Post by jack on Aug 6, 2009 1:41:29 GMT -5
Name: Vraellin (V’lin…sounds like violin. ;D Fitting.)
Gender: Male
Age: 19
Sexuality: Unknown; Bisexual
Location: Dalibor Weyr
Rank: Dragon Candidate
Personality: A very submissive young man, Vraellin is used to doing chores. He is generally considered to be mute, as few people have ever heard a word from him, and he tends to reply either in a modified version of sign language, or by easily read body language. An abused being, he allows himself to be pushed around even by his peers, never lifting a hand against anyone..even in defense.
Lin’s eyes are always downcast, his chin tucked safely against his chest and his hair in his face. When spoken to he will lift his eyes, but while he always meets the speaker’s gaze, only does so to show he is attentive, and is quick to avert his view once his ‘orders’ have been given.
Despite the almost slave-like way he goes about his day, never hesitating to take up an extra job, but never taking any reward for it, he is seemingly content to work, and never complains. Lin finds fresh white bread to be an intriguing notion, and always treasures his pieces at meals. He always cleans his plate, but never takes a bit more than the amount dished out by those around him. If allowed to, he will skip meals, not out of lack of hunger, but rather an ingrained notion that any food he is not specifically given he is not allowed. His roommate—a broad shouldered boy used to eating much and often—makes sure to follow the young man around and fill his plates.
However, Lin is undeniably a sweet soul, and while he will never take food for himself, will occasionally swipe a bit of food—or rather politely request it with those big doe eyes of him—for an injured animal he has found. He is especially enamored by flits, loving the tiny creatures more than anything in the world.
Lin is well aware of his position as a Candidate, having been told a gajillion times, but he acts still as though he disbelieves it. Not in the shock and surprised sort of way, but rather as though he knows he is being lied to, as though something like that were too far beyond his means to be even dream worthy. Insistent that it is some sort of formality in his mind, he is more than happy to take the chores of his fellows, doing so without question and occasionally without being asked, if it becomes a common enough thing.
As he seems to find solace in work, he is allowed to do so, looking at his most at ease when he’s doing a job.
An unstable and wary youth, he absolutely cannot be scolded, as the very notion of displeasing someone can be enough to send him into tremors. Bad memories and immoral training are deeply threaded into his mind, and when evoked, he has a very strong tendency to work himself well beyond exhaustion.
While shy and untrusting, Lin is a strong friend, and seems to have a sixth sense when it comes to knowing the thoughts and feelings of those around him. While he never talks, his simple arrival can often sooth, and he has an uncanny ability to appear with just the thing to boost another’s mood. This can be anything from a slice of steaming bubbly pie to a cuddly kitten, and no one knows exactly how or where he finds what he delivers. It can only be assumed that, in order to please his Master, he developed quite a bit of hidden strings in the world. This held even more true when, as a gift for his roommate, he secured a trip to the boy’s hometown and back with the lad’s most revered dragonrider.
Lin never opens his mouth to make any sort of sound, unless physically forced to. However, when he believes himself to be alone and unwatched, his favorite thing in the world to do is sing. He has an incredible voice with a wide range, but that sounds best at a peaceful tenor. In a perfect world, he would be a journeyman harper, set to do great things. But he is instead by chance at the door to the dragon’s den, sweeping away at the trash left by those before him with the dead-eyes of a boy who’d locked away all in order to save himself.
There is a possibility that he may again come out of his shell, but most doubt it. It is deeply imbedded in his mind to keep his own thoughts and feelings well to himself, lest they be violently beaten from his mind. While he is naturally gentle and easy-going, he is now tense and wary, never trusting but never disbelieving.
Appearance: Vraellin is an understandably flawed man, positively covered in scars from an abusive lifestyle. Tiny little flecks from knives and punches alike cover almost his entire skin, most itty bitty dashes that have healed shockingly well against his flesh. There are several more ugly ones on his chest, larger, thicker ones that look as though he’d been stabbed or brutally beaten. The worst, however, is on his back. A massive, brutal scar runs from the back of his neck straight down to the curve of his backside, disappearing below the pantline. It is broad and clearly went deep, the very tips of three of his vertebrae visible at his neck from where the muscles grew back badly, making it so he was unable to bend a part of his spine.
Several more deep gashes criss-cross over the main one, some of them looking fresher and many of them looking older. Two more nasty gashes are hidden in his hair, the results of his head being slammed into various sharp objects. These have healed well, his hair regrowing and hiding the scarring. The most noticeable scars, however, are on his face.
At the corners of both of his eyes a knife has drawn lines to the sides, making his eyes look more elegant, if mutilated. An ‘X’ was drawn over on of his cheekbones, the vertical line making its way from his cheekbone all the way to his jawbone. The deepest is a diagonal strip from his left cheekbone—opposite of the cross—to his right temple. It goes over his nose and between his eyes, and is almost broad enough to touch each of his eyebrows.
Despite the purposeful destruction of his skin, Vraellin is a fairly handsome youth, with kindness hiding behind the dull obedience of his blue grey eyes and sleek almost black-brown hair. It is kept habitually short, just long enough for one to thread their fingers through it and grab it, but not long enough to need to be brushed.
He is fairly tall, hitting the scales at a little over 5’9”, but is far lanky, with a well built frame made up of hard work and tireless endurance. Despite being strong, flexible, and athletic enough to pick a fight with anyone, he never lifts a hand for anything but to grab something off a higher level.
Vraellin has very lovely skin, colored a slightly dark tan that is a mixture of natural tan and the dying remnants of being constantly out in the sun. His scars, healed white and bright, stand out unnaturally well on his skin, making his history impossible to hide. His ears are both pierced multiple times, and it is habit again that keeps a pile of various sized hoops through them.
Lin tends to wear heavy bracelets around his wrists, finding the feel of them bare to be too much for him to handle. As time has gone by, he’s lightened the load however, and now only wears cuffs made from wherryhide around them rather than the metal he actually spoke up for years before.
Family:
Verlin(Father) – Murdered
Saerie(Mother) – Murdered
Traellin(Twin) – Deceased; stabbed and left to bleed while protecting Vraellin
Sraeki(Younger Brother) – Missing, supposed Murdered
Pets: n/a
History: Vraellin was born in a quiet little home, miles away from any Hold. His was an odd family, his father a trader and his mother a farmer by heritage. For as long as he could remember, he and his brother had worked alongside their parents, his father learning year by year from his mother and then taking off their goods to the nearest Hold to sell. In the meantime, his mother would stay at home, caring for not only the twins, but their younger sibling as well.
While the life was hard—Rukbat was harsh and the lack of rain could be harsher—it was a nice life, and Vraellin was incredibly happy. But things in the real world rarely ever stayed so picture perfect, and when Lin was only six, everything took a turn for the worst. He didn’t remember entirely what started the whole affair, but he began to notice that his parents had begun to eye each other with more and more distaste, hatred gleaming louder in their eyes. The family began to go into debt, the father spending his days out drinking with unsavory folk as the mother and her boys were left to slave away, the crops they were able to manage growing less and less.
Verlin started spending his money on gambling, and he wasn’t a good one. Money to pay for herdbeast babies—lost. Money for seeds—lost. Money to feed the burdenbeasts and their single runner—lost. The remaining herdbeasts were sold for chumpchange, chumpchange that was spent on alcohol to feed the man’s growing addictions. The last of the crops went to the starving family, the burdenbeasts slaughtered at the very end for food, and the runnerbeast sold. The family were at the bottom of the barrel, and the father had bet away more.
Unbeknownst even to his wife, the man had started gambling with characters far less savory than the drunkards at the nearest tavern. And unfortunately, they had come to take what he had failed to pay.
Verlin was slaughtered at the entrance to his little home, having run in as quick as his legs would come, only to be chopped down. Saerie, upon seeing the men, gave a dry little laugh and slit her own throat. The image of his mother, dying and laughing and sneering at the men around her, is a brutal memory Vraellin has been forced to carry. Traellin, always the stronger of the two, was the first to react, grabbing both his little brother and his twin and forcibly dragging them out of the house.
They got as far as the edge of the woods before they were caught, Traellin wheeling on the group with a knife he’d grabbed from the kitchen, swiping at them with a feral snarl as he urged Vraellin to run, to run and take Sraeki with him. Vraellin stayed at his sibling’s side, shooing the four year old into the woods before taking a stand with his twin.
It isn’t too hard to imagine the result.
Traellin was left dead, a dying smile and glazed over eyes all that Vraellin has to remember him by.
Sraeki, he has no idea what happened to, although he can only assume that the poor child was killed as well.
As for Vraellin…well…he was taken away.
The following years went by in a miserably slow blur, the beaten boy learning to accept any order he was given without a moment’s hesitation, or else be horribly punished. His ‘master’, as the man liked to be referred as and ‘owner’ as he liked to refer to himself, was a sick man, a member of the underground who thrived on brutality and physical abuse. He had a sick fascination with mutilation, and performed his guilty pleasure on his human toy.
Vraellin lived for twelve years under that brutality, learning to take abuse as easily as he’d taken smiles from his parents years before. By some miracle, however, the horrible deeds that the man had been performing in public as well, had drawn out a pair of dragonriders to take him down. In the process, Vraellin was rescued and Searched, all in one go.
Confused and convinced he’d done something wrong, he was whisked off on the back of the Bronze who’d turned his eyes on him in the first place, going from a worthless slaving pet to a Candidate faster than one could blink an eye. A year later he is healed up and—while still very mentally damaged—believed to be able to Stand at the next Hatching…perhaps to find a partner who could save him.
Dragon Preference: I’m not too particular about color, as I’m sure you’re aware. Vraellin would be suitable for many dragons, as his personality is multi-faceted beneath the surface. Whatever you feel will be the most…entertaining. ;D
Gender: Male
Age: 19
Sexuality: Unknown; Bisexual
Location: Dalibor Weyr
Rank: Dragon Candidate
Personality: A very submissive young man, Vraellin is used to doing chores. He is generally considered to be mute, as few people have ever heard a word from him, and he tends to reply either in a modified version of sign language, or by easily read body language. An abused being, he allows himself to be pushed around even by his peers, never lifting a hand against anyone..even in defense.
Lin’s eyes are always downcast, his chin tucked safely against his chest and his hair in his face. When spoken to he will lift his eyes, but while he always meets the speaker’s gaze, only does so to show he is attentive, and is quick to avert his view once his ‘orders’ have been given.
Despite the almost slave-like way he goes about his day, never hesitating to take up an extra job, but never taking any reward for it, he is seemingly content to work, and never complains. Lin finds fresh white bread to be an intriguing notion, and always treasures his pieces at meals. He always cleans his plate, but never takes a bit more than the amount dished out by those around him. If allowed to, he will skip meals, not out of lack of hunger, but rather an ingrained notion that any food he is not specifically given he is not allowed. His roommate—a broad shouldered boy used to eating much and often—makes sure to follow the young man around and fill his plates.
However, Lin is undeniably a sweet soul, and while he will never take food for himself, will occasionally swipe a bit of food—or rather politely request it with those big doe eyes of him—for an injured animal he has found. He is especially enamored by flits, loving the tiny creatures more than anything in the world.
Lin is well aware of his position as a Candidate, having been told a gajillion times, but he acts still as though he disbelieves it. Not in the shock and surprised sort of way, but rather as though he knows he is being lied to, as though something like that were too far beyond his means to be even dream worthy. Insistent that it is some sort of formality in his mind, he is more than happy to take the chores of his fellows, doing so without question and occasionally without being asked, if it becomes a common enough thing.
As he seems to find solace in work, he is allowed to do so, looking at his most at ease when he’s doing a job.
An unstable and wary youth, he absolutely cannot be scolded, as the very notion of displeasing someone can be enough to send him into tremors. Bad memories and immoral training are deeply threaded into his mind, and when evoked, he has a very strong tendency to work himself well beyond exhaustion.
While shy and untrusting, Lin is a strong friend, and seems to have a sixth sense when it comes to knowing the thoughts and feelings of those around him. While he never talks, his simple arrival can often sooth, and he has an uncanny ability to appear with just the thing to boost another’s mood. This can be anything from a slice of steaming bubbly pie to a cuddly kitten, and no one knows exactly how or where he finds what he delivers. It can only be assumed that, in order to please his Master, he developed quite a bit of hidden strings in the world. This held even more true when, as a gift for his roommate, he secured a trip to the boy’s hometown and back with the lad’s most revered dragonrider.
Lin never opens his mouth to make any sort of sound, unless physically forced to. However, when he believes himself to be alone and unwatched, his favorite thing in the world to do is sing. He has an incredible voice with a wide range, but that sounds best at a peaceful tenor. In a perfect world, he would be a journeyman harper, set to do great things. But he is instead by chance at the door to the dragon’s den, sweeping away at the trash left by those before him with the dead-eyes of a boy who’d locked away all in order to save himself.
There is a possibility that he may again come out of his shell, but most doubt it. It is deeply imbedded in his mind to keep his own thoughts and feelings well to himself, lest they be violently beaten from his mind. While he is naturally gentle and easy-going, he is now tense and wary, never trusting but never disbelieving.
Appearance: Vraellin is an understandably flawed man, positively covered in scars from an abusive lifestyle. Tiny little flecks from knives and punches alike cover almost his entire skin, most itty bitty dashes that have healed shockingly well against his flesh. There are several more ugly ones on his chest, larger, thicker ones that look as though he’d been stabbed or brutally beaten. The worst, however, is on his back. A massive, brutal scar runs from the back of his neck straight down to the curve of his backside, disappearing below the pantline. It is broad and clearly went deep, the very tips of three of his vertebrae visible at his neck from where the muscles grew back badly, making it so he was unable to bend a part of his spine.
Several more deep gashes criss-cross over the main one, some of them looking fresher and many of them looking older. Two more nasty gashes are hidden in his hair, the results of his head being slammed into various sharp objects. These have healed well, his hair regrowing and hiding the scarring. The most noticeable scars, however, are on his face.
At the corners of both of his eyes a knife has drawn lines to the sides, making his eyes look more elegant, if mutilated. An ‘X’ was drawn over on of his cheekbones, the vertical line making its way from his cheekbone all the way to his jawbone. The deepest is a diagonal strip from his left cheekbone—opposite of the cross—to his right temple. It goes over his nose and between his eyes, and is almost broad enough to touch each of his eyebrows.
Despite the purposeful destruction of his skin, Vraellin is a fairly handsome youth, with kindness hiding behind the dull obedience of his blue grey eyes and sleek almost black-brown hair. It is kept habitually short, just long enough for one to thread their fingers through it and grab it, but not long enough to need to be brushed.
He is fairly tall, hitting the scales at a little over 5’9”, but is far lanky, with a well built frame made up of hard work and tireless endurance. Despite being strong, flexible, and athletic enough to pick a fight with anyone, he never lifts a hand for anything but to grab something off a higher level.
Vraellin has very lovely skin, colored a slightly dark tan that is a mixture of natural tan and the dying remnants of being constantly out in the sun. His scars, healed white and bright, stand out unnaturally well on his skin, making his history impossible to hide. His ears are both pierced multiple times, and it is habit again that keeps a pile of various sized hoops through them.
Lin tends to wear heavy bracelets around his wrists, finding the feel of them bare to be too much for him to handle. As time has gone by, he’s lightened the load however, and now only wears cuffs made from wherryhide around them rather than the metal he actually spoke up for years before.
Family:
Verlin(Father) – Murdered
Saerie(Mother) – Murdered
Traellin(Twin) – Deceased; stabbed and left to bleed while protecting Vraellin
Sraeki(Younger Brother) – Missing, supposed Murdered
Pets: n/a
History: Vraellin was born in a quiet little home, miles away from any Hold. His was an odd family, his father a trader and his mother a farmer by heritage. For as long as he could remember, he and his brother had worked alongside their parents, his father learning year by year from his mother and then taking off their goods to the nearest Hold to sell. In the meantime, his mother would stay at home, caring for not only the twins, but their younger sibling as well.
While the life was hard—Rukbat was harsh and the lack of rain could be harsher—it was a nice life, and Vraellin was incredibly happy. But things in the real world rarely ever stayed so picture perfect, and when Lin was only six, everything took a turn for the worst. He didn’t remember entirely what started the whole affair, but he began to notice that his parents had begun to eye each other with more and more distaste, hatred gleaming louder in their eyes. The family began to go into debt, the father spending his days out drinking with unsavory folk as the mother and her boys were left to slave away, the crops they were able to manage growing less and less.
Verlin started spending his money on gambling, and he wasn’t a good one. Money to pay for herdbeast babies—lost. Money for seeds—lost. Money to feed the burdenbeasts and their single runner—lost. The remaining herdbeasts were sold for chumpchange, chumpchange that was spent on alcohol to feed the man’s growing addictions. The last of the crops went to the starving family, the burdenbeasts slaughtered at the very end for food, and the runnerbeast sold. The family were at the bottom of the barrel, and the father had bet away more.
Unbeknownst even to his wife, the man had started gambling with characters far less savory than the drunkards at the nearest tavern. And unfortunately, they had come to take what he had failed to pay.
Verlin was slaughtered at the entrance to his little home, having run in as quick as his legs would come, only to be chopped down. Saerie, upon seeing the men, gave a dry little laugh and slit her own throat. The image of his mother, dying and laughing and sneering at the men around her, is a brutal memory Vraellin has been forced to carry. Traellin, always the stronger of the two, was the first to react, grabbing both his little brother and his twin and forcibly dragging them out of the house.
They got as far as the edge of the woods before they were caught, Traellin wheeling on the group with a knife he’d grabbed from the kitchen, swiping at them with a feral snarl as he urged Vraellin to run, to run and take Sraeki with him. Vraellin stayed at his sibling’s side, shooing the four year old into the woods before taking a stand with his twin.
It isn’t too hard to imagine the result.
Traellin was left dead, a dying smile and glazed over eyes all that Vraellin has to remember him by.
Sraeki, he has no idea what happened to, although he can only assume that the poor child was killed as well.
As for Vraellin…well…he was taken away.
The following years went by in a miserably slow blur, the beaten boy learning to accept any order he was given without a moment’s hesitation, or else be horribly punished. His ‘master’, as the man liked to be referred as and ‘owner’ as he liked to refer to himself, was a sick man, a member of the underground who thrived on brutality and physical abuse. He had a sick fascination with mutilation, and performed his guilty pleasure on his human toy.
Vraellin lived for twelve years under that brutality, learning to take abuse as easily as he’d taken smiles from his parents years before. By some miracle, however, the horrible deeds that the man had been performing in public as well, had drawn out a pair of dragonriders to take him down. In the process, Vraellin was rescued and Searched, all in one go.
Confused and convinced he’d done something wrong, he was whisked off on the back of the Bronze who’d turned his eyes on him in the first place, going from a worthless slaving pet to a Candidate faster than one could blink an eye. A year later he is healed up and—while still very mentally damaged—believed to be able to Stand at the next Hatching…perhaps to find a partner who could save him.
Dragon Preference: I’m not too particular about color, as I’m sure you’re aware. Vraellin would be suitable for many dragons, as his personality is multi-faceted beneath the surface. Whatever you feel will be the most…entertaining. ;D
