" And so long as my ambition burns, I shall strive to seize it. "
BASICS
RETIRE INFO: Retire
NAME: N'ero
GENDER: Male
PRONOUNS: He/Him/His
ORIENTATION: Homosexual
BIRTHDATE: Early Summer 2742
AGE: 28 as of Late Fall 2770
LOCATION: High Reaches Weyr
OCCUPATION: Weyrling, Journeyman Smith
WING: N/A
APPEARANCE
EYES: Blue
HAIR: Blonde
HEIGHT AND BUILD: 6'1", average
PLAY-BY: Nero tol Scaeva (FFXIV)
FULL APPEARANCE:
Naevero is a man of slightly taller than average height and average build. He has a somewhat angular face, with small eyes and mouth, though his nose is slightly on the broad side. His eyes are light blue, deeply set beneath a somewhat heavy brow. He's on the rather pale side, and will quickly burn in the sun. He has blonde hair, kept cut fairly short and neatly swept back, though he can rarely keep it completely under control, but only mostly.
He likes to dress well, though pretends not to care. He rather favors the color red--though again, acts as though it's nothing more than coincidence that he wears it often. He knows full well how it suits him.
PERSONALITY
PERSONALITY:
Nero is a sarcastic, smug man with more ambition than he really knows what to do with. To him, everything is a competition, and it infuriates him not to come out on top. Whether it's his studies as a Smith or a footrace across the Weyrbowl, he needs to win, and will do almost anything to ensure that he does. He sees no problem with cheating, so long as he knows he won't be caught, which would invalidate his victory.
He's smart and knows it, and isn't shy in the slightest about letting other people know it too. He's able to take quick intuitive leaps, and is a quick learner, but believes there's no shame in open disdain for those who are not as quick as he is. However, his skill as a Smith wasn't solely based on his intellect; he possesses an almost endless work ethic, and will leave no task undone if he believes it's something he's supposed to do.
He has a strong belief in tradition, and is of the opinion that High Reaches should return to a hierarchy based upon color. Most people can't be expected to know what's actually best for them, after all. Dragons have a poorly-understood but well-documented knack for it; Golre was a fluke.
While his generally sardonic, superior manner makes it difficult to make friends, he's loyal to those he does make… and to some people he would never in a million turns admit to viewing as a friend.
HISTORY
FAMILY:
Mother, Naeva
Father, Erofain
Sort-of-father-figure, Gaius
SIGNIFICANT OTHER: None
BIRTHPLACE: Cothold near High Reaches
HISTORY:
Naevero was born a nobody, just another child at a mining cothold best described as being nowhere, just a little collection of hollows bored into the side of a mountain north of Telgar. There were no expectations of him save that he do what all of his family did: mine what little of value could be found. He wasn't very good at limiting himself to those meager expectations.
Even when he was young, he was interested in how things worked. He had a bad habit of disassembling everything he could in an effort to learn more about them. He wanted to figure out how to replicate tools, how to improve them, though those ambitions mostly came later. He was thirteen when a journeyman Smith traveling with a trader caravan one spring spent several candlemarks listening to him talk at length about how much he wanted to take apart the carts to see how the wheels were made. He was apprenticed at the crafthall later that turn.
It was at the crafthall that he flourished. He had access to all the knowledge he could want, and then some. But it was also at the crafthall that he discovered the concept of a rivalry. Cid was every bit as good at Smithing as he was (if not even better, not that he wanted to admit it), but far better at being likeable. It seemed as though he was constantly coming in second in every way, and it was utterly infuriating. And worse, Cid managed to walk the tables before him. Several seasons before, even. At least Cid had gone off somewhere else, so his competition was gone, though oddly he found himself missing it.
He was twenty-one and more than a little bitter about the whole situation when he finally graduated to journeyman. It was difficult to be happy about it when he felt like he should have managed it sooner, even if he'd managed it quicker than some. It wasn't enough. Nothing was ever enough.
Though he'd spent his whole life in the environs of Telgar, he was sent to High Reaches Hold as a journeyman. The change of scenery was nice, he thought, until he realized that with fewer other Smiths around to compete with, being good at what he did was less fun than it had once been. He spent a few Turns there before a bluerider showed up on Search, but unlike the previous dragons he'd seen, this one saw potential in him.
He could hardly say no. This was just further proof of his superiority; clearly, he'd find his way as a rider. He couldn't fail. The only problem was, Cid had also somehow made it to the Weyr, and was also a Candidate, which just seemed patently unfair. The one person who could consistently outdo him was also there?
However, several clutches came and went. Political revolution came and went. Still there was no dragon for him. He befriended one of the Weyrfolk--or rather, Gaius seemed to unilaterally decide that he needed a father figure in his life and attempted to mentor him. Though oddly, he found himself seeking his approval, so he tolerated it. More than tolerated, even.
As the Turns went by, he grew increasingly frustrated by being repeatedly passed up. His sole comfort came in Gaius' reassurances that he'd manage it someday… and that Cid hadn't Impressed either.
