Post by jack on Nov 24, 2009 3:17:28 GMT -5
Name: Sprocket [S’ket]
Gender: Male
Age: 17
Sexuality: Homosexual
Location: Crescent Hold
Rank: To-Be Searched; Journeyman Smith
Personality: Sprocket is…well…a bit odd. He’s hyperactive and very sweet, with a dog-like loyalty and an easy smile. But while he’s gentle enough, and loves to be around people at all times…he’s also severely gynophobic. For those of you who don’t know exactly what that means…it means he’s terrified of girls. Girl humans, girl dragons, girl flits, even girl cats and runners send him into a fit, cowering under whatever is nearest at hand and convinced that—at any moment—they’re going to do something horrible to him. Now, he doesn’t exactly know what that horrible thing is, but it doesn’t make him any less afraid!
When not around the fairer sex, he’s easy to be around with and as sweet and goofy as could be. Very intelligent, he tends to talk to himself and seems most at home scavenging old ruins and exploring dark places. Like his father, he is mildly obsessed with the lesser known technology-based part of Pern, and finds the simplest of mechanics to be amazing. He loves to fiddle with things such as flamethrowers, and has to be held back when something new and interesting is brought into the room.
Appearance: A rather scraggly individual, Sprocket looks ungangly and mismatched…until you manage to strip him. Well-built and muscular, the grey-haired teenager has clearly been doing his work in the Smith Hall, and his arms and chest have benefited from it. But despite the good-looking physique his trade-of-choice has given him, he tends to hunch over when not working, hiding his fit form with over-sized tunics and loose pants. His hair is often streaked with grease or coal, whatever was last on his gloves or hands when he ran his fingers through it. It is cut roughly, with mismatched spikes poking out in every direction, but insanely soft to the touch; making it irresistible to pet for some individuals.
But Sprocket doesn’t seem to mind, loving to lay over his current boyfriend’s laps in order to get petted like the dog some people are convinced he is.
Sprocket has very strange eyes, the irises a simple grey—a shade lighter than his hair color—that do not reflect any shapes or light noticeably, aside from yellow colors and at night. Yellow colors turn the entire iris yellow—an effect his father played with from day one and still is endlessly fascinated by—and at night his eyes reflect light back abnormally well. His father can only assume that this is a result of the fumes his wife inhaled during the pregnancy after an especially bad experiment in the basement.
While his clothing tends to vary a bit in color and style—while he prefers clothing he can ruin, he does in fact own some finer wear more appropriate for parties and gatherings—one thing remains constant; his goggles. Sprocket never leaves them behind, and while they are cleaned and moved to around his neck for more proper situations, they are usually covered in soot and perched upon his head, keeping his hair back a bit.
Family:
Traenx – Father
Rasiini – Mother; Missing
Pets:
Name: Cogs
Age: 5 Turns
Gender: Male
Species: Firelizard
Color: Bronze
Appearance: A very shiny individual, Cogs is a perfect example of the color Bronze. Well-polished and well-cared for, his hide is smooth and even in color from nose to tail, with the exception of a arrow-shape on his muzzle. He is average in size for a Bronze, although a bit leaner and agile than most of his color tend to be.
Personality: A very solid individual, Cogs is a perfect example of a Brown personality in a Bronze body. He is a big worker, and tends to get antsy when he’s not allowed to help in some manner or another. Specializing in bringing tools often heavier than he should be able to carry, Cogs takes great pride in his work ethic, and makes certain to keep Sprocket on task. He is quiet for a flit, rarely speaking up about anything, but when he does open his little mouth to make a noise, it is low and very hard to mistake. If he bothers to make a sound, he makes certain he is heard, as whatever he has to “say” is always important.
History: Sprocket’s life…is a strange one at the very least. Born to an inventing father and a complete-downer of a mother in a small home on the outskirts of Gejami Hold, he spent the first years of his life being poked and prodded and overall-investigated. His father was endlessly intrigued with his son, and seemed to be able to do the same thing over and over again, getting the same result, and still be startled by it. Poking his son in the forehead, and getting his finger smacked by his wife, was one of those things.
But despite years of being ‘abused’, as some would call it, Sprocket grew up as happy as a boy could be, developing a quick affinity for his father, and an indescribable fear of his mother, who grew more and more distant by the day. As a toddler, he followed his father around as much as he could, mimicking the man’s actions like a feather-less parrot until he was five. But once he was old enough to begin to understand that ‘every action has a reaction,’ he began branching outside of his father’s “teach the boy this” lessons, and explored on his own.
His mother abandoned father and son soon after Sprocket’s sixth birthday, although the boy didn’t seem too disturbed by it. Very soon after Sprocket had stopped nursing, she had stopped caring about him as it was, and life was better with just him and his father. Traenx, of course, did not feel the same. For about a year he sulked, hiding away in his laboratory—or what he called a lab—fiddling with old cogs and attempting to make a “potion” that would bring his wife back. It was all half-hearted, of course, as the fellow wasn’t foolish enough to believe in nonsense such as that, and after a year’s time, he was back to normal, happily inventing and playing with his son.
When Sprocket was ten, he was sent off to the Smith Hall, Traenx confident the boy would do well, and knowing that—without proper training in the craft—Sprocket would have problems following in his father’s footsteps. His time at the Smith Hall was a happy one, however, and Sprocket excelled unusually well in the subject. He had a natural talent for selecting high-quality materials, and was equally skilled when it came to making things. He seemed especially fond of making gears, and even after he was able to move on to more advanced things—although gears were certainly not easy—he would resort to making piles of them when he was distracted or depressed. That habit has not changed, as his father can attest to, and boxes of unused gears lay around his home and dorm.
Two years into his time at the Smith Hall, a trader came into the hall, bearing several flit eggs alongside his wares. Sprocket—the oddball that he was—showed no interest in the eggs, drooling over the more mechanical whatnots the man had brought. Unable to purchase any, he was simply able to stare, and it was while he was staring that something very…unlikely happened. The man had overestimated the time for when the flits would hatch, and while Sprocket’s fellow apprentices were mooning over the “should-be” fighter eggs they had purchased, the man was busy counting his cash. One of two especially large eggs began to shake, the flit on the man’s shoulder beginning to hum. The man—too engrossed in checking and double checking his wares—didn’t notice, and a tiny bronze head split the egg.
Almost immediately, the other eggs began to shake as well, the sound of the students as they yelled for meat and panicked distracting the man further. The silent Bronze seemed to take advantage of this fact and—with odd purpsefulness—split his egg and scrambled off the wagon he and his sibling were being displayed on. Giving a very demanding squeak he plopped his squat little body insistently on the mechanical dragon toy that Sprocket had been gawking at. He shot back with a squeak at the sudden appearance of the Bronze lizard, but the creature would have none of that. He scurried his way to the edge of the wagon and peered down at the boy, giving another demanding squeak. It was at this point that the meat arrived, and before Sprocket even had the chance to explain he hadn’t purchased the creature, a pile was shoved in his grip and in turn down the Bronze’s throat.
Only after the tiny creature had a bulging belly and was curled up happily on the boy’s chest like a squishy Bronze ball did the situation come to notice. But the trader—with a fattened baby little Copper in his grip—just waved the problem off with a gold-toothed grin, saying he’d been paid well enough. So off the man went, leaving Sprocket with the only King flit amongst a small herd of Greens, Blues, and a scraggly Brown named Rodent.
The Bronze—who was quickly named Cogs—and Sprocket quickly became the best of pals. He turned out to be quite the help, keeping his partner awake even when the most difficult of tasks came their way, and the stubborn boy refused to go to bed before figuring out the problem two days in advance. Five years passed, and the duo excelled, showing the bored boys that had come by force to the hall to be nothing but stragglers. He walked the tables at seventeen, Cogs perched nobly on his shoulder between the flits occasional attempts at keeping one particular spike of hair out of the boy’s face.
After becoming a journeyman, Sprocket moved back home with his father, helping the madman with his many “inventions.” Some things—mostly toys and a strange object that makes it possible to open jars with a finger that I hope Bre will let me make a real object because the thought makes me giggle—worked out rather brilliantly. Other things…did not. But while Sprocket does make the occasional trip out of his father’s home to explore wreckage or carry out his duties as a Journeyman Smith, he is content where he is, moving between Gejami and Crescent Hold. Even if the occasional explosion stains his skin and makes him look like he has a strange black-spotted illness.
Dragon Preference: None at all! Something shiny would be appreciated, but Sprocket would be mostly content either way. I have nothing against mauling—scars are sexy!—but I’d very much like if he stayed…alive. I like him!
Oh. HE IS GYNOPHOBIC. Therefore…a female dragon would be a very bad idea. He would no doubt deny it, scared shitless by it.
Gender: Male
Age: 17
Sexuality: Homosexual
Location: Crescent Hold
Rank: To-Be Searched; Journeyman Smith
Personality: Sprocket is…well…a bit odd. He’s hyperactive and very sweet, with a dog-like loyalty and an easy smile. But while he’s gentle enough, and loves to be around people at all times…he’s also severely gynophobic. For those of you who don’t know exactly what that means…it means he’s terrified of girls. Girl humans, girl dragons, girl flits, even girl cats and runners send him into a fit, cowering under whatever is nearest at hand and convinced that—at any moment—they’re going to do something horrible to him. Now, he doesn’t exactly know what that horrible thing is, but it doesn’t make him any less afraid!
When not around the fairer sex, he’s easy to be around with and as sweet and goofy as could be. Very intelligent, he tends to talk to himself and seems most at home scavenging old ruins and exploring dark places. Like his father, he is mildly obsessed with the lesser known technology-based part of Pern, and finds the simplest of mechanics to be amazing. He loves to fiddle with things such as flamethrowers, and has to be held back when something new and interesting is brought into the room.
Appearance: A rather scraggly individual, Sprocket looks ungangly and mismatched…until you manage to strip him. Well-built and muscular, the grey-haired teenager has clearly been doing his work in the Smith Hall, and his arms and chest have benefited from it. But despite the good-looking physique his trade-of-choice has given him, he tends to hunch over when not working, hiding his fit form with over-sized tunics and loose pants. His hair is often streaked with grease or coal, whatever was last on his gloves or hands when he ran his fingers through it. It is cut roughly, with mismatched spikes poking out in every direction, but insanely soft to the touch; making it irresistible to pet for some individuals.
But Sprocket doesn’t seem to mind, loving to lay over his current boyfriend’s laps in order to get petted like the dog some people are convinced he is.
Sprocket has very strange eyes, the irises a simple grey—a shade lighter than his hair color—that do not reflect any shapes or light noticeably, aside from yellow colors and at night. Yellow colors turn the entire iris yellow—an effect his father played with from day one and still is endlessly fascinated by—and at night his eyes reflect light back abnormally well. His father can only assume that this is a result of the fumes his wife inhaled during the pregnancy after an especially bad experiment in the basement.
While his clothing tends to vary a bit in color and style—while he prefers clothing he can ruin, he does in fact own some finer wear more appropriate for parties and gatherings—one thing remains constant; his goggles. Sprocket never leaves them behind, and while they are cleaned and moved to around his neck for more proper situations, they are usually covered in soot and perched upon his head, keeping his hair back a bit.
Family:
Traenx – Father
Rasiini – Mother; Missing
Pets:
Name: Cogs
Age: 5 Turns
Gender: Male
Species: Firelizard
Color: Bronze
Appearance: A very shiny individual, Cogs is a perfect example of the color Bronze. Well-polished and well-cared for, his hide is smooth and even in color from nose to tail, with the exception of a arrow-shape on his muzzle. He is average in size for a Bronze, although a bit leaner and agile than most of his color tend to be.
Personality: A very solid individual, Cogs is a perfect example of a Brown personality in a Bronze body. He is a big worker, and tends to get antsy when he’s not allowed to help in some manner or another. Specializing in bringing tools often heavier than he should be able to carry, Cogs takes great pride in his work ethic, and makes certain to keep Sprocket on task. He is quiet for a flit, rarely speaking up about anything, but when he does open his little mouth to make a noise, it is low and very hard to mistake. If he bothers to make a sound, he makes certain he is heard, as whatever he has to “say” is always important.
History: Sprocket’s life…is a strange one at the very least. Born to an inventing father and a complete-downer of a mother in a small home on the outskirts of Gejami Hold, he spent the first years of his life being poked and prodded and overall-investigated. His father was endlessly intrigued with his son, and seemed to be able to do the same thing over and over again, getting the same result, and still be startled by it. Poking his son in the forehead, and getting his finger smacked by his wife, was one of those things.
But despite years of being ‘abused’, as some would call it, Sprocket grew up as happy as a boy could be, developing a quick affinity for his father, and an indescribable fear of his mother, who grew more and more distant by the day. As a toddler, he followed his father around as much as he could, mimicking the man’s actions like a feather-less parrot until he was five. But once he was old enough to begin to understand that ‘every action has a reaction,’ he began branching outside of his father’s “teach the boy this” lessons, and explored on his own.
His mother abandoned father and son soon after Sprocket’s sixth birthday, although the boy didn’t seem too disturbed by it. Very soon after Sprocket had stopped nursing, she had stopped caring about him as it was, and life was better with just him and his father. Traenx, of course, did not feel the same. For about a year he sulked, hiding away in his laboratory—or what he called a lab—fiddling with old cogs and attempting to make a “potion” that would bring his wife back. It was all half-hearted, of course, as the fellow wasn’t foolish enough to believe in nonsense such as that, and after a year’s time, he was back to normal, happily inventing and playing with his son.
When Sprocket was ten, he was sent off to the Smith Hall, Traenx confident the boy would do well, and knowing that—without proper training in the craft—Sprocket would have problems following in his father’s footsteps. His time at the Smith Hall was a happy one, however, and Sprocket excelled unusually well in the subject. He had a natural talent for selecting high-quality materials, and was equally skilled when it came to making things. He seemed especially fond of making gears, and even after he was able to move on to more advanced things—although gears were certainly not easy—he would resort to making piles of them when he was distracted or depressed. That habit has not changed, as his father can attest to, and boxes of unused gears lay around his home and dorm.
Two years into his time at the Smith Hall, a trader came into the hall, bearing several flit eggs alongside his wares. Sprocket—the oddball that he was—showed no interest in the eggs, drooling over the more mechanical whatnots the man had brought. Unable to purchase any, he was simply able to stare, and it was while he was staring that something very…unlikely happened. The man had overestimated the time for when the flits would hatch, and while Sprocket’s fellow apprentices were mooning over the “should-be” fighter eggs they had purchased, the man was busy counting his cash. One of two especially large eggs began to shake, the flit on the man’s shoulder beginning to hum. The man—too engrossed in checking and double checking his wares—didn’t notice, and a tiny bronze head split the egg.
Almost immediately, the other eggs began to shake as well, the sound of the students as they yelled for meat and panicked distracting the man further. The silent Bronze seemed to take advantage of this fact and—with odd purpsefulness—split his egg and scrambled off the wagon he and his sibling were being displayed on. Giving a very demanding squeak he plopped his squat little body insistently on the mechanical dragon toy that Sprocket had been gawking at. He shot back with a squeak at the sudden appearance of the Bronze lizard, but the creature would have none of that. He scurried his way to the edge of the wagon and peered down at the boy, giving another demanding squeak. It was at this point that the meat arrived, and before Sprocket even had the chance to explain he hadn’t purchased the creature, a pile was shoved in his grip and in turn down the Bronze’s throat.
Only after the tiny creature had a bulging belly and was curled up happily on the boy’s chest like a squishy Bronze ball did the situation come to notice. But the trader—with a fattened baby little Copper in his grip—just waved the problem off with a gold-toothed grin, saying he’d been paid well enough. So off the man went, leaving Sprocket with the only King flit amongst a small herd of Greens, Blues, and a scraggly Brown named Rodent.
The Bronze—who was quickly named Cogs—and Sprocket quickly became the best of pals. He turned out to be quite the help, keeping his partner awake even when the most difficult of tasks came their way, and the stubborn boy refused to go to bed before figuring out the problem two days in advance. Five years passed, and the duo excelled, showing the bored boys that had come by force to the hall to be nothing but stragglers. He walked the tables at seventeen, Cogs perched nobly on his shoulder between the flits occasional attempts at keeping one particular spike of hair out of the boy’s face.
After becoming a journeyman, Sprocket moved back home with his father, helping the madman with his many “inventions.” Some things—mostly toys and a strange object that makes it possible to open jars with a finger that I hope Bre will let me make a real object because the thought makes me giggle—worked out rather brilliantly. Other things…did not. But while Sprocket does make the occasional trip out of his father’s home to explore wreckage or carry out his duties as a Journeyman Smith, he is content where he is, moving between Gejami and Crescent Hold. Even if the occasional explosion stains his skin and makes him look like he has a strange black-spotted illness.
Dragon Preference: None at all! Something shiny would be appreciated, but Sprocket would be mostly content either way. I have nothing against mauling—scars are sexy!—but I’d very much like if he stayed…alive. I like him!
Oh. HE IS GYNOPHOBIC. Therefore…a female dragon would be a very bad idea. He would no doubt deny it, scared shitless by it.
