Sutarst
"The wolves outside your door are the least of your problems. What about the snake in your bed?"
BASICS
RETIRE INFO: Retire both, however well aware of site guidelines
NAME: Sutarst
GENDER: Male
PRONOUNS: he/him/his
ORIENTATION: He doesn't care who he has a fling with, so pansexual, really he is just here to have fun.
BIRTHDATE: Spring of 2745
AGE: 25 as of 2770
LOCATION: High Reaches Weyr
OCCUPATION: N/A
WING: N/A
APPEARANCE
EYES: hazel
HAIR: brown
HEIGHT AND BUILD: 5'6, stocky
PLAY-BY: none.
FULL APPEARANCE:
Thickly built, he is short and stocky, throwing that weight round like a battered ram to get what he wants.He might have been handsome,but a compact features and the scars that litter them ruin the effect.Vibrant hazel eyes are maybe his only redeeming quality, he keeps his head shaved to the scalp for anyone to determine how his hair would grow out.
Clothing wise, things are kept in shades of grey and are roughspun, but hardy materials. They are heavily patched and well taken care of. His boots are nothing special either but it is the one thing he puts a massive amount of marks in. Wearing them until they completely fall apart, one set at a time.
PERSONALITY
PERSONALITY:
Opportunistic|Belligerent|Stoic|Vulgar|Caustic|Impulsive
He is a brute. A brute that likes his drink a little too much and is known to drink himself to oblivion when given the chance. The man doesn’t care where he gets his food and drink and is not above bullying others to get what he wants. He is the lowest of the low. There is no loyalty in him, only the desire to obtain what he wants, then and there. There is no kindness in him, but there is restraint. On the whole, if he is sated then there is little mouth from him.
He is a loose cannon when not sated, following any impulse that he feels will get him what he wants. Anything might give him an inkling of redeemability in the eye of another is quickly lost.The unsated brute is a devil they say, really he is always a devil just a step away from being a vile snake.
He is not meant for high society, there is no couth to him, what is uttered from his mouth is crass and acidic. He doesn’t care who hears him or what they think of him. He walks with a swagger that belay’s his violent nature. He does not care for flowery wording and for those who use it can find themselves at the end of vicious mockery. He take’s joy in ripping others off their pedestal.
In general, most days are filled with silence. He is not one for small talk and an attempt is met with disdain. He is not here for anyone’s amusement. In his mind if one wanted amusement they would only need to find a tavern to wile away the hours in.
He is, however, trying to do better. Since the search dragon plucked him for the small cot hold where he was living. He has realized that maybe becoming a dragon rider might be his way out of the cesspool of misery he has been wallowing in since his youth. That maybe, given time, he could build a better life with his own two hands than ending up dead in a ditch with another sword in his gut.
Time will tell.
HISTORY
FAMILY: Parents deceased and not remembered
SIGNIFICANT OTHER: None
BIRTHPLACE: Holdless, unknown
HISTORY:
Trigger warning: Implied Kidnapping, Neglect, Thieving, Murder,Heavy Drinking
How exactly this bastard came to be is a mystery to him. Of course the natural progression of life got him here, but he doesn’t remember his mother or his father, just waking up one day to find himself in the middle of a bandit camp. He wasn’t the only young boy there, he just was the only one out of four to survive. He learned to steal early on, to lie, to give no quarter when there was something that he wanted. He wasn’t necessarily sure why he was alive to begin with. The young boy of six was left to fend for himself.
He found out when he turned ten. At first it was small night raids, he would sneak in through small crevices and make a way for his bigger compatriots to get in. He would act like a small boy lost and in distress to ambush caravans or the kind hearted. It was here he learned the full scope of death. When he was twelve he took to the sword, his bearing unrefined,quick and agile, underhanded, but effective. For a number of years this was his way of life. As he grew older the jobs grew harder, bloodier, but he never questioned it. The lifestyle was too ingrained in him for him to see anything else, even if he saw himself heading to an early grave. What else could he aspire to?
He had his feet in that early grave at twenty-three and would have climbed into it if not for a framer of a nearby cothold picking him up and giving him to a healer. There had been a fight over pay from the latest raid and he had lost. To pay off his debt he worked the nearby farms and what was left after that he drank away. His memories overwhelmed him, prompting him to turn to the bottle in an effort to get to sleep. Thankfully when the search rider came he was sober, jumping on the chance when it presented itself to head to the high reaches as a candidate.
Now he struggles to keep ahold of his vices, along with toeing the line as to not get kicked out of the weyr.