. Hard workers and honest people will earn a special kind of regard from him, and will be privy to a much gentler side of his self.
He keeps most of his real emotions to himself, though he does enjoy it when he finds people he can let down some of his walls around. Veneth is the only one who’s seen his soul completely bared, though Cyril takes a close second. He’s getting older, and while he’s had his share of lovers, he’s beginning to think it wouldn’t be so bad to settle down with one. He knows enough about himself to know that it won’t be easy for any potential weyrmate, but if he or she is strong enough to try then it shows they are deserving of it. He doesn’t necessarily long for the grand romances of Harper-tales, but a companion to share the rest of his turns with is sounding better by the sevenday.
He absolutely loves children, and is mildly sad that he’s never had any of his own. He always made sure to keep tabs on any women he’d shared furs with for long enough to be certain that they hadn’t become pregnant, but either they didn’t or they’d had someone take them between (while he doesn’t protest the practice, he would refuse to take them himself). If he had become a father, he would have raised his child(ren) as best as he was able, making sure that he or she had been loved and known that they were loved. The worst thing in the world to him is an abandoned youngling, having known what it was like to grow up with no concept of love for his first few turns. He has a very tender heart under his very thick skin, and children are an absolute weakness to it.
He can lie as easily as he breathes, but he abhors doing so and will seek truth whenever possible. Lies are reserved for when he’s undercover on a mission and must do so to save his skin. When he is on missions, he’s as cold and calculating as they come. He will try to keep fighting to a minimum, but if he’s confronted he will make certain that he wins – and will use lethal force if necessary for his goal. He has no pity for those who would seek to better themselves at the expense of others, and will ruthlessly dig out their secrets and crimes in order to bring them down.
He almost never lets completely loose – which Veneth gets on his case about – but none would be able to tell from the front he presents. He has a witty remark or a winding tale for any who call on him, as he is a Harper, and he’ll break into song at the slightest request. He’s learned his way around the dancefloor, and would almost seem like a terrible flirt from the way he teases those around him.
All in all, he’s a good-natured sort of person, but has a little too much hard emotional stunting underneath it to be as good of a person as he’d like to be.
History: No one really knows what name V’taph was born to, not even himself. As soon as he was old enough to run with the youngest of the street-rats his mother had abandoned him. He was small and easily forgettable, and while he survived he never really developed any sort of kinships with the others – which was partially his own doing. Running the streets of Fort Hold, he did what he needed to live. He foraged through the waste of the wealthy and learned how to nick a few fractions of a mark from a person’s pouch. He was small and easily overpowered, so he tried to avoid conflict as often as possible. He learned to talk fast and run faster, and when possible to lead his attacker to an area where they would get in trouble. When the larger boy or boys would be pulled off of him, he’d deftly slip back into the crowd – small and untraceable. This, obviously, did not help him in the ‘friend’ department.
It was one day during an excursion into the Harper Hall rubbish heaps that his misfortune began to change. …Slightly. He knew the Headwoman, Yanira, had a bit of a soft spot for the street-bound children and him in particular. She’d never taken the time to learn his name, certainly (and not that he had one), but every now and then she’d call him ‘sweetheart’ and give him a fresher scrap or two. She would, also, gracefully ignore any scavengers in her rubbish.
There was one apprentice at the Hall that all the younger street-rats knew to steer clear off. Beterko was tall, gangly, thirteen, and angry. He knew better than to take out his anger on any of his fellow apprentices though, or they might kick him out. …But no one really paid attention to the street trash. And as was our darling boy’s luck, he of course ran afoul of the grinning bully. After some mad squabbling in which Beterko hit more pavement and air than boy, the lad managed to wriggle away and set off in a run. Thoroughly angered by his now-scraped knuckles, Beterko threw caution to the wind and gave chase after the younger boy through the Hall. The boy was fast and agile, but Beterko was long of leg and enough of a brute to go barreling through the people the boy dodged around. Essentially fearing for his life (and not baselessly from the vitriol being spewed from a few paces behind him), the boy took up a yell. For about fifty paces the boy managed to keep a loud, steady note – and then took a deep breath and did it again.
Naturally, the racket from both boys and the shouts called after them by those that had gotten bumped or manhandled drew a fair amount of attention. In a stroke of chance, the MasterHarper had been walking across the grounds debating a list of Gather songs with two of his masters. As the spectacle that passed by on the other side of the courtyard raced past, the MasterHarper raised his brows and said, “Now that is a set of lungs. And untrained, for that isn’t an apprentice.” The boy was dressed in filthy rags and caked in more dirt than a mudpuddle.
On about the fifth yell and while looping back through the courtyard, the MasterHarper proved he was still spry in his older years by reaching out and snatching the fleeing boy by the collar. This halted his progress almost as well as the positively withering glare stopped Beterko. After the MasterHarper was finished chewing Beterko out and sending him to be punished by his own master, he turned to find the younger boy had snuck almost out of his tunic and was ready to run. With a laugh, the older man deftly tugged the tunic back down and with a strong hand led the boy to Yanira.
In little under a candlemark, the wary boy found himself sitting opposite the Master Harper in his sitting room, clean and wearing a second-hand set of clothes that were still a far cry finer than anything he’d ever owned. The MasterHarper gave a rather lovely spiel about the potential he saw in the boy from his earlier display and some other nice things that the boy was sure were just frippery. No one could be trusted to say what they meant, and adults especially so. He would just wait this out and eat a few more of the rolls that had been provided, and then slip away as soon as was possible.
The Harper was internally growing a bit frustrated, knowing that nothing he was saying was penetrating the boy’s shell. With a sigh, he asked, “Child, what is your name?” Perhaps it would be better to be blunt. …And oh, it was.
“Dun got ‘un,” he mumbled.
“…How do you not have a name? There is nothing anyone calls you?”
“Nope. Nobody care fer nuffin’ ‘bout me. I’m m’ own,” he responded proudly, lifting his chin at the declaration that he belonged to no one. The only person you could count on was yourself, after all.
The MasterHarper realized this would be a little more…difficult…than he had first imagined. “Alright, let’s try this again. My name is Cyril, and I am the MasterHarper. Do you know what that means?” It was only years of training his expressions that kept Cyril from laughing when the narrowed eyes went wide and the boy froze with half a roll crumbling from his mouth. The boy nodded slowly, shrinking back into his chair. “And I have a proposition-”
“A what?”
“…A deal. I have a deal I’d like to make with you.”
“I don’t got nuffin’ ta trade.”
“Ah, but you do. I will clothe you, feed you, and house you – but you must do two things for me.” He paused, letting the boy squirm for just a moment. “Follow all of my rules, and attend all the lessons I assign you.”
The boy waited for a moment, wondering what it was that was required of him in return. That couldn’t be the request, right? That was just another stipulation – had to be. The only ‘lessons’ he’d ever been ‘taught’ were the kind that left him bloodied for some misstep or another, but he knew the rich folk learned stuff – like how to tell how many marks they had (he’d always just gone by the weird symbol on them, and if he didn’t have the right one…he didn’t buy something) and how to write stuff. Useful, but boring. But he could stand boring for a steady meal… “…That’s it?”
“That’s all.”
“Deal.” And a sweet deal it was. Who wouldn’t take it?
“Hmm…one more thing.” Of course, the boy thought. “You shall need a name, so we should find one for you.”
“…Oh. Sumfin’ wicked!” he exclaimed with glee, and after a candlemark of arguing back and forth – no, no you cannot be named ‘dagger’ or ‘epitaph’ and how do you even know that word? – they finally came to an agreement. The boy seemed to delight in validation, and wanted a…‘wicked’…name, so they finally agreed to combine ‘valid’ and ‘epitaph’ into a workable name: Valitaph.
Cyril smiled as he had Yanira shuffle the boy off to his new quarters. He would see how excited the youth remained after his first sevenday of classes.
Unexpectedly, Valitaph took to his classes with ardor. To him, they were his ticket to a nice meal and a warm bed every night, and he wasn’t about to lose that. Some of the Harpers were frustrated with him at first, thinking him both daft and rude, but once some of his teachers figured out that he was just uneducated and had no inkling of what manners even were they were able to set him straight. He quickly became a model student with a strong voice – nothing spectacular, but they hoped for it after his voice changed – and an eager mind. He always kept his things neat, never skived off classes, and only broke the ‘no fighting’ rule when he was being chased by one of the other boys. He usually avoided his classmates outside of the classroom for that reason. He’d often sneak off to go climb a rooftop and play a wandering tune, go charm the kitchen ladies (especially Yanira) into giving him something sweet, or hide in one of the other classrooms and listen to the voices and music being blended there (sometimes in awe, and sometimes fighting off giggles). He didn’t think much of such things, or that anyone really noticed. Which he was very, very wrong about.
Classes were tiring, but he kept to them. Hours upon hours of singing and letters and numbers and musical notations – and that was to start. Then there were instruments. And then there were the advanced classes. His classes with Master Cyril were his favorite, as the man was stern but kind. He always demanded the best – and would push you for it – but he didn’t get angry if you didn’t quite make it so long as you did your best. So when Cyril approached him for some additional training, he jumped at the chance.
At first, a lot of it didn’t make sense. Sometimes it was lessons in talking, sometimes lessons in reading expressions. He was tested often on what he could tell just from the way someone moved, and was explained to what they could tell about him from the way he moved. Accents were good fun, from the lowest of street-talk to the most courtly of fripperies. He slowly became aware of every nuance of speech and every twitch of the body – both his own and those around him. He was taught attention to details, like noticing the bloke who peeked in the room a half-candlemark before and being able to describe him in detail. Acrobatic feats and climbing were done with ease, having not forgotten at all from his days as a thief. He wrinkled his nose when they brought out makeup, but when they showed him how to use it to change his appearance into someone totally different…he was enthralled. He was told that he must keep these lessons to himself, and to not even speak to others who sometimes appeared in the classes about them outside of the classes themselves.
When he was thirteen, he was poking around the Records room and found an account of the life of one of the MasterHarpers of the last Pass. He didn’t just sing and dance and even act as a mediator, but he also went undercover on numerous occasions. He had such daring adventures all across the land, and Valitaph was fascinated. There were even mentions that some of his apprentices who weren’t much for the singing bit had taken after him, acting as much more subtle peacekeepers and spies. Slowly…he began to piece together the stuff he had learned in his lessons as stuff that would make him able to do exactly what those men and women had done. He took his revelation to MasterHarper Cyril and stated it plain as day – for he never had taken to mincing his words around the man – and received only an eye-twinkling grin and a finger touched to lips as a response. And he grinned in return.
He set about diving into his studies with even more of a fervor, excited for the possibilities. He practiced his skills as often as possible, hiding and listening, trying to be inconspicuous, chatting it up with everyone he met. Soon he knew likely more than he ever wanted to know about what went on in both of the Halls and the Hold, and he’d happily gossip most of it along to a laughing Cyril (and sometimes Yanira) whenever he was invited in for tea.
When he was fifteen, he received his first assignment. He infiltrated the minor Holder’s court with ease and gleaned all that he needed – plus some extra – and returned with a cocky grin to relay his intel. But that was only the beginning. He was given harder and harder assignments, but every time he pulled through. He was hardly seen around the Hall proper in those days, and when he walked for his Journeyman knots at seventeen there were more than a few people who wondered who the shell he was.
His treks became more dangerous then, often lasting longer with more intricate disguises. Most of them went off without a hitch, though there were a few that became sketchy. There was one point where he even was forced to fight his way out and had to kill a man, but a long conversation with the MasterHarper afterward soothed his soul on that matter. He looked to the man like a father, and knew in his heart of hearts that he’d do anything that Cyril asked of him – and would for the rest of his days. When he was forced to fight – and even sometimes kill – in the future, he did so with the full knowledge of why he was doing it (he was the one with all the intel, after all) and with little remorse. Those who sought to hurt and to oppress were in the wrong, and he would do what he could to manipulate their fall. He preferred to avoid violence if possible, but wasn’t afraid to do his bit if a skirmish erupted.
When he was twenty-one, he became involved in a particularly long-lasting ruse. He managed to weasel his way into the graces of a minor Holder, acting as one of his adoring sycophants. There had been whispers that this particular Holder was plotting a coup on one of the Lord Holders and was secretly amassing his troops for an assault. He was envious of the wealth the Lord Holder of Benden had, and desperately wanted if for himself. Fancying himself the next Fax, though far more subtle and intelligent and not about to be caught or killed, he decided to begin his conquering at Benden and then spread outward.
Valitaph had been a spy in his courts for almost eleven months when news came of a Hatching at Benden, and the Holder was one of those invited to watch from the stands. He took his most adored subjects with him – which Valitaph had made well sure included him – and took seats in the front row as he felt were his due. Valitaph was sure to remain on his toes, but he couldn’t help the excitement of it all. He’d infiltrated a couple Weyrs for short periods as a drudge, but he’d never had the privilege of seeing a Hatching. He’d just passed his twenty-second turn, so he was too old for dragons, but it still sent a thrill up his spine. Something told him that something would happen that day to change his luck – though he couldn’t tell if it were for good or for ill.
The first three-quarters of the Hatching had gone splendidly, and there was good cheer all around. There had been a bronze first, and a queen amongst their lot. Most of the unhatched eggs were moving as well, and they’d had none go between yet. There were some whispers starting, though, as one tiny brown finished weaving his way through the Candidates for a third time, keening his sorrow. Valitaph felt his heart break at the thought of the hatchling not being able to find His – being left to between since he couldn’t simply fare for himself. Forgetting his role for a moment, he leaned forward and urged that the little brown try again. His had to be there. He wasn’t alone. No youngling should ever be alone, and he just needed to find where His was hiding. At first he thought nothing of it when the dragonet began weaving back in his direction with a new vigor. Perhaps he’d just found His after all.
But then the hatchling had passed the row of Candidates and was waddling toward the wall. There was general shock when the dracling began trying to scale the high wall to the stands, falling back again and again. When he made a sound of pain after a particularly awkward fall on his wing and then got up to try to climb again, Valitaph shook himself out of the shock and leaned as far over the ledge as he could without falling in the desperation to get him to stop. ‘Please don’t, little one. Please don’t hurt yourself any more.’
And to his wonder, a beautiful little voice rang in his mind. There you are, Mine! I was worried! I couldn’t find you! Why did you hide from your Veneth? Don’t you want your Veneth?
The next candlemark was spent in a whirl of overwhelming awe as he was led off to the area for new Weyrlings, broken only by affirmations to the most amazing creature he’d ever encountered. A part of him that had still been that lonesome little orphan healed a bit, and added to that was the knowledge that this little one was saved from the loneliness of a death between because of him.
And then reality set in, and he was scared to death. How was he supposed to continue his role now? It wasn’t like he could hide Veneth, or the fact that he’d Impressed, as the Holder had been right sharding there when it happened. And there was no way that they’d be able to get another Harper into his position in time – the man was almost ready to make war!
During the Hatching feast that erupted right afterward, he managed to get a few words to the Weyrwoman’s ear, and shortly found himself across the table from the heads of the Weyr: the Weyrleaders, the Weyrling and Candidate Masters, the Headwoman, and a few of the highest-ranking Wingleaders. He warned them that nothing he said was to leave that room, and was given their assent, backed by the great gold herself. Explaining to them in as little detail as he could while impressing its importance, he managed to get across who he was and what he was doing. The next day, the MasterHarper was flown in and Valitaph’s story was confirmed. Though hundreds of turns had passed since the days of Lessa and F’lar and MasterHarper Robinton, the current Weyrleaders remembered well the old tales of their former sovereigns. They would help, in whatever way they could.
And so, it was devised that Valitaph – now V’taph, for all rights – would be allowed to continue on his mission. The Holder was delighted to now have a dragonrider as one of his faithful followers. And so, for the duration of his Weyrlinghood and half a turn after that, V’taph went by his false name – also properly elided – and gained all the evidence necessary to finally convict the Holder of the treason and war-mongering he was guilty of.
Though he was now free of his supposed last mission, he still felt a loyalty to his Hall greater than any he would feel for his Weyr. He explained this to his Weyrwoman, and in her wisdom she granted him the right to take whatever leave he needed to serve his Hall – so long as the Weyr could ask missions of him at certain times as well. Happily, he served both Hall and Weyr, training Veneth to be his second greatest asset after his own self.
The dragonpair were inseparable, finding a strength and love from one another that V’taph had never even imagined, much less hoped for. In the days when the man might have gone hard and cold from the things he had seen and done, the dragon kept him full of life and light. Veneth thrived on the harsh training that V’taph set for them both, sometimes making it hard for His to stifle his laughter as the creeping dragon made up stories in their heads about dashing adventures they were having instead of the more boring missions. Where V’taph kept Veneth in line when it came to his mischief and game-making, Veneth made V’taph lighten up and play the jaunty Harper now and again.
It was with Veneth’s absolute pride that V’taph walked the tables for his Master’s knots on his forty-sixth birthing day. V’taph felt a pride all his own when Cyril was the one who stepped forward – with tear-bright eyes – to tie the new knots on his shoulder. His stoic nature broke into raucous laughter when he had to pry a weeping Yanira off of him, her maternal ways finally becoming apparent when she blubbered on about ‘her little boy’ and ‘all grown up’ and the like.
Realizing he was now nearing his fiftieth turn, he decided it was finally time to retire from his missions. He wasn’t nearly as spry as he was in his younger years, though he was still a fair deal faster and more limber than most others. His age was beginning to show, and it was getting harder to disguise himself as a younger man. Plus, with Thread falling again these past several years, he and Veneth were needed more in the fighting wings than in the shadows of Pern. With Cyril’s fatherly blessing, he was relieved from active duty, though he was still to keep his ear open for any interesting tidbits he could pick up.
He was, however, a man who was not able to be completely still. He’d heard of the disaster of Silver Cove, and how a good majority of the survivors had relocated to a new Weyr. Still, their numbers were devastated, and they would need any help they could get to rebuild. Certain that a fair number of their wingriders – and even ranking riders – had been lost to between, he put in for his transfer to the fledgling Weyr. The warmth would be good for his old bones anyway, and who would object to a WeyrHarper?
Fun Facts:
• He’s not fond of muscular men that could easily overpower him; prefers a gentler sort. Alternately, overly weak women are worthy of disdain, and a stronger presence is more appreciated.
• Has been to every single major Hold and central Hall – and a fair number of lesser ones – at some point or another, under some name or another.
• Has a fair number of scars littering his body. Street-rat turned Harper spy turned Dragonrider (and Harper spy) – his life has certainly left its marks. Most of his Threadscores he managed to convince the Healer to heal in a way that one couldn’t quite tell if they were indeed scores or fighting wounds from a knife or fire. It’s not that he wants to seem more ‘manly’ but more that when he did go undercover that it was easier to explain.
• Loves children. No, really, he does. …He’s just not very good with them.
• He’s fascinated by fire-lizards, and has always wanted one – if only for the apparent convenience of sending discreet messages.
• Knows more about makeup and fashion than most Holder’s wives due to his prior needs for disguise, but is very reluctant to admit this.
• He never watches Hatchings, as a general self-rule. He can’t stand the thought of an unwanted youngling, and any leftover Candidates or betweened or dud fledglings break his heart far more than he can bear.
Bonded Critter(s):
Type: Dragon
Name: Veneth
Color: Brown (932724)
Age: 27
Description: This brown, from a distance, is almost painfully average. Though rather small in size for his color, everything else seems to be plain and “normal” about Veneth.
Upon closer inspection, though, one will find that his hide is made up of twisting, twining whorls of color. Instead of looking splotchy, the shades grade seamlessly into one another. One can place his or her hands in two different spots and be resting on two completely different colors…and be unable to track the progression from one hue to the next between those hands. It often makes for very good camouflage in shaded or wooded areas, and has made him less-conspicuous on several rooftops. Overall, he has the effect of being a slightly darker medium brown.
His musculature is lean, but powerful, and he is much more agile than his form implies. Added to this is the fact that rider and dragon have taken to years of practice both on wing and on the ground to increase this agility. Quick maneuvers and nigh-impossible turns and directional changes have ensured that very few Threadscores have actually landed – and have been very effective when stealthily winging into a small area. Practice roaming on land has not only given Veneth a graceful stride, but he can be fluid enough in his movement so as not to cause a sound or a vibration with his step.
He’s very cognizant of the position of every piece of his body, and very, very rarely will he stumble or knock into something (or someone) by accident. He knows it amuses V’taph to no end when he “accidentally” whaps someone with his tail or buffets them with a wing – and then apologizes in so much flowery language as he’s learned from his rider that he rarely incurs him victim’s wrath. He’s trained his slightly-elongated tail into being almost prehensile, and will sometimes get away with snaking it around behind someone and tapping them on the opposite shoulder.
Personality: Veneth is a happy little brown. He has a huge curious streak and likes to be playful, treating most situations as a game of some sort – albeit a serious game at times(like during Threadfall). He likes to joke around with other dragons and has a mischievous streak that may or may not have enlisted the help of various fire-lizards (and sometimes other dragons) in playing a practical joke on another dragon, twoleg, or both. Water dumped on people’s heads, small flowers or colorful strips decorating the unsuspecting – even once going so far as to smear (pink) paint all over one (very vain) sleeping (bronze) dragon. (No one could figure out where he got the paint…)
He has a serious side, but it generally is only displayed during some of V’taph’s more covert operations. He will wing above an area and use his excellent vision to be an aerial spy for his rider, and the two of them have trained their link to where V’taph can often look through Veneth’s eyes and see for himself. Another part of their training was with mental ability – figuring out how to place the small whisper of a suggestion from Veneth’s mind into others’ minds that they should look away or not notice a certain area. It’s by no means perfected, even after years, but it has saved both rider and dragon in a few tighter situations.
He is confident in the fact that his rider loves him beyond all measure, and that is really all he needs. He’s very flirtatious towards any and all female dragons, but would honestly prefer to curl up with his rider over any of them. He rarely worries about most other things unless they mean potential danger for his rider. He’s acted as V’taph’s confidant over the years, and retains a surprisingly good memory of their various exploits. Other events in time…not so much, but they’re not really that important, right?
Fun Facts:
• Would sometimes use his quick wit to help V’taph piece together and argue out various clues and motives on his cases, and finds it to be the most fun kind of game.
• Loves detective stories with a very secret passion. That V’taph teases him for.
• Fully enjoys that fact that no one can see under all of V’taph’s layers or is privy to all of V’taph’s secrets except for him – not even the MasterHarper can boast that.
• Loves watching hatchlings waddle around. He thinks it’s adorable.
Type: Fire-lizard
Name: Tiieh
Color: Dud (sickly-yellow shading)
Age: 4mos. (Mid-Winter)
Hatching Info: 7th from the Nuts Egg, Sundae Toppings Clutch, Brillia's by Toll.
Description: This fire-lizard is a tiny specimen, easily smaller than even most greens. Everything about her sizing identifies her as the runt of the clutch. Her limbs are a bit on the thin side, which makes them look too long for her tiny frame even though they are effectively proportional. Her toes are all webbed together, and she has an extra toe on both of her hind-limbs. She has wickedly sharp claws at the end of each of her toes, looking even longer than normal because of her skinniness. Her wings are long when outstretched, but aren’t quite wide enough to sustain lengthy flying; they also appear to be very fragile with almost transparently-thin wingsails. Her hide is a sickly-yellow color that could be argued as a yellowed-out green or a very pale and dull gold. Her tail – in opposition to the rest of her – is quite long, but retains the thinness of the rest of her frame, making it very good for wrapping around and clinging to things but not so good for steering. Her bones are very weak and will break much easier than normal from any impact, but her slight muscles are corded with enough strength to support her and allow her to carry things easily. Her eyes bug out of her head just slightly – as if they’re too big for their sockets – making her look almost comically wary of everything.
While her flying abilities are severely limited because of her frail wings, she is very good at clinging, climbing, and crawling along surfaces because of her sharp claws and long limbs. She can’t effectively Rise, but will make an approximation of a mating flight every eight months. She is, unfortunately, unable to actually clutch. She has very little stamina, which also cuts her Flights a bit short. As if to combat her inability to physically move long distances, she is able to wink in and out of between with very little effort.
Though not actually sickly, she is twice as prone to illness as other fire-lizards. Her eyesight is somewhat keen in the dark, and she dislikes overly bright lighting. Her sense of hearing is VERY sensitive, and while she can use it to easily locate things and judge distances, she can often be seen flinching at the most normal of loud noises.
Personality: ((skittish, but curious; wary; clingy; spaces out; needy; avid memory; good at finding things; once trust is earned, trusts completely))
...I need to find my file, 'cause I had this finished. *hopes she, er, didn't delete it...* >.>;
Fun Facts:
• If she had fully developed, she would likely have been a gold.
Craftskills:
Craft: Harper
Level of Proficiency: Master
Specialty: Espionage, disguise, fast-talking, lyrical composition, singing.
Weakness: …Teaching.