Description
Too short to be considered lanky, this man is somewhere between lean and sinewy. He has some muscle, well-toned limbs that make him seem athletic without being brawny. Despite at times giving the impression of a feline, especially in the way he moves, there is a gentleness about his features, echoed on the faint smile lines around his eyes and mouth. He isn't anywhere near imposing, although his klah-brown eyes might, perhaps, be called intense. If one looks closely, in the right light, there are flickers of brighter hues, burning between the dark shades, half-hidden beneath long lashes. The rest of his face is fairly plain, with a small nose and clean-shaven jaw. Close-cropped brown hair tops his head, most of it sticking up fuzzily, with the longest strands forming a jagged fringe above his brows.
The young man's dress style is fairly simple, with little embellishment. He wears ordinary black pants and a light gray, short-sleeved shirt, the latter neatly buttoned and bearing the shoulder knot of a Journeyman Healer. His boots are soft leather, lightly scuffed from use, in the same gray as his shirt. He usually has on a pristine white labcoat, and sometimes a purple vest as well, with a white caduceus embroidered on the pocket.
History
Nimen's that… healer from Ista. Who does healery stuff and surfs. Also been known to jump off cliffs from time to time. Oh, and have you seen the places that guy hangs out? And what's with the kitten?
Born to ordinary weyrfolk at Ista, Nimen had a fairly unremarkable childhood. He was a weyrbrat, spending his younger years in the care of the nannies and his later turns at Healer Hall, learning his father's craft and maturing from a troublesome kid into a somewhat less troublesome teenager. Having always been on the small side as a child, he learned to dodge and keep his head down, and use his speed and wits rather than brute force. Nim grew to rather dislike violence at any rate, finding purpose and confidence as a healer, though never quite outgrowing the timidity (and trouble) that marked his adolescence. As an adult, Nim is easygoing and friendly, and once having gained his Senior Journeyman knot, returned to Ista Weyr.
Family
| Name | Relation | Location | Position |
|---|---|---|---|
| Nimia | mother | Ista Weyr | weyrfolk |
| Gamen | father | Ista Weyr | healer |
| S'gam | half-brother | Ista Weyr | dragonhealer |
Firelizards
green Splott (a.k.a. the Frankenflitt)
This green firelizard is seemingly comprised of many different pieces of other green firelizards fitted together. Overall, she seems to fit together…. /reasonably/ well, but she doesn't seem to be natural in any sense of the word. Black lines spiderweb across her hide, delineating different shades of green, with black stitches crossing them and holding the pieces together. One leg and wing are both an olive green, but are located on opposite sides of her body. Her chest is a mint color, her haunches a bright neon. Her neck is a bluish green, her head is divided into a veritable patchwork of many different shades. Her remaining foreleg is a dark green, her rear left leg is grass green, and her rear right leg is an almost yellow shade of green. And finally, her tail is a pale green, trailing off and almost becoming insubstantial towards the end.
blue Sylar (a.k.a. omgwtfbbq!)
There is something ill at ease with this blue, that much is completely apparent from the moment you lay eyes on him. Despite having a leonine bronze's body, every move seeming planned as though he has a thousand seconds to every one of ours, he acts like he's a nobody, just another simple, useless flit taking up space and breathing oxygen… Well. It was worth an attempt but no, he's /special/. Starting at his eyes, there are distinct differences between himself and his fellows. His deep sapphire hide is marred by pale silver and gold pencil-thin marks that stretch, etch, and circulate across his hide, a complicated patchwork of cogs, joints, and mechanisms the likes of which would normally make up a wrist-chronometer, or perhaps the inner workings of a clock tower. Each move that he makes seems to click another cog into place, eerily bending and shifting as if he were powered by some sort of machine… It's too bad he possesses the innate grace of a predator, or it could be believable. Last of all, steampunked wings appear to be blueprinted over his own pinions. This would all be fine and well if the lines didn't feel raised to the touch, as though each and every mark has been grafted into his skin and filled with paint before being allowed to heal over… Impossible, considering he'd just emerged from his shell, right? …Right? Ticktickticktick…
