Description
Very little draws a second glance to the young man; a rather plain face, clouded with a mass of thick black curls, and downcast eyes that rarely meet another's gaze unless he's being directly addressed. He's of average height with the build of someone who has worked well most of his short life, and one might guess he's a handful of years shy of a score of Turns.
What catches the attention is his voice when he does open his mouth. Not the sort of voice the Harpers would leap upon, but distinct and utterly enthralling in its own ragged way, drawing listeners in a room, across a courtyard, on the far side of a Great Hall, on the deck of a ship. It wavers between the dry scrape of a rusty shed door being forced open and the frightful groaning rumble of a Smithcraft contraption, and carries the intonations of a tear-drunk Herder relating drawling tales of woe and lost love in a crowd of world-weary listeners.
He dresses simply, with clothes made of rough, homespun cloth and the cut of the small, independent minded sailors along the coast of the Southern Continent; something in his stride does speak of the sea, but he's not old enough to say he's lived a lifetime upon the waves. He wears a simple white loop on his shoulder, that marks him out as a Candidate for Impression.
History
Born and raised in the 'back of beyond', Wroxeter was the acknowledged heir to his father's small, and very independant seahold. The eldest son of Wroker and his wife Cetta, he was raised with the expectation he'd follow in the footsteps of his father, and his grandfather, and his great grandfather before him, who settled the Hold just after Lastfall. While he cannot have been said to be a very enthusiastic heir, he was dutiful, and everything seemed to be going according to plan. That all came apart rather suddenly the night of his 15th Turnday. After the elaborate dinner and coming of age party, the red headed Cetta pulled her son aside and confided in him. Wroxeter always knew that all of his many brothers and sisters were adopted, but she tearfully confessed that he too, was adopted. She and Wroker, both red headed and both strangely childless after Turns of trying, found a wailing newborn boy in the courtyard of their Seahold late one night, and tracked the footsteps down to the beach, where the tide was washing away the evidence of the dragon that had taken off only moments before. They did not get a look at the dragon or its rider, but decided it was a sign from Fate and took the boy in and raised him as their own.
For some reason, this simply set Wroxeter into a rage. Normally a quiet and pliant young man, between this perceived betrayal and the announcement that his parents had arranged a marriage to the nearest Seaholder's daughter caused him to fly into a momentary fit of sorts. He demanded Marks and passage on one of his father's ships, and reluctantly, Wroker and Cetta agreed. The truth of the matter was, they didn't give him NEARLY enough Marks to make anything of it, and figured that he'd go to Western, see the error of his ways, and make his way back home quickly. But as strangely as fate had delivered him, it took him away from them as well.
He landed at Western the day of a dragon Hatching and had his eyes opened up to a strange new world. He also found himself kidnapped in a way. The wandering, weyrless goldrider Casiella took a strange and insistantly strong like to him, and before the hatching was even over, informed the young man he was coming with her, and her young cousin, back to Ierne Weyrhold. Young, naive, and not willing to disobey a goldrider, he acquiesced…and found himself fostered by one of Pern's stranger characters. The weyrless goldrider was also fostering her ten turn old cousin Kythorn, and alas for Kythorn, Wroxeter took a nearly immediate dislike to the book-smart but mouthy boy. The animosity was more or less returned with equal fervor, and Wroxeter took to leaving Ierne with cargo riders, just to get away from having to spend time with his newly established 'fosterbrother'. This lead to a few brief adventures for the young man, but mostly, it gave him a chance to see Pern. Far more of Pern than any of his family's recent memory, and far more of Pern than save a dragonrider or a traveling harper might see in a lifetime. He had developed a strange wanderlust, and though he always returned 'home' to Casiella and Calanth, he was off again within a day or two to help the cargoriders as a beast of burden.
This newly established lifestyle was surprisingly interrupted when Weyrsecond O'zi of Ista Weyr arrived at Ierne one afternoon near dinner time. Spotting the younger man in the Weyrhold's courtyard, he asked for two things: the location of the Weyrlord, and if Wroxeter would stand for Impression. As standing for Impression was something that had recently begun to be discussed with him by Casiella (who overcame his natural shyness of the subject), he quickly agreed and was whisked off to see Ista Weyr.
His reunion with Casiella, a couple of sevenday into his Candidacy was bittersweet. He had no idea his leaving, with only a note left behind, hurt the goldrider's feelings greatly. They quickly reconciled, and he spent much of the rest of his Candidacy growing closer to friends Shorynia and her younger brother Nornon, and developing a friendly animosity with the Harper apprentice Sorayah. Weyrlife was certainly a massive shock for the young man, but he was just starting to get into the rhythm and strangeness of his new situation when the time finally came. A few minutes after stepping onto the hot sands, he came back off the sands as Xe'ter, paired to the fierce, rhythmic young bronze, Romth.
Family
| Name | Relation | Location | Position |
|---|---|---|---|
| Wroker | Father (adoptive) | Wroker's Seahold | Holder |
| Cetta | Mother (adoptive) | Wroker's Seahold | Holder's wife |
| Casiella | Fosterer | Ierne Weyrhold | Goldrider |
| Kythorn | Fosterbrother | Fort Hold | Prospective Harper Apprentice |
Firelizard
Green Bitsy
This diminutive little girl is the exact frosty shade of bright sunlight streaming through a large, well tumbled chunk of vibrant green sea glass of the sort one might find washed up on Ista's tropical beaches. Her color is really the only thing that could be called pleasing about the way she looks. Her eyes, hugely out-sized in her narrow skull, give her an expression of constant and urgent alertness and alarm, and the fact that they almost always seem to be some fiery shade of red, orange, or yellow only adds to the impression that this little thing is absolutely terrified of the world around her.
It's not helped by the fact that the uncharitable might describe her as 'weedy', 'spindly', or outright emaciated. Someone with a slightly kinder turn of phrase might say she looked a bit thin and in need of more food, but the fact is, she's just built that way: all legs, neck, wings, and tail, with not much substance between them.
Dragon
Bronze Romth
The vague glint of burnished metal sweeps across this dragon, uninterrupted bronze wrapping his body in a color that is neither shining bright nor looming dark, but some middle ground between molten and shadowed. Thick muscle ripples beneath his hide, easy strength evident in every arch and curve, neck long and serpentine, tail likewise sleek. Headknobs sit proud behind prominent eyeridges, the line of his back marked out with high triangles. A sculpted, wedge-shaped head bears strong jaws and many, many sharp teeth. It is the visage of a predator, to be sure, one tempered by strange intelligence suggested in faceted eyes, sitting like precious gems set in a smithcrafter's finest work. But no hardened decoration is this, wide wings spanned by thin membrane, soft skin and flexibile form bringing subtle shifts of hue with every smallest movement.
