Description
A'in is not especially tall for a man, standing at roughly 5'10" when barefoot. He's built like a runner, though, with the tree trunk thighs and biceps of someone who's used to climbing his way up riding straps. His skin is naturally dark, a pale brown mixture of his parents' complexions, but his hair is aurburn in hue, the red an interesting contrast with his skin tone. It's long, too, midway down his back and straight as a stick. He keeps it tied in a ponytail or braided, never a hair out of place. His eyes are dark enough to be mistaken for black, and his smiles and sneers expose a row of even white teeth.
He wears a light blue button down shirt, the front left unbuttoned just enough that one could catch a glimpse of his mostly hairless chest. The cuffs are usually rolled up to his elbows. His black knee-length shorts are belted with braided leather, and he sports a pair of flip flops on his feet. A beltknife is strapped to his hip, the handle fashioned to look like a tunnelsnake, fangs exposed. The knot on his shoulder is the knot of a bronzeriding weyrling at Ista Weyr. He looks to be in his early 20s.
History
It was a loud evening in the Igen living caverns. A group of "friends" sat 'round a table, arguing and drinking and being pests in the way that only teenagers who should know better are capable of. A goldrider, Veia, inhibitions muddled by the proddiness of her glowing gold, Sorchayth, had eyes for Kalerriarth's chosen. Normally the bronzerider would sooner wet himself than bed a woman, but cheap liquor gave E'in the hutzpah he needed to stumble drunkenly into a weyr with his unusually friendly enemy and create a beautiful, scandalous mistake: Raevin.
Life at Igen Weyr was fairly simple for Rae. For the first several years of his life, he was spoiled by his father, who bounced between Wingleader and Weyrsecond, as well as his mother, junior Weyrwoman and partner to the Weyrleader, bronze Vorshnath's K'loh. Before Rae hit adolescence, Veia took ill and passed away, leaving the youth solely in the questionably capable hands of E'in.
Needless to say, Rae was a terror at first. He frequently got in scuffles in the nursery as he took to biting the other children. His ejection from the Weyr-provided daycare landed him in his grandparents' home. His grandfather, Conar, while misogynistic and an all-around jerk of a man, did not put up with any lip from children and quickly straightened the boy out. He instilled in his grandson a healthy respect for authority, a general distrust of peers, and a strong work ethic. By the time he was a teenager, he was almost a miniature copy of his father, except that he had money.
Believing that E'in's power in the Weyr had made him forget where he came from, Conar urged his grandson to follow in the familial herding tradition and seek an apprenticeship to the Beastcraft. He followed his grandfather's advice, but simply did not last very long in the Hall. Classroom lectures were tedious and his classmates were worthless — at least, in his opinion. Rae had never been one to jump through hoops! Finding the whole experience to be a "shardin' waste of my time!", he dropped out halfway through the first Turn and ran back home into his father's open arms.
For several Turns after that, he worked beside his father doing delivery and transport, riding along with him on trips /between/ and running the deliveries that required the most legwork. It was easier than any manual labor job he would've picked up at the Weyr, and his father gave him far more coin than he deserved. Rae quickly grew accustomed to fine living with little effort and, unsurprisingly, it went to his head.
After a loud shouting match over whether or not Rae deserved a raise in "allowance", E'in finally put his foot down and kicked the young man out of his weyr and his Weyr. He was sent to live at Ista, a place E had some bad experiences with — "You spend a Turn there and they'll straighten you RIGHT out!"
Unfortunately for E'in, Rae did not learn his lesson at all; he was still struggling to find his place in the Weyr when Portia's blue Creevoth thought he'd look good out on the hatching sands. Well, maybe. It may all have been a bet between Portia and Korvok. No matter the circumstances, Rae found himself on the sands come hatching day and was soon looking into the scarred eyes of The Incredible Sock Finagler Bronze Lazinzith. Who knows what weyrlinghood has in store for them?
Family
PCs (Past and Present)
| Name | Relation | Location | Position |
|---|---|---|---|
| E'in | Father | Igen Weyr | Wingleader and bronze Kalerriarth's |
| Dani | Father's weyrmate | Igen Weyr | Jr. Weyrwoman and gold Rosselith's |
| Veia | Mother | Deceased | Deceased, gold Sorchayth's |
| K'loh | Mother's weyrmate | Igen Weyr | Wingrider and bronze Vorshnath's |
| Rei | Aunt | High Reaches Weyr | Wingrider and brown Jaklyith's |
Firelizards
Brown Mr. Brown
This brown firelizard seems to belong to two worlds, and yet to neither one. His hide bears the overall fawn hue of a finely tanned piece of leather, and yet is shot through at points with the faintest hints of goldenrod and aged copper. Stretched between spars of the same color as his hide, his wingsails lighten to cafe latte, their near transluscence belying surprising toughness. Above his left eyeridge is a feather-like marking in deep umber, lending an overall rakish look. His talons glitter brightly with the richness of hot cocoa, yet his carriage suggests a gentleness that wins out over the instinct to kill.
Dragon
Bronze Lazinzith
Dark, stark, yet blissfully alluring, he is a form distinct with a changing chroma that steals — entrances — the mind. Yet his edges be the scheme of daunting night, every curve delineates a shining antique bronze, every muscle the definition of a garish contender, and every shadow, an oil-like sheen that gleans to darkened evergreen. Where light touches him, a golden palette appears: though glossy it may be, a leathery texture is the varnish to his hide, giving a foil of increased strength to his hulking armor'd suit. His body is not large, but it is bulky, his smaller stature only serving to make more fearsome the indulging curl of each silver talon and the sharp, dangerous range of black ridges down his spine. He is unquestionably a heavy-weight champion bearing feisty disposition, and yet he would be nothing without a brawler's touch: like silvery ichor, marks of battle mar the planes of his angled face, his muscled haunches, his tail-tip. No doubt they are the first… but it is uncertain if they will be the last.
