Weyr Craftsmen/women

[Spirithawk]

The Craftsmen and women go here (Harpers, Healers, etc.)

[Marnark’tranarprol]

Name: Ragule

Age: 45

Gender: Male

Rank: Master Healer

Appearance: Despite his age, Ragule can still pose an impressive figure. He is a tall man with broad shoulders. His entire body is well muscled, though he is not as trim as he used to be in his youth. His skin is naturally of a darker tone that would suggest a tan, though he does not really spend enough time outside to have acquired one. He tends to wear earthtone clothing of a practical nature. Natural white shirts, earth brown tunics, and darker brown or black trousers. He wears a belt, and it usually has quite a few pouches hanging from it, as well as a single single-edged knife.

His hair is soot black, and almost straight, always tied back out of the way. His eyes are an intensely dark brown that look quite black when he is inside. Only when Regule is outside does his eyes true color come out. At the corners of his eyes he has wrinkles that betray that he spends a lot of time wearing a true smile. Strong features and a broad, square jaw finish off his face. He has a very small scar on one cheek, just ahead of one ear.

Ragule's hands are large and strong all while gentle. They have quite a few wrinkles on them and in key spots a few thinner callouses that frequent washing he does in the course of his work can't seem to dissolve.

Personality: Ragule is an easy going, smooth souled fellow. Though his sheer size might at first seem intimidating, he is not at all a rough person. Healing is his passion, as is taking care of people and making sure they are in the best of health. His knowledge even extends to things with more than just two arms and legs, as he makes the effort to take care of anything and everything that needs it.

He smiles often, though not always with his mouth. The expression is almost always in his eyes, however, resulting in deep creases beside his eyes. Strong, patient, and caring with a sympathetic ear, Ragule is someone that anyone can easily come to trust with almost anything. He talks easily, in low, quiet tones that are not at all hard to hear. Very rarely does he ever raise his voice, but when he does, his bellow can be heard a very long ways off.

Ragule's quiet nature tends to keep him from interacting too much in social events, though he always makes a point of attending. He loves to see other people happy and enjoying themselves, especially loving to watch dance squares with the music going.

Though few know it, part of why he is so good at Healing is he also has to regularly attend to his own woes. Though strong and stout, he also suffers from intermittant joint pains that he has yet to be able to cure completely, as well as an occassional irritation of the lining of his lungs (pleurisy). Which also serve to keep him from dancing himself, or talking overly loudly.

History: Ragule was born near Igen hold, on a cothold farmstead. There he grew up as any other country lad would, working hard and growing large. Like almost any other lad, he grew up admiring and dreaming of dragons, and hoping to someday be selected to go to the Weyr where he could see them up close. But alas, it was not to happen.

At the age of 12 turns, he decided that he did not much care for the feild work of the farms, even though he loved caring for the livestock. A friend of his father's suggested he go try his hand at the healercraft, feeling the lad would make a decent journeyman someday. So with the blessings of his family, he took off one day on his father's best buckskin runner for the healer hall.

It took a long time for him to reach the place, but he did eventually, without any misshaps. The Hall accepted him readily enough and he attended to his studies well, delighting in the work. But along with the love of making people better, he was always driven to do better. Especially when anyone was lost - which inevitable happened far more often than anyone liked. His passion and determination carried him far, until he made his Journeyman knots. Somewhat proud of his acheivements, he returned home for a short visit to his place of birth, only to find his father had passed away the turn before in a wagon accident.

Returning to the Hall for further training even as he was sent abroad, he decided it was high time he acquire one of those novel flitters ... he needed to be able to stay in touch! Especially with those he cared about. How could he help them if he had no way of knowing they needed him? And so he made a point of putting asside funds until he could afford an egg. It eventually hatched out into a scrawny brown creature that was itself rather sickly looking. With a willpower akin to Ragule's own and Ragule's assistance, the flitter grew strong however, and lived, to be trained to be the very messenger that Ragule needed him to be... if a tad distractible in his youth.

When he was 24 turns old, he took a shine to a lovely young lady at Ruatha, but was completely unable to woo her due to her being already promised to someone else. But she had stolen his heart so completely that he never even tried to acquire another love.

Just prior to making his Master's knots (not Master of the Craft), Ragule started being forced to slow down in his travels, by increasing problems with his joints and ability to breathe. Not knowing what was exactly wrong with his own body, he started working on trying to solve that. He figured out how to keep it at bay for the most part, but not ever actually cure the problem - which naturally frustrated him. He also came to realize that warmer weather was much easier for him to tolerate.

With this in mind, he knew what he was to do when he heard that Dark Moon Weyr had need of a Healer of skill. There, the climate would be kinder to his body, and he could help people. Also, having a steady place to stay would help him, and maybe he could eventually figure out how to heal his own body.


Pets: old Brown flitter Torc (12 turns old)

[seneth]

Name: Klivin

Age: 32

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Rank: Harper Journeyman (WeyrHarper)

Appearance:
Klivin has a head of straight, well kept jet black hair. When in holds or the hall, he usually keeps his hair short, and his face clean shaven, (much to Klinorfin‘s disgust) as the style places turns on the otherwise young journeyman, with his laugh lines and formal clothing. The look Klinorfin prefers is Klivin’s well-traveled look. With hair slightly long in the fringe brushed past his left eye, casual travel clothes and blackened stubble on his chin, the man looked like he’d reached his 25th turn, whilst his “formal look“ almost 40.

The man’s curved, medium eyes are kindly and brown, never have they shown anger or spitefulness. But after his wife’s death they occasionally show his pain, only never in the presence of his son. As for other features, he’s long in the face with a slightly angled jaw line, slim but not gaunt cheeks, and a straight, prominent nose. His lips are slim but wide, always with a ready smile or grin. A habit that has earned him obvious laugh lines, the only sign so far of his aging.

As for body, he has a medium build, clearly in-shape but not overly athletic, and he stands at a respectable 5’11”. He’s long in his feet and hands, with fingers clearly marked with the calluses of his trade. His colour of choice is and always will be Harper blue, but when travelling he always slips into the colours and styles preferred by general holders. There’d been too much trouble of late to risk otherwise, and he couldn’t place his pride before his son's safety.

Personality:
Klivin’s personality is a lot like his vocal pitch; a light and joyful tenor with a bright emotional edge, which on the occasion can range down to a darker, more sombre timbre. But like all Harpers, he’s a good showman, with plenty of practise in keeping his expressions under check. His mind as deft as his fingers, his patience as soothing as the softest ballad. Always happy to strum a tune, or teach the youngest of classes, he is a general Harper of all trades, with a slight preference towards the harp, guitar, and singing. To date he never seems to excel in any branch of harpering, but this is mainly by choice, for the man fears placing too much into his harpering, as it might loose him his son.

As a man, he’s pretty much down to earth, an easy sponge with information and easy to get along with. He is a quick thinker, who is easily adaptable in most situations. In truth, its hard for most people to see a negative side to him, well unless they were being picky. For he occasionally has a habit of wondering to places he shouldn’t be, “by accident”. He’s always the mediator and has a habit of masking his true emotions and thoughts. He willingly place himself into the line of fire to defend others. He has a slight reservation towards beasts unless he knows them personally. Also, he dislikes long sea journeys, snow, fish or tubers, sleeping in late (despite a late night), Klah without sweetener, swimming and wearing other people's clothes. But despite all his quirks, his son will always come first, no matter what.

Klivin the father is both overprotective and laid back at the same time, always expecting the best out of his son, as well as good behaviour and respect. In having a direct hand with the boys upbringing, he expects him to always be law abiding and keep to the harper's ways. But never does he treat the boy any different than he does others.

He will willingly trust the lad with important errands or to go off by himself, and affection is always reserved in the presence of others. This close bond between them always meant he’d be hard with the boy if he ever broke the rules, but never would he hold it against the lad. Especially as he was almost a spitting image of his dear mother.

As for his late wife, he still holds her dear and close to his heart. Only speaking of her to his son, or those who knew her. But never to strangers or close friends, for the pain of loosing her is still there. One of his most precious possessions is a small simple portrait, which he keeps with him at all times. A larger one is stored safely in the Harper hall. To this day he’s never looked at another woman in the same way as he did her, and would politely reject or ignore any advances.

History:
Mother: Mierin, 63, Master Harpist, an expressive Soprano. (RIP)
Father: Klisar, 65, Master Drummer, a jolly giant of a Bass singer. Teaches at Fort Harper hall.
Siblings: Brother, Rin, 27, Harper Journeyman, stationed near Benden. He hopes one day to come Southern where he’d have the excuse to meet with Klivin and his son.

Klivin is a 3rd generation Harper, his son hopefully the 4th to be brought up and trained within the Harper hall in Fort. He was bred with music in his veins and picked it up quickly at a young age. Though he was never a genius, he was a bright and ready learner, sharing his love of the harp early on, much to his mother's delight.

In the turns to come he’s been through the highs and lows of life from the steady repetitive rhythm as a Harper Hall apprentices, to the upbeat tune as a dedicated and semi-experienced Journeyman. Two turns into a new posting this sailed up to a triumphant chorus of a man in love! Then like an unwavering crescendo, the joys of life soared as his wife gives birth to his son! In the days to come the harmony between himself and his wife Melinor, was perfection. As they worked together, starting a new verse in the composition that was family.

In the time to come the pitch wavered as Klivin learnt all he needed to care for his new son. From handling, to caring, to cleaning, to feeding. As well as balance the countermelody, which was his duty to the Hold he was contracted to. Thankfully the Holder and his wife harmonised well, and put up with the new and unsure father.

As time past the melody dotted up and down, like a merry little jingle. Expressing the highs and lows, of minor illnesses, great successes, troubling holders and new discoveries. Everything seemed in balance and all was well for the young family of three. That was until the sharp clash, as his wife fell ill. The bone shattering low, couldn’t be expressed in musical terms. But every beat of his worried heart, vibrated his chest like a full legion of drums. Every day as loud as the drum-message that’d called him back to the main hold. A solemn, thundering beat, announcing that HIS wife may not last the night.

What came next was the blur of his wife…her beautiful face so pale, so ill. The baffled, worried faces of the healers…the fear and sadness of the holders…and the bawling tears of his frightened, confused son. The boy, barely two turns old, unable to understand the strange expressions and why he couldn’t see his mother. Whilst Klivin lost all that was music in his life, willing to trade it all for his wife, so that she may live, so their son could have a mother…so they could return to the happiness they once shared. Later that night, his brave, beautiful Melinor passed away.

Her last words spoke of her love towards him the their son…soft apologies for leaving them so soon…and finally she asked Klivin with a strained, pain stricken voice, “Pro-mis…promise me, that you’ll live for our…son, care…for him…l-ove…him, as you’ve loved…me…” Klivin without hesitation swore. “D…don’t ch-ange…because of…because of th-this, my…my dearest heart…sh-show our s-son…the…the man I l-loved…p…please…I…I b…beg of…” Emotion overwhelming him Klivin clutched her hand, and kissed her fevered brow. Before swearing again through his tears, to bring up their son as she wished, also that he wouldn’t…change. There was nothing the 20 turn old Harper could deny her, watching as a small smile crept onto her pale lips…and life left her once bright green eyes.

In the days that passed, he was numb. Torn between the bitter pain of grief and the need to be strong for young Klinorfin. The other harpers did what they could, whilst the lady holder gently convinced him to let his son play with the other children. It was only in the turns after that he could look back with respect for all they did for him. Especially the Holder who helped arrange her funeral, and the harpers who coaxed him into playing her one last melody.

A sevenday after his contract was terminated, and he and his son returned to the Harper Hall.

At first he was possessive of his son, but time and his inexperience allowed him to accept the offers of help. As the women of the hall patiently dealt with the pain stricken Harper, teaching him what he should know whilst overseeing the day to day life of the quiet little boy. Smiler, they usually called him for despite all that happened he was shielded by his youth.
Looking back it was clear to Klivin that he only regained his love of music because of his son. That despite the classes he was asked to teach, and the apprentices he had to oversee. It was his son beating on his little hide-skin drum, that beat some sense back into him and his life.

Regaining his lost rhythm was hard at first, everything jerky and uncertain. But one bar at a time he regained his flow, as he searched for a suitable harmony with his growing son. In the turns that past, it became clear his son had a love for the drums. So for many seven days he relearned the forms so he could teach them to his son. From then on both his and his sons melodies entwined as they supported each other into the crescendo that was living.

There were the days where both memory and sadness would hit him, but only in his son's absence. As the boy made the most of being brought up in the Harper Hall. His quiet and restrained curiosity, encouraging others living at the hall to play their part with the boys upbringing.

Turns past and the boy grew old enough for him to join Klivin in his newly assigned hall. Where both he and his father often played solo but always upbeat melodies. As they both taught and learnt in equal measures. The positive experience drew out the last of Klivin’s fear and hesitation, as he welcomed a new posting soon after.

It wasn’t long before 10 turns had past, the boy a sturdy 11 turns, and he an overwhelming 32. Young but mature Klinorfin, brimming with the knowledge of his mother, and a good footing into life as a Harper. The wiser Klivin, a bright and active teacher, happy as a Journeyman, as he feared working for a Mastery, might loose him his son. Especially with all the time he’d have to spend studying back at the Harper Hall.

Maybe this turn when his son started his apprenticeship? But did he truly wanted to loose his son…would it be like loosing his wife all over again? Klivin knew he was being foolish, but the hesitation in the Journeyman was clear to the Masterharper. Who after some thought offered Klivin a possibly permanent contract, as well as the permission to train his son a special apprentice. This he’d accepted without question as he eagerly awaited the announcement at Dinner as to where he’d be posted. (What the MasterHarper hoped, was after a turn or so Klivin would settle. Therefore allowing his son to return to the Harper Hall for his training. But at the same time he hoped for the boy to gain some confidence and independence.)

But like any composition, the chorus ends and a new dramatic verse begins. As to what the new turn might bring, only time would tell as harpers sing.

Pets: None, but plans to maybe get a Firelizard to share with his son if the opportunity presents itself.