Wher Handlers

[Spirithawk]

Wher Handlers


Gold: 1/1
Bronze: 2/3
Brown: 1/4
Blue: 0/6
Green: 1/9

[panther]

Name: Danae
Sprite

Age: 21 turns

Gender: Female

Rank: Senior Queen Wher handler

Appearance: Danae is fairly regular in build. She’s five six in height, and rather curvaceous. Her hair is worn long, loose waves, a warm red colour, which suits her colouring quite nicely. The colour of her hair is also complimentary to her eyes, which are closest to amber – technically a variant of brown, but the colour they are is odd, rich and oddly like amber.

Her face is roughly diamond shaped, her features proportional to her sizing. Her chin perhaps a slight part too long for her, but it is not overly noticeable. And her canine teeth have a slightly irregular alignment to the rest of her teeth. The bridge of her nose is also slightly skinnier than regular, but they don’t generally detract from her looks. Her neck’s fairly long, and her collarbones tend to poke out a lot more than she’s personally comfortable with. Her shoulder’s slope off perhaps a little too quickly, making it difficult for her to simply buy clothes, without them making her look slightly odd, but she is quite meticulous (to the point of obsessive) over this.
Generally, she’s seen wearing low cut tops, which cover most of the rest of her, and usually fairly well fitted to her slim physique.

She tends to wear trousers, for practicality around Watchwhers more than anything.

Her favourite colours to wear tends to be blues, she cannot wear golds as might be expected of her, as the bonded of a golden wher – for she looks rather hideous in them. And refuses to wear them, even if Danask does not generally approve of her bonded's aversion.
As would be expected – her skin tone is pale. After all, when her wher is awake, Danae must be awake also. So she does not spend a great number of hours in the Rukbat’s light.


Personality: Danae is odd. She is level headed, yet she will easily find herself being ‘off’ or cold with people, she can be quite moody. She’s generally quite cold to strangers – something she seemed to have developed from spending many turns with Danask. She tends to be incredibly wary of others, but once she has accepted them, and embraces their company, she’s completely different. Warm, friendly and full of vim and vigour. She’s a very determined girl, many blame her determination for her impression to Danask, and others consider it a good thing. She’s quite stubborn, possibly – again - as an affect of Danask. Her will is iron.

Everything she does, she does with her whole attention, and she is not overly good at splitting her concentration. Her emotions are also part of this, she can only experience one at a time, maybe a blend of two similar feelings, but as a general rule. She feels what she feels strongly. Passionately, and with her determination, she believes – honestly – she can reach for the stars. And generally, she achieves what she sets out for, because her single-mindedness gets her there.

She’s confident in herself, she knows she’s quite attractive, but generally doesn’t flaunt it. Mainly because she isn’t totally as adept as most regular people. Being nocturnal draws you away form the best part of the day, and the best number of the people at he hold.

Being the bonded of the queen, she tends to be quite bossy, its something she does well, she delegates well – simply because of her own mentality towards tasks. She is proud, but not too much so (yet) to ask for help.

As mentioned previously, she’s warm, and friendly, but this does tend to be towards those she is closest too, a select few who she trusts quite implicitly. They generally have earned both her and Danask’s respect for one reason or another.

She does as a result get mildly claustrophobic. Doesn’t like the idea of having no escape. It can occasionally lead to her being totally irrational.

History: Born to a wealthy trading family from Azvon hold, Danae knew luxury from a young age. Turndays came with glorious gifts, pretty things, each unique and usually made by a family member who was over proficient in the jewellery trade. She has kept most of these, though they are impractical for her day-to-day workings. She learned well from the harpers, even if she was a little bit difficult to teach at the best of times.

Her birth mother was a healer, however, she never got further than the rank of journeywoman. Soon after Danae’s seventh turnday – Firae, Danae’s mother was called upon urgently to heal a miner who had been caught in a small landslide, which she was informed was stable. As she tried to help the miner, without moving him as the others began to dig him out, the land shifted again, and the remnants collapsed onto the injured miner, and the team trying to rescue him.
This affected her father greatly, and her only brother – a turn younger than herself, immensely. Though she missed her mother dearly, and mourned for the loss. Danae was not as afflicted by the loss as the other two. Her father left on the third anniversary of her mother’s death, leaving her and her brother in the care of an Aunt. Her aunt took her in. She then grew, from the age of ten turns.
Her uncle was a wher handler, he handled a bronze, a fine bronze Wher, He was a miner come handler – as was regular in Azvon. She and her cousin got on very well, Ezeiki, he was a livewire, and they got on tremendously.

Come her twelfth turn, Danae and her family took a trip to the northern Wher hold. Here her cousin, Gerin was to become bonded to a wher – he was to be a handler for the mines. However, Gerin – on arrival did not impress from the clutch, sitting in the audience however, Danae, who had injured herself on the journey to the northern wher hold, did impress. A gold hatched, and eyes red with blood lust, attracted to the smell of the congealing blood, pushed through the audience to find Danae. Twelve turn old Danae froze. The gold sunk her teeth into Danae’s injured forearm. Drawing the blood from the freshly opened wound.

Danae fainted from the blood loss. After waking up, three days later, she shared her mind with another presence. This presence she soon learned was Danask. The gold that had drank her blood. After realising, she searched her forearm, where the wher had bitten; there she found deep-set holes, numb to the touch.

The wher hold took her on, and taught her, taking her form her family’s company, raising her in the company of people who were also bonded to whers, they taught Danae how to care for Danask, how to keep the wher happy, and how wher’s hierarchy worked.

A few turns passed, and both Danae and Danask had grown. The pair were inseparable, and unlike most, Danae had altered her sleep pattern completely to match that of her wher.

After a considerable amount of time, Danae was asked to move south, to Caspian hold where they were opening a wher hold for Southern. And, Danae was suggested to go forward for the Wher hold woman.

They have been in Caspian Wher hold for roughly a turn, and starting out the wher hold has been much more difficult than she had initially expected.


Wher
Name:Danask
Colour: Gold
gender: Female
Age: 8 turns

Appearance: In Terran terms, Danask is comparable in size to a large shire horse. Danask is large even for a golden wher. Her colour is a rusty, tarnished gold colour, like a strange taint between bronze and copper, her size makes her obvious to what she is though. She looks as unsightly as most whers, large eyes and long ears. Though it is barely visible, Danask has a strange patchy pattern over her, areas the size of a fist, ever so slightly lighter in shade than the main parts of her hide. The only place this is noticeable is on her snout, over her left eye, and down the right side of her nose, the colour has a clearly defined line. Though the colour is not far from her regular colour, just a shade lighter.

Personality: As a wher, she is naturally both protective and defensive. Her fuse is short, and as a gold, all of these are more stimulated when she is about her clutch. She’s quite intelligent, usually managing stumbled words, like that of a young child.
She has a very high regard for protocol, and she is the absolute leader. She will not be challenged, and is headstrong beyond Danae’s capabilities occasionally.

Pets: she needs no more with a wher – they would be only troublesome, unless they came in a nocturnal variety.

[Shekru]

Name: Fyg (This is a nickname, her real name is not known. Well, save one.)

Age: 23 Turns

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Heterosexual (by choice)

Rank: Wher Handler/Huntress/Stick in the Mud/Wherling Master

Appearance:
Not at all average in terms of height, Fyg stands quite a bit taller than most women, though has yet to exceed the range of men. A pale, stocky figure, broad shouldered and curvy through the hips, it's immediately obvious that this woman has not lived a pampered life, nor lived one in face of daylight. Calloused hands and a stony face yet to be creased with merriment are her trademarks; pale eyes too golden-yellow to be hazel are often scanning her environs - alert, wary. What would be waist-length hair if she wore it down usually ends up piled in a messy bun at the back of her head, the black strands revealing tints of deep russet brown in sunlight.

Far from feminine, her attire, as well as her hands, speak of labor. Battered, brown leather pants are tucked into boots that have likely seen road after road of travel, and a sturdy belt keeps several sharp-and-probably-pointy implements close at hand - most notable among them being a long knife, and a small axe. Close-fitting, yet not enough to restrict movement, her jerkin is lightweight and crafted from some kind of cured gray leather. The curved wood of a longbow slung over her shoulder is easily spotted against this drab top. Where the quiver is kept is not apparent, as it's nowhere to be seen on her person.

Personality:
Despite her closed, unfriendly appearance, Fyg is something of a social chameleon. Heavily guarded when it comes to things she's willing to offer about herself, she seems to be almost overly curious about other people and their secrets. Nosy, is a good word for it, though with a relatively smooth demeanor she somehow manages to avoid being deemed 'creepy'.

Dirt, blood, mud, spiders, and other things that are likely 'disgusting and foul' to other folks are her specialty. Strong of stomach and constitution, Fyg is most likely to take on nasty jobs and complete them with ease and dedication. Every place has a janitor, and if such a thing existed on Pern, she'd be it. No task too small, however.

Being a bit of a recluse, however, Fyg does not spend a lot of time rubbing elbows or actively seeking social settings. In fact, the only time she seems to venture out among people is when the promise of alcohol is involved. Priorities, y'know.

Having been self-regulated and managed, the idea of taking orders where payment is not made is something of a bitter pill for her to swallow. Rank and class have always stuck in her craw, and while she may complete given tasks well, any rank-pulling against her usually ends up with the word 'insubordinate' tacked on to Fyg's reputation.

History: (Warning: SPAM!)
Being born to a single parent in a Weyr is nothing unusual. The product of a bluerider's lust and a huntress' lapsed judgment (thank you, wine!), it should have been evident, day one, that life wasn't going to be glamorous for a long while.

And it wasn't. Her childhood was spent learning the trade of her mother and grandfather. Instead of playing with dolls or other darling effigies, Fyg played with severed wherry heads while learning how to field-dress birds and other edible critters. By her twelfth turn, Fyg could carve up a herdbeast as well as any seasoned butcher, give or take a few helping hands to shift the beasts' weight. Skill was there, but muscle had yet to get its invitation.

After a while, the family had mapped out some land outside the Weyr where fields were large enough for herdbeast breeding, and they began their own farm. Business was decent enough. Everyone eats, and what with dragons becoming more and more numerous within Dark Moon, the need for animals to feed them with was growing greater. In exchange for herdbeasts, the family was able to trade for grains and seeds, as well as other goods that would have been otherwise unavailable to them. Fyg's grandfather dabbled in brewing, while his daughter and grand-daughter saw to the beasts. A few hands were hired on to help with crops.

Around the summer of Fyg's nineteenth turn, a lot of folks were seen on the roads traveling. Many of them would stop by the farm and either purchase herdbeasts, or offer trades. On one afternoon, a large group of wagons and vagrants stopped by, some of them knew Fyg's mother and grandfather, so they ended up staying on a few days. While they looked a bit unsavory [read: shady] Fyg's mother swore up and down they were decent folk who just had it harder than most. Their departure in the morning was without fanfare, full of smiles, and oblivious to the fact that they had been robbed. No riches or crops lost, though judging by the things they hid in their covered wagons, it was likely their goods were previously liberated anyway. What was missing was more interesting than baubles or trinkets. It wasn't Fyg's fault they couldn't keep their goods away from curiosity. Besides, they wouldn't notice if /one/ was missing. They had at /least/ eight or so. Eggs, that is.

It had to be the largest egg she'd ever seen. She'd heard stories of firelizards, sure, but she'd never seen an egg. She'd thought they'd be smaller. Certainly not /this/ heavy. The egg itself stood to mid-thigh on her, though it's unique shape made it look like more of a rock. The ugly speckles on it were certainly intriguing, and while the color was akin to that of herdbeast droppings, it was now hers, and she loved it.

Placed in the straw of the calves' stall, the egg was warmed by many small bodies at night, and during the day, when Fyg completed her chores, she would take it to a small pile of dark rocks that burned with the afternoon sun's heat. A few weeks like this passed before the egg was ready to hatch, and it picked a heck of a night to do it.

For a few days it had rained, though the night the egg hatched, it was an outright downpour. Part of the fence that held the bulls in had broken, and in an attempt to fix it, Fyg ended up with a rather lovely gash along her upper arm, complete with splinters and herdbeast fur. Yum. Bringing the bulls in, the alarmed braying and yowling in the calves' pen caught her attention. With all the chaos going on outside, the rain beating down upon the stable roof, the first few cracks of the eggshell were muted. She was not expecting to be lunged upon when she opened the pen door to see to the calves.

The scent of blood, so soon out of the shell, had driven the little beast. Small teeth, honed to pointed perfection during incubation sank around the wound on Fyg's arm and, splinters hair and all, the creature fed. What does one do when they're set upon by something that ugly? Usually, they scream.

She laughed. Amused at first, though it soon rose into the cackle of a madman, aided by the light-headedness that blood-loss brings. When the creature finished, it pulled back, maw smeared with blood, and creeled. Young, new to life outside, crave the same things. Shelter, warmth, and food. It was no firelizard, she knew that now. None of the ones she had heard about were ever called ugly, and the matted ball of sinew and gangly limbs was, delicately put, unpretty.

The walk to the meat locker was short. Staggering, Fyg lead the beast and pound after pound of herdbeast flesh disappeared into the chasm the creature had for a mouth. The amount of time it took to satiate the little monster's appetite, Fyg didn't know, but between the environs swimming in her vision, and the little thing curling up at her side, the world went black.

Mud was everywhere the next day. The rain had come down hard, and the frightened herdbeasts had churned the earth heavily. It was her grandfather that found them in the meatlocker, curled in the corner.

Needless to say, Fyg had some explaining to do. And she did, over the course of the next few evenings. She learned the hard way that her new little companion wasn't a huge fan of the sun. In fact, he decided to share his feelings. In her head. And they were unpleasant. By whatever grace of the first egg, her mother proved to be a competent teacher once more. She had learned about Whers, and knew enough basics about them to provide decent coaching. For that's what he was. A Wher. A gnarled, gangly, misshapen Brown of a wher. Head too big, wings too small, limbs fighting for dominance among themselves.

During an evening of exercises with the creature, under her mother's tutelage and supervision, the Wher decided to share something with his chosen bond.

Fygwesk[/color], he had said. In a voice only she heard, and even then, felt more than heard. When Fyg did nothing, he said again, stronger, Fygwesk. This time, she repeated it, out loud. With a bellow that sounded faintly like a dying mule, the Wher showed his approval.

It would be at least another Turn before anyone outside the small family would know what it was that scared the herdbeasts at night in the stable. A messenger borne on the back of a wiry White dragon brought a message to the farm. More beasts would be needed, soon, and the Weyr was looking for them to return to oversee on-site herding. They would pay in full, of course.

Her mother had a better idea. A bargain was struck. Her daughter would train Hands at the Weyr to take care of them in exchange for a more comprehensive and complete education having to do with the Wher, which would be done in the nearby Hold. There was only so much second-hand information could do, and Fyg's mother had already used up what she knew of the beasts.

An old runner saddle that had gathered dust and vintage was brought out, and modified by her grandfather to work better with Fygwesk's build and shape. While he was flightless, his quick growth and sturdy limbs made him a suitable mount for ground-travel, even with a passenger. In the months leading up to her move, Fyg brought him along on her nightly hunts, adapting her wakeful hours to coincide with the Brown Wher's, and teaching him to hunt with her.

The months went by, then another Turn. The herd within the Weyr was stable, balanced. Several Hands had been trained and had taken on the majority of the duties that Fyg had initially overseen. She and Fygwesk received a more complete education at the Hold, and were given other responsibilities, outside the herdbeast situation. Watch duty, and even message-running to outlying settlements and Holds were among them.

Talk had begun, though, about the forming of a Wher hold. Despite the unorthodox means in which Fyg and Fygwesk had become bonded, she received invitation to aid in the forming of the hold to the south. The invitation was left to sit for a Turn, though. Never one to rush things, Fyg certainly took her time. So much so that the invitation was slowly but surely turning into an order.

It would seem that Fyg's prolonged stay at the Weyr was coming to an end. Caspian Bound, Fyg and Fygwesk will be arriving at the Hold. Any day now.


Wher: Brown Fygwesk, Male

Wher Age: 4 Turns

Wher Appearance:
About the height of an average Runnerbeast, and half-again as long (excluding his tail), Fygwesk is the ugly bastard child of a dragon and Mother Nature Gone Wrong. A Wher, that is. Smooth hide mottled like churned earth is stretched taut over this creature's oddly-shaped body. Mottled browns both dark and light congeal into something that looks like it ought to belong under foot, but instead gets to move around on the four-legged heap of Wher.

Brawny through the neck and shoulders, the muscles twining along his spine are thick, cord-like. They would have to be to maneuver his large, wedge-shaped head. Elongated ears hang dully down beneath backward-curving knobs, the foremost parts of which provide overhanging 'brow' ridges that help shield the faceted eyes that almost bulge out of their sockets. From the middle of his forehead to just between the shoulder blades, an uneven, crooked line of ridges follows the line of the Wher's spine.

Useless-looking wings are either dragged down at the Wher's sides, or are spread out for balance, or short glides over flat terrain. They're nowhere near big enough to support actual flight, and given the muscle-weight the creature must have, it's unlikely that he will leave Terra-firma.

Each limb is long, knobby at the joints; the hide covering them stretches over rip-cord muscles and end in wide, flat feet that boast small, blunt claws.

Wher Personality:
Like most of his ilk, Fygwesk is a study in loyalty and protectiveness, tempered with an understanding of where his proper place is. In terms of rank and class, he knows where he belongs, and never knowing the other side of the fence never really crosses his mind. Small as it is, it tends to focus almost religiously on the duties set before him. Wary of strangers, tolerant of children, mellow around the folk of the area he Watches.

If there could be one word that describes Fygwesk, it would be 'waiting'. For what, or who? Who knows? But there seems to be something he waits for, always. Perhaps Watching has made him paranoid, or hopeful.

Spending formative years around herdbeasts have had a hand in his domineering tendencies. When it comes to prey species, if he doesn't intend to eat them, he usually either herds them, or challenge the lead bull. Old habits.

His demeanor in relation to Fyg is one of, dare say, loving patience. His stubbornness pales in comparison to hers, and while instinct may lead him one way, there is a small, nagging doubt that makes him bristle uncomfortably if that instinct contradicts what Fyg is feeling or saying.

Where Fyg is merely tolerant of rank and order, Fygwesk adheres to it naturally and fights a battle near-daily with Fyg on the subject of 'compromise'.

--

Wher: Wensk
Handler: Fyg
Color: Blue
Gender: Male
Appearance:
Wensk is one small dude. He will only grow to about 3/4ths the size of the smallest blue wher. He barely made it out of the egg, and then only thanks to his stronger twin. His hide is a nice, silvery blue, lined with a slightly darker shade of very light royal blue that is a bright contrast to the silvery blue that makes up the rest of his hide.

His wings are patterned in wavy lines of silvery blue and light royal blue across the length of the membrane. He just looks like a happy camper, and his expression is usually joyful.

Color Code: 0066FF



Personality:
Wensk is one of the cutest little things you’ll ever see. He will never grow to be the size that most blue whers grow, for he is indeed a runt. He’s always one to be overly curious, and sometimes, that gets him into trouble. He has little tact and respect for privacy because he simply doesn’t understand the concept. He has nothing to hide, so why should anyone else. He’s rather happy-go-lucky, however, and if someone gets angry with him, he doesn’t stay upset for long.

He is loyal to his handler, but not exactly obedient. What can he say? It’s interesting out there! He doesn’t really understand anger, and never shows it unless he’s fighting Thread or protecting his handler. The feeling he feels when he fights Thread is foreign to him, and he doesn’t recognize it as anger. He loves to dig, because digging sometimes brings up new things, plus it keeps his talons sharp!
Life is one big adventure for this little guy, and when he is tired enough to stop being curious, he likes to cuddle, that is, if his handler and her other wher let him!
Pets: Bronze Flit Faust

[Xennai]

Name: Alder
Age: Twenty three Turns
Gender: Male
Rank: Wher handler
Appearance: Alder is one of those men who looks as if he should be in bed, just out of bed or just going to bed. Yes, in the perverted sense. His hair is long and shaggy, reaching about to the middle of his neck. It’s always mussed or ruffled, giving the sex impression. He has sleepy, dark green eyes that would as soon undress a woman with his eyes as look at her. His face is strong, with a round, stubborn jaw and a straight nose—though the bump about the center would suggest it’s been broken, probably more than once. He’s usually seen with stubble, five o’clock shadow or more advanced facial hair. He only remembers to shave when he starts feeling like he’s getting a beard. As a result, he looks rather feral, dark and brooding. He has a large and rather wicked scar about his back from an accident when he was rather inebriated.

He has dark, thick brows that, unusual for a man, arch very femininely over his eyes. His mouth is thin and slightly too small for his face, suggesting a temper, in which the person assuming so would be very correct. He’s not a muscled type of man, though he does have muscles. He stands at a very rangy and loping 6’0”, which is quite average and which never ceases to irritate him. He wishes he were taller, several inches taller. He’s tanned, but not from the sun. It comes from genetics and thank Faranth for it, because he’s rarely outside to get an actual tan. However, despite these genes, he has a strange type of cast to his skin, one of a pallor that’s rather odd considering those genes. It’s from, of course, not being outside often enough.

His torso is long and lean, with the faint definition of abdominal muscles. His forearms are strong, as are his shoulders. He hates the fact, thinking it makes him look bull-necked, though his neck is, actually, rather long. He does have a butt, contrary to the popular opinion that men don’t. It’s small but there, something Alder’s proud of. He takes note of those who do and don’t have it, after all.

He dresses in darker colors, thinking it makes him look more appealing. He’s typically seen in black, gray, browns and other colors such as darker greens, such as forest or olive, as well as violet, plum and the other, darker blue hues. He doesn’t wear his bronzen colors, as are his due, very often because he doesn’t want too appear too cocky or arrogant, no matter the fact that he thinks he looks stupendous. He wears the typical wherhide pants because of the creatures he’s around, though he has an aversion to them. He doesn’t like thinking it could be Aldesk that he’s wearing.

Alder doesn’t care much for his appearance except for the fact to make sure he looks presentable. He doesn’t care much for matching except when provoked and he doesn’t like looking too nice, because it gives off the impression that he should be with a green dragon and not his bronze wher.

Personality: Alder, despite his “attempts” at trying to not be too cocky or arrogant really rather is. Since he was about fourteen or fifteen turns, he realized he was one of the better-looking males and it’s gotten to his head. He’s a rooster, strutting through his yard, but he makes sure his hens aren’t longterm. He’s almost petrified by the thought of commitment. He’s fine with dalliances and the occasional relationship that lasts longer than a few sets of sevendays, but it’s all shallow to him and not deep at all. When confronted with a woman he can actually like and admire, the warning bells go off in his head, especially if he finds her attractive. He tries to get out of the situation, though it does not work all of the time. Back in the mines he worked at in the main continent, he’s known as a heartbreaker and a womanizer. Alder neither admits nor denies it. He simply is.

That would describe Alder very well. “Simply being,” is really his quote to live by. Alder goes with the flow and doesn’t really change anything unless he must. He’s content to just live life by what happens to him and dealing and coping with it. He’s very laidback for the most part, but he definitely has a temper and it’s gotten him into trouble on more than one occasion. If there’s any fault within him, it’s his pride and vanity. Whenever an insult runs along the lines of one of the two, his blood is instantly up and his fists are flying. He refuses to take it. So he lashes out and beats the dimglow to a pulp. That’s his theory. Go with the flow until the flow gets mean. You beat the flow down and then it goes again.

He’s a brooding sort of fellow. When he hasn’t had a girl in a while, he gets crabby and very short-tempered. Something about not releasing his pressure…He doesn’t really take initiative, but he gets angry when he’s passed up for things he feels he should have had. Runs are one such thing that often gets his goat. He doesn’t blame Aldesk or himself, he blames some twisted kind of fate that has chosen not to bless him and make him or Aldesk lucky.

He’s very attached to his bronze and loves him immensely. Anyone insulting Aldesk is another reason to start a fight, in Alder’s opinion. Although much of Pern considers whers rather grotesque and ugly, Alder thinks they’re interesting and rather beautiful creatures. He finds them intensely interesting. He’s glad he has a wher rather than a dragon, because he thinks dragons are too much like people, and who wants another person riding around in your head?

History: Alder was born to a privileged family on the main continent of Pern. His father was the Lord Holder of a small hold in northern Pern. It was a hold that was a part of the High Reaches, near the mines there. He grew up thinking he was better than most and he was certainly better off than most. This wasn’t true, but in his small community, it was. He was allowed to as he wanted when he wanted to, as this may be a contributing factor to his arrogance later in life.

He was also doted upon because he was the only male among six children. Having five sisters, rather than instilling in him an admiration for females and a respect for them made him the opposite. He found his sisters wherryheaded and vapid and looks at them even now with a condescending, contemptuous sort of affection. His mother, Zade, was perhaps the worst of the bunch and from her Alder has probably formed his commitment issues. He idol worshipped his father, Tieron, and wanted to be exactly like him. He thought his father was all things a man should be—strong, aggressive, aloof and high in status. His mother, on the other hand, was everything Alder, even at a young age, did not like. She was always sniveling and whining about this or that. She blamed his father for every bad thing that happened to her—her dress getting torn, the meat being overcooked, the storm that killed half a crop and especially for the six children he made her birth. Alder’s mother hated the fact that she had had even one child, let alone six. She blames her husband for making her lose the vivacious, young form she had, a form she said was the reason that Tieron married her.

She never looked at her children as hers. They were more like people that were just there. She never treated them as children. They all learned from a young age that when Mama said fetch, you fetched and that when she wanted her drink, you stayed out of her way. Alder’s sisters, when they were older, were friends, not her daughters. Alder was always a thing to her—he was his father’s problem, not hers. As a result, Alder was perhaps his father’s closest confidante and knew all about his indiscretions. Alder knew of the women his father kept and, when he was older, they were like brothers, laughing about this or that one and making comments. They even often had the same woman at different times.

His family life was extremely, extremely dysfunctional but not bad. He was not abused. He was not neglected. He was just seen as something less as well as more than a child, a son.

When he was seventeen, he was out on a late night drunken walk home. He hadn’t done so in a bit of time because, a few sevendays earlier, he’d somehow managed to fall upon a pick and raked his back open. It was only now that he trusted himself. Perhaps it was fate. He stumbled across a rather secretive wher hatching within the mines and, to the shock of the people gathered there, a bronze approached him. Drunk and out of it, Alder just went along with it. With a happy little grin, he cut his hand and offered the bleeding mess to the bronze. It wasn’t until the next day, when he awoke with an extreme hangover and a bronze wher at his side that Alder realized what had happened. Rather than being dismayed, he was overjoyed, figuring that fate had provided him with the chance. And, to be honest, he was very happy to get away from his family.

From the moment he sobered up, Alder devoted his life to Aldesk. His heartbreaking ways couldn’t be changed by his wher and there were many women in his life as well. Alder’s off days, or nights really, consisted generally of taking care of Aldesk, hanging out with him for a few hours, flirting or sleeping with some woman—whether from the mining community or from the hold just a quarter of a mile away—and eating before he went to sleep. On his work days, he and Aldesk would go down in the mines with the miners and search for pockets of bad air. Afterwards, they would clean up and then head to bed to sleep during the day.

His was a comfortable life—until it was found out just how many women he did have…and the fact that two of them were bearing his seed. Alder panicked. He didn’t want a child, let alone two, or the women who would bear them. He asked to be transferred and was granted his wish. He fled to Southern, to a relatively new wherhold, stationed at Caspian Hold…

Wher’s Name: Aldesk
Age: Six Turns
Color: Bronze
Appearance: Aldesk is about medium-sized for a male of his coloring. Not massively huge, he stands at roughly five and a half feet tall with large wings. He’s very bright-colored for a bronze, nearly gold, but a few shades dark, more mellow. He has a large scar on his tail from an accident with a mining pick as well as another on his jaw from scraping too close to a bit of sharp rock when he was younger.
Personality: He’s very protective, as are all whers, and extremely loyal. He’d kill anyone he thought was a danger to Alder without a hesitation. He’s also rather regal and arrogant, either traits he inherited from his handler, or the natural tendencies of a bronze—dragon, firelizard or wher. His eyes are sensitive, but not to such extents he can’t be out in weak light. He’s intelligent, about the intelligence of a toddler, but he brooks absolutely no authority above himself except that of Alder, Alder’s authoritative figures and the queen.

[Marnark’tranarprol]

Name: Laier (La, Ee, eR)

Age: 25

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Bi w/ Het tendencies

Rank: Green Wherhandler

Appearance:



Laier can be considered pretty by some, though she is no raving beauty. With long, bright auburn hair that looks more brown in shade and more red in sunlight, and fairly fair skin, she can be quite attractive when she dolls herself up … which she on frequent occasion does do. Liking to color her lips and darken her lashes, she will sometimes be seen in some rather becoming clothing. Thankfully, she has a good fashion sense and does not run around in garish colors that clash horribly. Her clothes often tend to follow a color theme that goes well with her skin tone and hair color.

Her skin is fairly light, lighter than it might have been had she been a regular holdfolk. But in being a Handler and out and about mostly at night, she never has tanned any at all. Her frame is fairly light, with more whippy and corded muscle rather than anything bulky. And if it hadn't been for her wher, she wouldn't have even that much muscle on her. This light build is often accentuated by the type of clothing she often wears, as she does not wear anything baggy that would conceal her shape … she is firmly of the mind set: if ya got it, flaunt it. While she does not have an overabundance of curves, she does have them, and dresses to accentuate what she's got, making it appear even better.


Personality: Laier is somewhat insecure in herself, though this does not show for the most part. She covers it up with a whole lot of extroversion. She will talk to anyone, at any time, about almost anything. And she is convinced she must always have a significant other. This is such a drive in her that if she can not find a suitable other who is male, she will broaden her net to include other females. She must belong to someone, and must have someone who belongs to her. If they happen to leave her, she'll simply go find someone else. She can sort of be considered loyal, but only to a point. So long as she considers herself taken, she is loyal… but if that attention starts to waver off of her, she will go find someone else to lounge in the arms of!

She is talkative, liking to be involved with people. She is not a very good listener, though she does try. Things often get past her, and things said can get past her, as well, because she was too busy rattling away, herself, to understand that something was said to her. This problem is not overruling, but it does happen. At times she can almost listen decently.

Laier is prone to depressive moments if she feels ignored or unimportant. Apparently never having learned that happiness comes from within, she depends a lot on other people being happy with her or holding her in some worth before she feels she can be happy or worth anything at all. This does tend to temper out her selfishness, as she will do her best to stay in the good graces of most of those around her … so that they will see worth in her and thus she will have worth. This does not however temper out all of her selfishness. Often times she will think up and then do something purely on self interest … like flitting from one set of arms to the next, desiring solely to feel loved at all times.

She tends to share a lot … she will drop kisses or hugs on random people at random intervals for apparently no reason at all. And this is even if she has a steady partner that she considers herself bound to at the moment. She loves to be affectionate, to any and all.

History: Laier was born at Caspian Hold to Lantor, a weaver, and Maiesa, a cook. The youngest of five children, she grew up somewhat easier than the older children did, being the baby of the family. And like was typical of such a position in a family, she was lavished upon with more than her due share of attention. Because of this, once she became and adult, she developed a shock of suddenly not having the attention and perceived worth she used to have.

Her childhood was more or less uneventful so far as excitement went … she either wandered around her father's shop and watched him work away on his looms, or hung out around the kitchens where her mother worked. As a result, though she never bothered to apprentice to either craft, she is capable of turning out cloth if she wanted to, and can make some fairly nice meals. If she wanted to. She spent a lot of time dressing up and being a young girl who plainly should have been a lord holder's daughter, for she loved the finer things. Dresses, her cheap jewelry that was occasionally gifted to her, and attention from those around her. She especially loved it if the girls were jealous and the boys sat up and took notice. Not that it happened very often, but it didn't stop her from trying her best with what she had. As her father was a weaver she often was dressed fairly well, but her fascination for shimmery sparklies was left severely wanting. On occasion she would take some of the scrap, used up metal bits of flatware from her mother's kitchen, and poke holes in it to make jewelry out of … not that it looked like much and she wouldn't get caught dead wearing it!

At the age of fifteen turns, her father expressed that she really ought to go find a trade to apprentice to … whatever she wanted to do, she had better do something. All of her siblings had apprenticed out at eleven or twelve turns of age, and she'd been allowed a lot of lax room to be wandering around completely supported until she was fifteen. Naturally, she was not very happy to hear that her carefree days were over. She got a silly notion in her head, and decided she wanted to try out for being a wherhandler … which her parents were not averse to in the slightest. She had thought of it as an easy way out. After all … wherhandlers slept all day and no one ever bothered them to do anything!!

She was accepted, and actually ended up with a wher. And the day it hatched, she was in for the shock of her life. Caring for a baby wher was more work than she had ever dreamt of, and kept her so busy she cried herself to sleep some mornings just from the ache of never before, seriously used muscles. She was incredibly happy to have her wher, she couldn't not be… there was nothing like the love there. But the rude awakening to the real world and the way life really worked was a hard blow to her ego! In time, she got used to it, and toned up to match the demanding hours and exertion of the job of caring for and tending to a wher. It took her nearly a full turn, but she did acclimate to staying up all night long. But to her dismay, the schedule kept her away from her family… which was something she did not like at all. It took her a heart wrenching two turns from impression to get used to standing on her own two feet and being a woman rather than a spoiled girlchild. In the end, it was all good for her, and she turned into someone worth having … even if she still retained the self worth, needy issues to some degree.


Wher

Name: Lask
Color: Green
Age: 10

Appearance: Lask is a lovely shade of lime green. This wher could not sneak around in the dark if her life depended on it. Almost neon, she is easily seen, especially at dawn or dusk hours. Any moonlight at all will reflect off of her hide and make her veritably glow in the darkness, even when she is not about to run. When she is about to run, is seems almost as if she is lit from the inside, not needing even the moon's light to light her up.

Well proportioned for a wher, Lask is actually a little on the light side. Not bulky or heavy, she is good on her feet and can move quickly and with agility across the ground. Her wings are a little gangly, when carried folded up. But this translates into some extra depth when she spreads them, allowing her to glide from hill top to hollow if she jumps really hard.

Personality: Light and amiable, Lask is a very adoring creature. She will snuggle up to any wher that will let her, just for the sake of companionship when idle. Smaller than almost any other wher she's ever met, she finds it quite comforting to tuck into another wher's side and bask in their warmth. But when active, she is a very excitable wher. Loving to run and play, she will hurry through a lot of distance before eventually wearing herself out. One of her favorite tricks to play on the larger whers, is turning so sharply on her toes and taking a whole other direction.

Lask really likes it when her handler bothers to run with her, though she does find it minimally distressing that Laier can not run as fast, nor with as much agility as she herself can. A mover, Lask is not at all sluggish in anything she does. She almost qualifies as being a hyper wher!

Lask, while she technically can speak, she doesn't like to very often. Only on occassion will she use the occassional word to accentuate her emotional communication. It is only under high stress situations or when she's feeling flustered that Lask will actually use more speech.

[catilena1890]

Name: Girae *gear-A*

Age: 17 turns

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Rank: Wher Candidate

Appearance: Her hair is a dark black that reflects light well, giving it a shiny appearence. Her blue eyes have a slightly grey appearence due to a film covering them, giving her limited vision. Her lips are small and bright pink, covering some very white teeth and they make smiles appear subtle on her thin, egg-shaped face.

As for her clothes, she tends to wear very dark clothes. She likes to wear a dark brown shirt under a black vest. Her pants are also a nice black color matching her black boots. This strangely enough fits her dark, cream-colored skin and she has a thin appearence, only adding to the visually pleasing effect on a very small girl.

Personality: A friendly young woman, Girae is easy to please and difficult to anger. She has little care for appearences, whether it is her own or anyone elses, for she always bases her judgements on the attitude and personality of anyone she meets. This goes for any creature, whether they are human, dragon, fire-lizard, or even whers.

When you first meet her, she is very bubbly and willing to befriend you. She'll be a loyal friend, but she has a hard time distinguishing friend from foe. She cannot tell the different between a lie and the truth, and tends to believe anything anyone says to her.

History: Girae was born and raised in a lesser hall of Crom Hold. She is partially blind in both eyes, not being able to completely discern shapes and colors properly, and as such was never considered for dragon candidacy. Nonetheless, she maintained a very positive attitude, befriending everyone and everything she encountered. This is how her Wher obsession began.

It was fairly dark outside, and Girae was walking back to her hall when she heard a strange sound nearby. She froze in place and looked around, trying her hardest to see past her condition and find the creature lurking about. Suddenly, something shot out of the forest and ran past her while a middle-aged man was puffing up to her.

"Very sorry about that. Silly creature just can't help 'erself when she is hungry. Say, ain't you tha' blind girl who lives up the road? Whatcher doin' here?" He asked her. Girae smiled and turned her head to him happily.

"I`m not completely blind, but yes, I do live a little ways up. What is that?" She asked as the creature from before walked up and sniffed her. The older man gave a gruff laugh and slapped it's neck affectionately.

"This're is my Wher, my very lovely green, ah, no one wants to know our names, so dun worry about it. We 'elp the hold keep an eye out fer invaders. Them bad guys wanna get in here they're gonna have to get past us first. Listen, why dun ya let us walk ya back to yer home, eh?" With this, he gave a hearty laugh and his wher snorted, walking in the direction of Girae's home.

"Why thank you, you are very kind." Girae laughed and smiled, walking with the man and his strange creature all the way back home, asking several questions along the way. When they were close enough, the man turned to her and smiled.

"Ya know lass, Whers ain't what people would call pretty. They ain't like dragons. They dun fly, they dun chew firestone, and they're ugly as ugly can be when they hatch from their eggs. But ya dun care about tha' do yer? No, I didn't think so. Listen, Wher's are not picky like dragons, they can be as accepting of their handlers as dragons are their riders. You should consider trying for a wher egg somewhere, it migh' do ya good. Well, g'night now." He said as he and his green left, leaving Girae still in wonder. From that day on, she spent much time with the man and his Wher, learning as much as she could about them while her parents looked for a clutch.

When she learned of Dark Moon Weyr and it's Caspian Hold's clutch, she prepared to journey toward it. Before she left, she stopped by the old man's dwelling to bid him and his wher farewell.

"Thanks so much for teaching me. I know it will come in handy when I get there. Well, goodbye old friend." She said, giving he and his grotesque beast a parting hug before going out to where the transport dragon was waiting. As she climbed on and braced herself for the cold of between, she wondered about her life and what adventures were in store for her at the Hold of Caspian.

Pets: N/A

Wher: Girask
Handler: Girae
Color: Yellow
Gender: Female

Appearance:


This girl can only be described as a tiny, pretty, lemon yellow dragonet with butter colored markings. She will be one of the smallest of the whers, just like the yellow dragon is smaller than a green. Only if a white wher were to come around would she have one bigger than her.

The butter yellow markings seem to follow the lines of major muscles in the wher’s body. The insides of her legs and and the places where her wing membrane meets the tendons and bones that help her flap her wings are highlighted in yellow as well. The rest is a bright, lemony, sunshiny yellow.

She is very dainty in appearance but stronger than she looks. She, like greens, blues, and most browns, will never carry a rider, but that suits her well because she prefers to act as guide-wher for her handler anyway.

Personality:

Loyalty is this girl’s code-word. Like most yellows, she’s one of the sweetest things around. She loves to be friendly, as long as there’s no threat to her handler. She is rather touchy about the fact that some people look down on her handler for being partially blind.

She hates to be separated from her handler, because how then will she help her? She is fiercely protective and always willing to help her handler even if she’s more of a hindrance than a help, and since she’s a wher, she usually is more of a hindrance but it makes her happy to be useful, even if she really isn’t.

She is perfectly fine being grounded. She will glide from time to time but only if it brings her to her chosen or the task her chosen wants to do faster. She likes to let her chosen handler see through her eyes even though the images are a little strange due to her jewel-faceted eyes. She will likely never run and she is very selective and just a touch prudish about her handler having mates.

Overall, though, she's always bright and happy and ready to greet newcomers or friends with her limited vocabulary.

Color Code: FFE87C