BASICS
NAME: O'rish
GENDER: male
PRONOUNS: he/him/his
ORIENTATION: tired
BIRTHDATE: Winter, 2717
AGE: 54, as of 2771
LOCATION: Fort
OCCUPATION: Dragonrider, Searchrider
WING: Eclipse
APPEARANCE
EYES: Muted blue
HAIR: Gone grey, worn long
HEIGHT AND BUILD: 6'1", rangy muscle
PLAY-BY: Lemghon Luga (Zill O'll)
FULL APPEARANCE: His eyes are a flat blue, like stone covered in a fine layer of dust. Time has creased the skin at the corners, but his gaze is still direct, at times hard and flinty. Vision unclouded, pride allowing him to be nothing but meet the eyes of friend and enemy alike. While there is some wrinkling at the forehead, a dimple between the eyes, O'rish's cheeks are still smooth, except for the furrows around his mouther. Deep chasms when he smiles or frowns, perpetuated by both in equal measure. His mouth is a sardonic slash, lips thin, and beginning to pucker with age. O'rish's nose is long, and sharp. A defining characteristic set off by winged eyebrows, still black despite the fact that his hair began to grey in his late thirties. Still as long and full as it was in his youth, O'rish's hair is no longer lustrous, or black. Silver from root to tip, it is coarse to the touch, like brittle grass.
O'rish still stands tall. His carriage has always been upright, shoulders square, chest a proud puff. His muscle is more ropey than defined. Skin beginning to lose its elasticity and tautness. It is the worst on his hands. Wrinkled and becoming thin, he hides the skin with gloves, often even in the heat of summer. His is a proud bearing, unhindered by his limp. Clothing usually simple and suited for riding. His gathering clothing is much more elaborate. Panels of embroidered cloth, and wide sashes.
Nearly as threadscored as his dragon, O'rish walks with a pronounced limp. In his forties, he was caught in the right thigh by a massive clump of thread that was able to eat a deep channel into the muscle before Hassath took them between. There is an obvious depression in the thigh, mostly hidden by clothing. O'rish refuses to use a cane, and still manages to move around freely, it just requires some extra effort, and he'll never be as quick on his feet as he once was.
PERSONALITY
PERSONALITY: O'rish has a strange outlook on the world. Most would find him strict, and task orientated. Old fashioned, many would call him. O'rish believes in the order of things, and is not quick to adopt change, though he tries to adapt to it. Golds rule. And a bronze hide carries more weight than others. But he is more accepting of mutations and these newer colors. It would be highly hypocritical of him to not be. His own dragon, bronze though he is, is not wholly typical of dragonkind.
Not as black and white as one might assume a tradionalist to be. Or as one might suspect O'rish himself to be. He reads as a man of absolutes, viewing the world in black and white. But O'rish sees the shades of grey, and sometimes dwells in them. He will meet your eye, and lie through his teeth. And he is capable, given the right incentives, of turning on friends to further what he believes is Right.
Particular in the way he does things, there is a very apparent order to O'rish's weyr. The way he arranges his plate. The predictable way he walks the weyrbowl. He is a man of habits. He is also a man of emotions. Emotions that often run too hot. He tries to make sure he is using his rational mind at all times, but there are instances when his emotions get the better of him. Most often his anger and outrage. The steady, hard working glaze cracking.
HISTORY
FAMILY:
The Childrens:
O'ri of XX
Lavender
Tenna of XX
Sh'on of XX
SIGNIFICANT OTHER: -
BIRTHPLACE: Telgar Weyr
HISTORY:
Born Onaarish, he was weyrbrat through and through. Both his parents were riders, so he grew up in the creche. His family was the Weyr. His parents whoever took charge of correcting his behavior or teaching him new skills. His actually father taught him the guitar, and him mother how to braid his hair, which he wore long to honor her, and the soft shoulder she offered him as comfort. The stories she told him, and the love he felt on the rare occasions she was able to visit.
Just a boy when the crop blight happened. O'rish only has vague memories of it. The growing tension, the change in meal plans. A sense of unsettledness, but he did not know then the cause. Just a growing sense of worry as he reacted to the scramble of the adults around him. Busy with the usual lessons. Eyes on candidacy. He only had a few more Turns before he was of age.
The War was more obvious. People spoke about it more openly. Blight and the death of animals was harder to control, to manage, so it was whispered. War, war was a machine that could be controlled and altered. Heated discussions broke out all across the Weyr. News shouted across the Weyrbowl. O'rish learned swordplay from an uncle. "Just in case," the man said, a scar bisecting his face.
Still mostly a boy, just a Turn into candidacy, before he Impressed. It was an event, beyond events. Hassath did not break his shell with snout or claw, but with sharp nubs sprouting just between and before his headknobs. It was unconventional, to say the least. But Hassath's hide was bronze, and he was O'rish's. He shook shell from what would grow to be a set of almost-antlers, and strode across the sands at a soldier's clip to Impress to O'rish. Be not afraid. He commanded, and so O'rish was not. He met scorn and ridicule with stony silence, or stonier fists.
Hassath's horns were easier to forgive as the war continued, spreading until nearly every Weyr found itself caught up in the mayhem one way or another. Ripples that extended across the whole continent. And more 'unconventional' dragons were born. Mutations they called them. In Igen and Ista. At least Hassath was a bronze. A growing bronze who showed no other deviation than the horns, which grew and grew like the rest of him.
O'rish was in his twenties when he discovered a firelizard clutch in the sands of the sea. Buried close to the tide line, he gathered as many as he could, sharing them out among other riders in his wing, and keeping one for himself. He fed the angry, hissing, screaming green that hatched from it until she forgave him for his exist, and decided it was hers to take charge of. Often clinging to one of Hassath's antlers to scream orders. Hidding other peoples things in his weyr to get him in trouble when he upset her.
A few Turns later, a mutation was hatched at Telgar. O'rish stroked the length of one horn and nodded. Maybe now their own strangeness could be totally forgotten.
At thirty-eight, O'rish had two children, raised much the same way as he was, of the Weyr. And Thread began to fall once again. All the drills he had practiced turning to practicality. An armistice was declared. And the world settled into a new rhythm. Rise. Flame. Survive. But not for long enough. Prejudice and pride turned the world to villainy once again. This time it was bred and perpetuated within the Weyrs. Spreading like the blight of his youth until they were all embroiled in it. Even Telgar. His Weyr sided with Fort. Thankfully his and Hassath's taste of dragon battle was brief. But even that was too much and sickened his stomach. The world had lurched into a new orbit for O'rish when he'd found ichor stains on Hassath's horn.
Dragonmen were meant to fight Thread, not each other. After, what peace was achieved seemed untenable. There was too much fluctuation. Too much whispering. Too many despicable acts. O'rish tried to be an example. To spend more time being seen. Being reasonable. He took to spending more time with his children, even though for some it was too late to adopt a father figure. He spoke out often against rash decisions, or heated choices. And expected to be listened to, since he rode a bronze.
In his fifties, O'rish unexpectedly found himself raising yet another firelizard. A gift, this time, from a wingmate, much as he had handed out eggs in his youth. This one a brown he named Ember. A sweeter creature than Calamity, who took great joy in harassing the fresh addition to their family.
Now O'rish has set his sights on Fort. There has been talk, and even a call to - not quite arms - but to something. He thinks he may be able to provide the balance the Weyr so obviously lacks.
UPDATES
- Update goes here!
