Description
His face is a thing of constant dynamism, handsome features mobile even if carrying blank expression. Sloe-eyed, almond-shaped gaze is dark, warm, guarded, and often half-lidded, eyelashes rather long. His upper lip and chin are scruffy, full mouth nearly surrounded by a dark ring of unshaven growth that fades along angular jawline; his nose is almost aristocratic in appearance, and his cheekbones are somewhat high. Streaked blond in places by the sun, long enough to brush the nape of his neck but not enough to reach his shoulders, his hair is tousled brown stuff that's almost always under the black cloth skull cap he's taken to wearing, save for the bits that poke out the bottom and hide away his ears. His frame is lean but sturdy, wiry muscle toughening up bits of him that would be just plain slender otherwise; his hands are rough, calloused, there's a scar running diagonally across his left palm, and three rectangles are inked permanently side by side onto his right index finger.
His clothes are comfortable, disheveled, and suit him. His shirt is black and sleeveless, meaning a few more of the inkings that randomly decorate his body are rendered visible: a relatively large inverted triangle high on his left arm and a five-pointed star just before the inside of his elbow on the underside of his right, marking the beginning of one of his other more prominent scars that runs down its length. Dark brown pants, thick fabric of some kind, hang low on his hips, aided in not falling any further by a thick black belt that could very well be made of the same leather as the old boots on his feet. A strip of light blue fabric has been twisted into a rope of sorts and tied around his left wrist, and a brown leather cuff buckles around his right. He wears no knot, and that's purposeful.
History
Aquila grew up at Ista Weyr. He wasn't the product of a Flight, as so many of the Weyr's children usually are. He comes from a big family. A big, close family. One of those that you never seem to be able to detach yourself from, even in the littlest way. He's the second oldest of ten children, with only his sister, Kindre, above him as far as age goes. His parents are both crafters at the Weyr, his mother a healer type trained in fields from midwifery to dragon healing, with an urge to bake on the side and ties to the trader camps, as her father's the leader of one of the largest; his father's a veterinarian, and a good one at that. He often travels to lend his aid to other areas around Ista, from the Hold to minor cotholds and farms. Anywhere in the Weyr's general area that keeps animals.
As Aquila grew up he developed some… character flaws. Mainly a tendency to drink, gamble, and sleep around. He was quite the popular one with the females of the weyr, and the 'gossipmongers'. Not so much with the men folk. They were all just jealous though. Aquila was sure of it. But at least he was good at what he did, which was fixing things. If something was ever broken around the Weyr and he couldn't fix it, chances are nobody could. He also has a knack for carving things. Usually out of random pieces of wood. Or into the occasional table leg.
When he turned nineteen his parents started noticing some of his odd behaviors. Mostly what brought this revelation about was the night Aquila came to blows with a brownrider over a dragonpoker game. It turned rather ugly, with dishware being thrown about and overturned tables and, when all was said and done, both men were quite beaten up. So Nina and Joka decided maybe sending their Aquila off on some vacation time away from the Weyr was a wise choice. And so they sent him along with his grandfather, Ferris Grojen, head of the Grojen trading camp.
Aquila, instead of dwelling on the negative aspects of having to tag along with traders, took the whole thing as an opportunity to learn new things and see new places. Which of course he did. Because while growing up in a Weyr has its excitements, like dragons and Flights and parties and whatnot, he realized he'd been sheltered there. He'd never been on a ship, for instance. He learned how to juggle, how to perform little sleight of hand tricks. He got to see crazy new sights. Like snow. High Reaches has a lot of snow, he discovered. So his mind expanded, opened. He started thinking more. Started maturing. And while he still enjoyed doing the things he did before, he realized they werent as important as he'd thought. And so, he was ready to return home, which he did, via Jikotieth, his brother F'in's blue lifemate.
Three and a half turns he'd been gone, and coming back to the Weyr was easier then he thought. Well… except for the whole every female in the joint hating him with a passion. But hey. Only a minor obstacle. Thing is, pre-leaving, he was well-liked and all, though menfolk rather loathed him on account of him being so good with women. However, upon returning, he found that things had changed while he was away. Instead of smiles and such of welcome and greeting, he got muttered rumors and disapproving looks. Hm. Maybe he shouldn't have landed that brownrider in the infirmary afterall. Or maybe he shouldn't have vexed one girl too many. But he continued on as if he wasn't being talked about, as if he wasn't getting those looks, carefree and 'scoundrely' as usual. Not a worry in the world. Nothing holding him down. Not. A. Thing.
Not for a while anyway. But then, and it was a slow process, he started realizing there /was/ something holding him down. It started out as conquest. Jessamy was his equal in stubborness, in attitude. She loathed him. But he knew her, a mysterious fact that still aggravates her to this day, and he was willing to chase her around until finally he managed to catch her, so to speak. However, the process of the whole thing was a bit more indepth then he'd expected. And so he started actually liking her. Not just wanting her for his own purposes. Dratted emotions, right? So there he was, with this girl he'd at last managed to win over, feeling stuff for her he'd never felt for any of the other, and there were many, girls.
Many other things have happened to him in a very small amount of time. He's been kidnapped by renegades, taken to their camp, and learned of Azear, his halfbrother, and how while Q was out adventuring, the band of renegades he and the camp came across actually held his brother in its members, and during a rather heated battle, Azear stole A'qua's - though he was Aquila then - dagger, something that even now he's pretty mad about, and the time will come when the two meet again. It probably won't be pretty. But anyway, Q managed to escape the camps with few injuries, none fatal by any means, and hobbled home to Jess's weyr, where she took good care of him.
And more time passed. And he was Searched. Unexpectedly. Well, not really unexpectedly. He'd been Searched for every Clutch, and had refused every time, ever since the first time he Stood and failed to Impress. But this time he said yes. Because he had a scheme in mind. If he happened to Impress the right color, he'd have better chances with Jessamy, right? Sure. Let's just say his mind, while clever and sharp as a tack, doesn't quite operate in the same capacity others do. So. Turns out, he's not only mad, but incredibly lucky, because when the time came for the eggs to rock and roll and hatch and spew forth hatchlings, Q Impressed. Bronze. Kezhoth. And, well, if he thought Candidacy was bad, he had no idea. Weyrlinghood's been interesting, to say the least. Especially since Kez isn't exactly approving of A'qua's relations with Jess, or his past. Oh, such fun.
Family
| Name | Relation | Location | Position |
|---|---|---|---|
| cell-content | cell-content | cell-content | cell-content |
Firelizards
Dragon
Sun-Drenched Adventurous Bronze Kezhoth
Smooth tawny bronze covers this dragon from head to tail, with an unusual golden sheen to it as though reflecting the sun above. His muzzle is squared off, his small head an almost squashed appearance, but he holds it at an alert, curious angle that counteracts this effect. The curious color he bears lightens only on his throat and chest to a creamy wehat-gold, and then darkens as it wraps upwards over the rest of his body. Short thick curves mark out his body, smaller than the average bronze, but with long sturdy limbs and over-large burnished copper paws to make up for the shortcoming. The wings are unquestionably the most prominent feature, out of proportion to the dragon that carries them. They are sturdy like the rest of him, with thin wingsails that are nearly opalescent, and while they may seem overly large, there is no question that they will serve their purpose.
