BASICS
RETIRE INFO: Adopt
NAME: Igor (pronounced Eye-gore)
GENDER: Male
PRONOUNS: He/him/his
ORIENTATION: wacky hetero
BIRTHDATE: Early Winter 2743
AGE: 23 as of Fall 2767
LOCATION: Fort Weyr
OCCUPATION: apprentice beastcrafter forever/candidate
WING: N/A
APPEARANCE
EYES: blue
HAIR: light brown
HEIGHT AND BUILD: 5'7", medium build
PLAY-BY: Marty Feldman
FULL APPEARANCE: Igor has unruly curly brown hair that frames a face with a large nose and big blue eyes that always make him look surprised. He generally walks hunched over for some reason, though if you ask him about it he'll say he walks perfectly normally. He typically wears black, often with a hood pulled over his head to shadow his face, for added mystique.
PERSONALITY
PERSONALITY: Igor is used to being the more competent person in a working duo, and he's not all that competent himself, which says something right there. He'll try to cover up his superiors' mistakes up to a point, or simply redo things when they aren't looking, not always with the best results.
Igor fancies himself a ladies' man, though he doesn't have the best luck in that department. As with everything else, those higher in rank get first dibs, and he's learned that it's his lot in life to be quiet and bide his time. He's also learned that discretion is always the better part of valor; in a fight-or-flight situation, it's flight all the way.
Igor wisecracks rather a lot, perhaps to make up for his other deficiencies.
HISTORY
FAMILY: Nothing out of the ordinary. 2 parents, 1.5 siblings.
SIGNIFICANT OTHER: N/A
BIRTHPLACE: Fort Hold
HISTORY:
Born to quite ordinary parents, Igor had an uneventful childhood, except for periodic visits to the healer to check his eyes (they were always fine), and his walk (which was strange but no physical deformity could be found).
Igor apprenticed as a beastcrafter at 14, studied hard, did mediocrely, and was the subject of a silent agreement that he should never be made journeyman except over the dead bodies of every master in the craft. It's not that he was unenthusiastic; he was usually cheerful and chipper and roaring to go at his lessons. It's not that he didn't study; perhaps retention of what he studied was the problem. Or a tendency to take short cuts that somehow always went wrong. Like the time that he mixed up the tunnelsnake eggs and the flit eggs. That did not end well. Yes he should have known from the size and the color, but he hadn't had his klah that morning and he'd been short on sleep and... well, these things happen. Or at least, they happened to him and around him, with great frequency.
When he was 20 he was quietly
This was an eventful time. Igor learned more about animal breeding than he ever wanted to know. He learned to stay well out of reach of his employer's volatile temper. He learned that humour could go a long way towards making an unpleasant situation amusing, of not necessarily bearable. And he came to realize that there was not necessarily a close correlation between rank and competence.
His full enlightenment came when his employer set about to produce some sort of new enhanced wherry by crossing domestic wherry stock with wild wherries. Igor had no idea what super abilities these new wherries were supposed to have, but he was sure it was a bad idea. The insemination attempts alone gave him nightmares. Igor resorted to acquiring the oldest, most decrepit-looking domestic wherries for experimentation, on the theory that they had probably already lived a long and happy life, and that was better than endangering the life of an animal still in its prime. As to the wild wherries, he never told his master where he got those and his master never asked. So much the better. When this doomed enterprise finally crashed and burned, his master swore off of wherries for good, and enlisted Igor's assistance in cataloguing all of the minute skeletal and musculature differences between domestic and wild wherries, just to have something to show for it all.
After his master sorted out his specimen cataloguing issues, Igor was cut loose to fend for himself, with a fair number of marks but without a marketable skill except being the scary not-quite-competent assistant to a somewhat obsessed beastcrafter.
Knowing that the odds of getting another steady post were slim, and not really knowing what else to do with himself, he hitched a ride with the tithing caravan to Fort Weyr, helped them to offload the goods and supplies, and went to pay a call on the Headwoman to see if they could use a spare set of hands for anything at all. He didn't even get as far as the Headwman's quarters, however. A rider stopped him en route, took note of his less-than-reputable appearance, and told him to shove off. Igor was in no position to argue.
Igor walked away, hunched over as always, and went to sit near the entrance to the Weyrbowl, thoroughly despondent. He really had no idea what to do next. His money would not last forever. But as luck would have it, a different dragon and his rider arrived long before Igor's backside had a chance to get sore from sitting on the rough ground. Igor discovered this because the dragon stuck his noggin right up close and personal near Igor's face; my those were big nostrils! One could just about reach a hand in there and... eeewwww, no.
"Candidate material," the dragon said, doing that tricky dragon thing of being a disembodied voice in one's mind. "Definitely candidate material."
Igor thought this was a good laugh and proceeded to act on that thought. But the rider just looked at him. "You're new here, I see. So? Do you want to be a candidate or don't you?"
