BASICS
NAME: Moreiden (pronounced: more-ey-den)
GENDER: Male
PRONOUNS: He/him
ORIENTATION: Pathetic.
BIRTHDATE: Born 2726
AGE: 48 as of 2774
LOCATION: Harper Hall
OCCUPATION: Wherhandler and Scribe/record-keeping
WING: Groundcrew - Dusk Squad
APPEARANCE
EYES: Faded Hazel
HAIR: Light dull brown with grey streaks
HEIGHT AND BUILD: 5'10 - Skinny and sickly looking (not sick though)
PLAY-BY: Original Art - will nicen up...eventually maybe
FULL APPEARANCE:
Moreiden is basically a skeleton in pompy puff clothing. He has no muscle mass, barely any physical strength, and his knobby joints practically pop from his limbs. He's overall very sickly in appearance, though he's reasonably healthy- in body anyway. Rather average in height for Pernese men, his features are very long. A long face with sharp and high cheek bones, pulling down to a stuck out chin. He constantly looks wizen and weary, with dark bags hanging under his drooped eyes and a slooped but shapely nose. His brows are constantly turned up over his sad, wet looking glassy eyes, making Moreiden constantly look like a hound that was kicked by its owner. He's also as pale as a linen sheet, and being a night-dwelling wherhandler hasn't helped in that.
His hair is pretty wiry, having no softness or fluff to it, as it hangs pulled back passed his forehead. It's sometimes kept back in a tie, but some days that's just too much effort and it just flops free and down. Once a solid color, the brown has streaks of grey patches, some from age, some from stress. Just a mess, unlike the patches of hair neatly kept trimmed under his nose and upon his chin. Moreiden actually never lets his facial hair go unkept like he might with his hair.
One might assume his turns gave him such features, but no. He's mostly looked the same since youth, minus the grey streaks, wrinkles, and facial hair. Funnily enough, his clothing is generally in much better appearance than himself. Not the finest attire by far, but well cared for, though it is noticeable he seems to wear.... the same outfits (3) in a basic rotation. The quality is pretty reasonable, if anything, looking much better than more common garments.
PERSONALITY
PERSONALITY:
The world is ending and what is the point in anything.
That's the general feel of Moreiden's outlook on life. He's a very 'woe is me' and dreary type of individual. Normally quiet and kept to himself, it's not uncommon to hear him let out long drawn out sighs in the background. Hunched over a table or desk, chin propped on a hand as if to barely keep himself upward. Sometimes he can't even he bothered with that; looking like a wilted flower in a heat wave. He's not opposed to talking with others, but it's very rare for him to start the conversation, unless he has specific reason to. While his outlook of things is very gloomy, he doesn't try to ruin people's good times. ...It just happens.
-'Yes, a nameday is a grand thing, oh but look at the clouds. Rain and mud are assured, but atleast the flowers will be fed~'
Moreiden counts himself as a writer, so he's rather good at noticing details around him and in theory, he should be rather empathetic towards other's emotions. He's more dramatic than anything though. It's not uncommon for Moreiden to burst out aloud with something, when he's struck with inspiration. One never knows when they'll be handy for a bigger writing piece later. To the point, it's pretty common to see him stop whatever he's doing and pull out a bit of parchment to jot notes on in these instances of poetic epiphany. (He'll scribble on a cloth hankie if he has to, anything that will hold ink long enough.) On good days, he might even have a full, perfect little poem or limerick done on the spot~
He does occasionally make comments as he's writing, regardless if he's alone or not. It's not very clear if he actually does it for the sake of flair, or if he's just that hardcore focused on his artform. Stranger still, Moreiden won't necessarily recite what he's actually writing though. Sometimes he's blaring off about one dreary thing or another, but is actually jotting notes about something different entirely.
Moreiden is pretty 'hush-hush' about his personal work though. When he does sit to write for himself, his pieces are generally very upbeat and almost cheery. Lovely poems of flowers, nature, and other such things. Perhaps embarrassment, perhaps because even he realizes it's a conflicting image of how he normally acts. He's found it easier to not have to explain himself or his writing choices. It is what it is, none the less. So, from time to time, he has secreted poems and nicely written letters to people when they seem to need them most. With no name attached and slightly shifted penmanship, of course. Moreiden does enjoy when people get something helpful from his work, which he keeps quietly to himself. On the reverse, he actually has very little interest in writing about death or other sad subjects, but he will on very, very rare occasion.
Moreiden is also not one for menial labor, in any regard. He's not strong in the slightest, nor exceptionally skilled or physically well coordinated, outside of writing. He struggles to lift a mere bucket of water, and he's not above wailing and moaning about it. Anything 'laborious' like that, is usually covered by Eidesk. With the physical prowess of a sponge, Moreiden is, thus, pretty cowardly and lacks much of anything resembling enthusiasm or bravado confidence. He's very content to mope and complain as he doesn't have the power to defend himself very well. Best to roll over and accept a quick defeat -like a champion.
HISTORY
FAMILY:
Parents - Deceased (natural/old age)
Older Brother -Eirem( Deceased)
Cousins/other relatives - viable if connections wanted
SIGNIFICANT OTHER:
BIRTHPLACE: Harper Hall
HISTORY:
(TW: Death / depression)
Moreiden belonged to a reasonably well off family station in Harper Hall. Nothing of great political importance certainly, but none of them wished for much of anything in material value. From the moment he was born, Moreiden was skinny and unimpressive in terms of physique. His family saw no issue with him thankfully, and while he wasn't necessarily picked on or teased, Moreiden had very few friends for himself. His general sorrowful and mopey attitude tended to leave him excluded from games and socializing. Afterall, who wanted a downer to come and ruin a game meant to be fun and exciting?
Moreiden really wasn't all that bothered by it. Thanks to his family's comforts, he could enjoy more intellectual pursuits of reading and history... and staying completely in doors. Besides, as far as role-models and friends went, he had all he required: his elder brother - Eirem. His elder by almost 11 turns, Eirem was always happy to indulge his younger sibling, as the difference in age meant little for either of them. He was always happy to share conversation and time with Moreiden, even convincing him to venture out into the 'world' with him on rare occassion. (Basically just outside their quarters, like down the road.)
The two brothers were exceptionally close. The older embraced the self-appointed task of protector and guardian, while the younger saw Eirem as an idol and role-model. And why not? Eirem was everything he wasn't, or could ever hope to be. Eirem was older, sure, but he was also reasonably good-looking by comparison; strong in build and well-liked by all that knew him. He never even minded Moreiden's dreary talk or weird mannerisms. Moreiden was his baby brother, and he meant the world to him.
However, there was something Eirem actually wasn't fond of, and that was life in the Hall. He found it so cramped and restrictive... suffocating. Eirem wasn't really one for the 'intellectual pursuits' many around him strived for. He had his own ambitions of going elsewhere and working the land. Something more physically stimulating and in the open. Wide space and fresh air - all that good stuff.
The idea of the boys going to Weyrs as candidates had been suggested by numerous family members and friends, from time to time. Something new for the new generation in the family. Moreiden was generally unopinionated about it, and Eirem... was not very fond of that idea either. Weyrs were only so different from the Hall in his mind, and that difference was that they had dragons and whers to give out. Still too much structure, still too much restraint for his liking. Not to mention, they would probably both need to be Searched, which was unreliable at best. The thought did give Eirem an idea though. Acquiring a wher would offer him good reason for going elsewhere for work, as well as that work being more attuned to his desires. In contrast, Moreiden was not happy with this idea, even less so than the Weyr one.
Moreiden was very content to stay in Harper Hall, as he had little ambition to match to his brother or to anyone else. He didn't want to go to a Weyr, he didn't want to be a rider or a handler. He liked being home, and he liked his books and writing, and his family. He needed nothing else for personal fulfillment. Yet, life rarely stayed as it was for long. Despite Moreiden's whining and pleas and bargaining, Eirem was passed reasonable age and eventually managed to acquire a wher egg during a Gather. Moreiden could do nothing, as it was not his marks or his decision on what his brother purchased with them. So, an egg was bought, and what hatched from the shell was a small white. Beautifully patterned but with long finger-like appendages on his back, where his wings were meant to be. A frightful mutation, but one that hardly mattered to Eirem. Whers didn't fly so a lack of wing membranes meant little in terms of a 'disability'. A bond was made, and such was the first of many life changes to come.
Eiresk matured quickly enough into a hard-working but rather serious wher. Moreiden was not opposed to him, despite his existence meaning that his brother would leave home. The wher , too, was just as mindful and considerate to his handler's younger sibling. Moreiden essentially had another friend and guardian for himself, even if it was for a pitifully short amount of time.
The brothers kept in reasonable touch despite this, with constant messages and occasional visits. Even as they aged, Eirem remained strong and good-spirited, while Moreiden grew ganglier and less motivated. Eventually, it was his turn to decide what he wished to do with himself for the future. Moreiden chose to keep his place in the Hall, to gain experience and work as a scribe. He excelled at note taking and writing, and even found time to do his own personal creative exploits. He was reasonably content at a writing desk, with a quill in his hand. He was pleased enough as his dreary features could show. Why change what worked for him.
Aside from his assigned work, it was now time that he took effort to develop his personal writing interests seriously. Those interests always seemed to be of natural wonders and general good witnessed around him. Rather pleasant things, despite Moreiden generally looking like he'd never smiled, laughed, or even slept sincerely in his whole life. How would he know of such subjects and be able to capture them so earnestly?
Moreiden, personally, always found those subjects quite easy, in fact. Afterall, he simply thought of his brother, off somewhere being his good, helpful self as he worked to the best of his abilities. To Eiresk, who had such nice patterned skin and a well-meaning attitude. He liked to think his brother would enjoy reading those types of things. He practiced often and wished to write things his sibling would actively enjoy to read.
Still, Moreiden found he didn't want to explain himself or be questioned of it by others. So, he took to simply not signing his personal work from then on. Best to just keep it secret. It was easier, especially when he sometimes put a false name to them and sold them off as someone else's work. He was just a 'middle-man', afterall. Just copying and redistributing... no need for attention or questions or fanfare. He just did best at records and other things - he would explain if asked.
Blissful but long turns passed by, before Moreiden received terrible news. Just passed his 30th nameday.
His elder brother had been in an accident while working, perishing from the injuries he sustained. The news was so sudden and unexpected, it hit him like a runaway cart. Of course, everyone spoke with caution about how Thread could take anyone once it fell, among other dangers... but... it was different when an 'unexpected' incident did actually happen. Moreiden always thought such a thing more likely to happen to himself, than his strong, capable brother, if he were honest. Eirem always seemed so untouchable, so undefeatable. Moreiden was utterly devastated. He didn't have much time to start his mourning though. He'd soon heard that his brother's wher, Eiresk, was now unbonded and refused to go to anyone else.
....except Moreiden. The one person his deceased handler had held most dear.
Moreiden never considered himself for wherhandling, though. He wasn't interested in general human interaction, much less those of dragons or whers. He had to carefully think it over, as much as he was permitted to anyway. Still, he was fond of the White and he'd hate to do such a disservice to his sibling's wher. Moreiden didn't want the wher to be sent away to the wilds, and Eiresk probably knew his brother's mind and heart better than even himself had once. At the first chance he could, Moreiden retrieved Eiresk and reforged the bond, with the White becoming "Eidesk".
Moreiden would never get over the loss of his brother though, even as Eidesk's companionship eased the ache in the man's heart. Despite being a second bond, Moreiden was surprised how attentive the wher was to him. While Eidesk wasn't 'nice' like Eirem had been, the wher was surprisingly encouraging and kept him on track. He let him weep, he let him mourn, but Eidesk did not let Moreiden wallow within himself to uselessness. The wher was always the right level of firmness his new handler needed. Moreiden was grateful for the support, even if Eidesk was now relegated to doing anything physical required between them. (Carrying tomes or supplies etc) That was fine too, as Eidesk liked hard work. The wher deeply missed his first handler, but he could feel that shared sorrow and anguish between his new bond.
Moreiden and Eidesk could be sad together, and that somehow made the process easier.
As turns passed, Eidesk eventually found he was growing too restless and unfulfilled where they were settled. Like Eirem, the wher was starting to feel too enclosed in the rigid setting of the Hall. Of course, Moreiden was perfectly content to stay, but felt he owed it to Eidesk and for the wher's own comfort. Not to mention, he knew he'd be a useless mess without the wher's general firm presence beside him. So, despite having never wanted to before, Moreiden transferred them both to Fort Weyr.
Weyrs certainly had lots of varied jobs to do. Hopefully he could continue to remain indoors and at a writing desk, and Eidesk... could do wher things.... Even outside, if he wanted.
