Post by darkaire on Oct 25, 2007 0:41:52 GMT -5
Character Info:
Name:
F'lyn (was Falynor)
Age:
18
Gender:
Male
Rank:
Weyrling
Family:
Father: Lohesynor (54)
(First Wife: Alestas (52))
Mother: Fallake (32)
Half-Siblings: Lohesta (f, 27) Alenor (m, 25) Hestlon (m, 21)
Siblings: Sylake (m, 16) Llonyn (f, 15) Norall (f, 12)
Child: Adinora (f, 1), by Adiesha (f, 22)
Appearance:
As expected of a boy who ate just enough to live off of, F'lyn has a certain emaciated look to him. It is in the way his wrists and fingers are a little too thin, and the way his spine trails his back when he bends over. These are but lingering traces, as for the past Turn he has been eaten well and put on enough weight to go from thin to slim. The way he eats, he should have been more than just slim, but the constant work of a Weyrling forces him to burn off a lot of what he eats, resulting in that slim, yet trim physique of his. Tanned skin is the result of his preference to feel the wind, though his hair has remained untouched by the sun. The usually untamed locks hold a very slight curl to them, though hard to notice because the coloration is a deep, rich brown. There are few shades in his hair, and the one or two available are only the barest bit lighter and only then when the sun reflects off his head.
To add to the unkempt appearance is the lazy smile that curls his lips, giving the impression that he certainly doesn't notice his hair could be home to a few small birds. It is a sheepish expression he gives when told of this, and very quickly does his hand move to rake through the mass for corrective measures. Later in the day his hair will have returned to the way it was, as he constantly plays with it and messes it up. His eyes are an amber-brown, more brown than amber, and always holding some sort of quiet secret. What that harbored secret is, not even Cseroth has the priveledge of knowing. Whatever it is, it causes the unkempt to transform into an almost calculated informalness, crafted by a mind that sees no reason to be otherwise.
Want to see?
Personality:
Had he been born on Earth, F'lyn would have lived in Chicago, renting out a condominium room. The walls would have been smothered all sorts of memorabilia - not because everything was special, but more so because he was too lazy to put them in a drawer. You'd be likely to see him perched in a bay window, sketchpad in his lap and graphite pencil furiously scribbling away at his latest editorial comic or company logo. Both varieties would be made up of free-flowing lines and dark, sweeping coils, reminding one of the erratic but beautiful way a candle flame dances when blown on. From that you may gather that he spends a lot of time perched on his dragon's ledge, any ledge, any place high enough to catch a breeze and overlooking nature. And as in the previous image, there might even be a few hides strewn about with odd sketchings of wherries, tunnelsnakes or the twin moons of Pern. All of them crafted in those same flowing lines, sometimes creating abstract pictures that only he knows the subject of. Cseroth tried to ascertain the meaning on one once, and gave up, declaring them children's drawings and went back to sunning himself.
His parent's hands-off raising gave him the key attributes of a simple mind and relaxed disposition. Correlations can be drawn from his mind to the mind of his dragon, as both are incredibly simple and view the world in small words and children's idea. Even so, the Bluerider's speech seems so much more than his thoughts, mostly due to his ability to string words together to sound prettier than their meaning. He struggles with fancy words, and has no knowledge of how to write or read. His schooling was sparse, learning only what he needed to help his family, but one might never know. F'lyn is a quick learner, attributed to his still-developing mind. Not to say he should be set back, but extra lessons might be of some help. The young man possess a lazy innocence about him, hovering in his eyes and ever-amiable smile. While he has been exposed to some startling truths while in the Weyr, he is still a youth, and still retains the appearance of innocence. Far from the big-eyed, poofy-skirted little girl type, his innocence is a choice. He chooses not to acknowledge certain things that would otherwise chip at his floating-through-life view. Life should be let free to drift up into the air like a lost balloon, not caring where it goes, only glad for the wind and the view.
As such, F'lyn is an informal sort of male. Little time is spent worrying; clothes, hair, marks, relationships, even lessons are less important than the warm feeling of a lingering touch. If he happens to miss a lesson, so be it. Things could be far worse than they are. Though this may make him out to be apathetic, that is not the truth. While the Bluerider comes across as a cool personality, he is only human and harbors his own doubts and monsters. Perhaps it is both a fault and a virtue, but F'lyn tends to invest his interests too freely and too deeply. Growing up with two younger sisters ensured that he would develop a soft spot for younger girls. A different sort of involvement concerns his heart; as an innocent, a simple kiss on the cheek might leave him smiling for candlemarks after. An unintentional brush of the hands would have him hugging his pillow and eagerly recanting the event repeatedly to Cseroth, who thankfully is ever-patient with his sometimes giddy rider.
Taking everything into consideration, you might expect F'lyn to be a submissive young man, bowing his head to a stronger personality and taking whatever is doled out. That is only partially true. He is not aggressive, falling gently between the that and its opposite emotion. If a stronger mind comes around, he feels no intimidation, nor no reason to simply let the other have his or her way. He could just as easily walk away with a slightly off-key hum as he could dump his drink in their lap. Confrontation does little to scare him, though Faranth only knows what would happen if someone decided to hit him. Violence is not his cup of klah, and so would be likely to gawk and poke at his developing bruise until it was bruised worse. F'lyn is not always smart enough to know when to turn on his heel and walk away, and so finds himself in odd situations more often than he would like.
History:
His father was a successful miner who loved his job. Day in and day out Lohesynor would pull on his cap, pick up his toolbag and head into the mines with a smile. His first wife was a nervous wreck, and her condition only worsened with each death announcement. Mining was a dangerous trade, and the fear that her husband might not come back for dinner was too much for her. She left him quite suddenly, like fog on a window. She left behind three children and no note. It was a harsh blow to the proud Lohesynor, and he tried his best to raise his children and work his normal shifts. It didn't work out, and was soon employing a full-time nanny. The village he lived in was small, so there were few choices.
The girl Fallake, then 13, was the youngest daughter of a trader who had chosen to settle down. She was the type to sit in a field and string daisy chains, and then try to sell them later. That last trait was from her father. Over the next Turn the two became close; he was lonely and she was curious. It resulted in Falynor, who was born out of marriage. It wasn't until the little boy was two and the next child was on the way that Lohesynor took her as his second wife. With six children, the marks were stretched tightly, so living was barebones and essentials.
Falynor was never short on chores or love, though there always more time for chores and less for the latter. He grew up a lanky boy, running around in cast-off clothes and a perpetual smudge of dirt on his cheek. More care was taken with his younger sisters, and he never begrudged them for it. The little boy was a scamp; more than happy to go play in the dirt or help Daddy sort his tools. He was raised in a hands-off approach and turned out rather well for it. Not having been pampered, he developed no attitude. Having only what he needed made him a simple person.
In the Turn he was nine, his mother fell ill. The Healer in their village deferred the worried family to a Hold, claiming he couldn't do anything for her. Lohesynor sold everything but what they could carry and hopped on the first caravan that ambled by. It was a long journey, but they made it to Telgar Hold, and eventually moved into a Minor Hold to live once Fallike was well. No longer able to mine, Lohesynor took up a job as an assistant to the Minor Holder. It was a bigger salary, and within two Turns the family was living better than they ever had.
By the time the Searchrider landed at the little Hold, Falynor had found his niche. Nine Turns had passed, and the lessons he'd learned as a child were still with him, just in the back of his mind. Still simple, still without an attitude, he'd become that kid in the lunchroom that sits wherever and with whoever he wants, and you don't turn him down because to do so would be a social taboo. Popular for all the right reasons, Falynor always had an amiable grin and easy stride. Life was good, and he floated through it. There were few people who disliked him, he did his drudge work well, and had even found a nice girl to settle with. Nothing serious, mind you, but it was fun. Also a bit thrilling to be with an older lady, all the connotations of secrets and a higher level of maturity. Unknown to him, he already has a child back at the Hold, but there hadn't been a bulge to notice by the time he was whisked away to Telgar Weyr. Little Adinora will likely never know her father, as her existence is unknown to him. Her mother never cared to let him know, figuring he wouldn't Impress and would be back.
Falynor spent nearly a Turn in the Weyr before he was ushered into the Sands to Stand. Life there was much different than life back home, and it was a culture shock. While his parents had never enforced chaste rules, the sheer level of sexuality amazed him. As a mostly-innocent, he had few defenses from this new world, and soon found himself in the wrong place during the first Flight that occured in his time at the Weyr. It wasn't the only first for that night, as he woke up with a male. But Falynor was far from worried about the situation, and just went with it. Obviously it hadn't been bad, he hadn't died from it, so why fight what had turned out to be quite good in retrospect? His simple mind reasoned it out until he accepted it. His mind did that a lot, actually. From dealing with strong personalities to dealing with a firm heirarchy, he had to adjust to this life. He did, and just in time for the Hatching, where he was paired off with a little Blue. While he has adjusted to this extra mind, there are still plenty of awkward mental stumbles for F'lyn.
-------
-------
Dragon Info:
Name:
Cseroth
Age:
Newly Hatched
Color:
Blue
( 517693 )
Appearance:
Sleek and lean and small, Cseroth is one of the better-proportioned dragons within the clutch. His body and limbs are quite compact, nothing is wasted in the creation of his form. He's designed for flight with his light build, the lack of extra weight working to allow him a graceful sense of agility, and surprising stamina in the air, despite being smaller than many other blues. He doesn't look odd, despite his slightly short dimensions -- he's a bit on the lanky side, which makes the stout neck and body seem quite natural. His eyes set a tad more closely together than other dragons, his neck slightly shorter, his neckridges less pronounced. A few freckles of lighter blue can be seen along his 'ridges if you look closely
Cseroth's wings... well, they look as if they have been made for a larger dragon and they will always be in his way until he's fully grown. With his over-large wings and feet, he's a funny yet touching sight, stumbling through his Weyrlinghood. It's not that he's clumsy; quite the opposite. Well, on land he is an amusement, but he more than makes up for it with his grace in the air. Colorwise, he has two basic tones: a dark and slightly slate-touched dark blue, and a paler shade that seems like snow mixed in with pure sky against the dark color. In reality, it is a medium blue, sans the stony slate undertone. Striations of the sky-blue shade also appear brushed across his wingsails, just slightly. The silvery scars of Threadfall will show up starkly against his hide, rarely disappearing completely.
Personality:
A loyal, strong yet unintimidating dragon, Cseroth is that hometown all-round nice guy. He's not just a reincarnation of your girlhood dream-hunk , though, he's the embodiment of everything good and right and loyal. Even so, the blue has an inability to understand irony or sarcasm, or any form of humor. He's just literal- if it smells like herdbeast, looks like herdbeast and seems like herdbeast, it's dinner. Pity if underneath the disguise it's a candidate playing tricks. This might prove some problems. He's such a loyal, down to earth guy, that if someone in jest mock-punches his rider's shoulder, it'll be enough to get him all riled up.
He's quite `traditional' in the sense that he knows he's much bigger than F'lyn, and so he'll want to help him wherever he can. He's got a good sense of right and wrong, he's quite the moralist which might conflict with any time his rider tries to pull some mischievous weyrlinghood prank.
He's also a dragon of little words. He doesn't go talking to just anyone. Cseroth would rather observe -- it's the stealthy commando coming out in him. He'll watch, make observations to His - but he won't bring them up again unless they are needed. Like if he sees a rider doing something naughty, he might have to let the Weyrlingmaster know, Because it is only right that he knows everything. - he'll make the excuse. It's his moralistic nature again. Cseroth isn't some boring ingot, either. He has skills other then monitoring his fellow dragons and His. He'll be in his element when training or in drills. He'll be the first up in the morning, and the last to the couch unless he masters his formations. He'll even urge F'lyn to do his chores promptly and well, earning groans and complaints. Cseroth is cool and calm, which proves more than intimidating in its own rights. If his clutchsiblings decide to bicker, he'll just stand there, and maybe glare. He's not into violence at all. He'd actually prefer being the peacemaker, rather than the antagonist.
History:
Falynor was in the middle of the sea of white, watching Adeloth rather than the eggs. Of course, the moment the first egg started to wobble, his attention was replaced. It wasn't the rabid interest of those who were desperate, or the soft interest of the hopefuls. It was just interest. It was easier not to get his hopes up in this situation, no need to create a reason to be sad later. He hummed lightly, drawing a glance from the boy beside him. Flashing him a smile, he wiggled his fingers at him and let his attention fall back on the eggs. The Hatching had started, and try as he might, he couldn't help but feel excited.
Even when half the eggs had born tiny dragons, that excitement was still there. It was hard not to be - things happened so quickly, there was always something new going on. But by the end, around the time a clumsy little blue hatched, Falynor was starting to feel a bit discouraged. How could he not? After 26 eggs, not one of them had been for him. There weren't that many left. He quickly pushed that emotion away and let his mind drift to happier things.
F'lynmine, those pictures in your head are pretty, but you should stop thinking about them long enough to feed me, a distinctly different voice spoke into his head. The boy startled and found himself grinning. The voice was so...beautiful. Like the pleasant trickle of a brook, complete with faint bird-song and the breeze in the trees within his mind. His words were gentle and flowing, with an almost fairy-tale gentlemanly concern. Though now the concern was over his own empty little stomach. The new rider reached down to place a finger the blue muzzle. It was bumped off with another query for food. Of course he complied.
Clutch:
Adoleth's 11th by Bronze Bristith
Hatching Order:
Twenty-seventh
Wing:
A11
Name:
F'lyn (was Falynor)
Age:
18
Gender:
Male
Rank:
Weyrling
Family:
Father: Lohesynor (54)
(First Wife: Alestas (52))
Mother: Fallake (32)
Half-Siblings: Lohesta (f, 27) Alenor (m, 25) Hestlon (m, 21)
Siblings: Sylake (m, 16) Llonyn (f, 15) Norall (f, 12)
Child: Adinora (f, 1), by Adiesha (f, 22)
Appearance:
As expected of a boy who ate just enough to live off of, F'lyn has a certain emaciated look to him. It is in the way his wrists and fingers are a little too thin, and the way his spine trails his back when he bends over. These are but lingering traces, as for the past Turn he has been eaten well and put on enough weight to go from thin to slim. The way he eats, he should have been more than just slim, but the constant work of a Weyrling forces him to burn off a lot of what he eats, resulting in that slim, yet trim physique of his. Tanned skin is the result of his preference to feel the wind, though his hair has remained untouched by the sun. The usually untamed locks hold a very slight curl to them, though hard to notice because the coloration is a deep, rich brown. There are few shades in his hair, and the one or two available are only the barest bit lighter and only then when the sun reflects off his head.
To add to the unkempt appearance is the lazy smile that curls his lips, giving the impression that he certainly doesn't notice his hair could be home to a few small birds. It is a sheepish expression he gives when told of this, and very quickly does his hand move to rake through the mass for corrective measures. Later in the day his hair will have returned to the way it was, as he constantly plays with it and messes it up. His eyes are an amber-brown, more brown than amber, and always holding some sort of quiet secret. What that harbored secret is, not even Cseroth has the priveledge of knowing. Whatever it is, it causes the unkempt to transform into an almost calculated informalness, crafted by a mind that sees no reason to be otherwise.
Want to see?
Personality:
Had he been born on Earth, F'lyn would have lived in Chicago, renting out a condominium room. The walls would have been smothered all sorts of memorabilia - not because everything was special, but more so because he was too lazy to put them in a drawer. You'd be likely to see him perched in a bay window, sketchpad in his lap and graphite pencil furiously scribbling away at his latest editorial comic or company logo. Both varieties would be made up of free-flowing lines and dark, sweeping coils, reminding one of the erratic but beautiful way a candle flame dances when blown on. From that you may gather that he spends a lot of time perched on his dragon's ledge, any ledge, any place high enough to catch a breeze and overlooking nature. And as in the previous image, there might even be a few hides strewn about with odd sketchings of wherries, tunnelsnakes or the twin moons of Pern. All of them crafted in those same flowing lines, sometimes creating abstract pictures that only he knows the subject of. Cseroth tried to ascertain the meaning on one once, and gave up, declaring them children's drawings and went back to sunning himself.
His parent's hands-off raising gave him the key attributes of a simple mind and relaxed disposition. Correlations can be drawn from his mind to the mind of his dragon, as both are incredibly simple and view the world in small words and children's idea. Even so, the Bluerider's speech seems so much more than his thoughts, mostly due to his ability to string words together to sound prettier than their meaning. He struggles with fancy words, and has no knowledge of how to write or read. His schooling was sparse, learning only what he needed to help his family, but one might never know. F'lyn is a quick learner, attributed to his still-developing mind. Not to say he should be set back, but extra lessons might be of some help. The young man possess a lazy innocence about him, hovering in his eyes and ever-amiable smile. While he has been exposed to some startling truths while in the Weyr, he is still a youth, and still retains the appearance of innocence. Far from the big-eyed, poofy-skirted little girl type, his innocence is a choice. He chooses not to acknowledge certain things that would otherwise chip at his floating-through-life view. Life should be let free to drift up into the air like a lost balloon, not caring where it goes, only glad for the wind and the view.
As such, F'lyn is an informal sort of male. Little time is spent worrying; clothes, hair, marks, relationships, even lessons are less important than the warm feeling of a lingering touch. If he happens to miss a lesson, so be it. Things could be far worse than they are. Though this may make him out to be apathetic, that is not the truth. While the Bluerider comes across as a cool personality, he is only human and harbors his own doubts and monsters. Perhaps it is both a fault and a virtue, but F'lyn tends to invest his interests too freely and too deeply. Growing up with two younger sisters ensured that he would develop a soft spot for younger girls. A different sort of involvement concerns his heart; as an innocent, a simple kiss on the cheek might leave him smiling for candlemarks after. An unintentional brush of the hands would have him hugging his pillow and eagerly recanting the event repeatedly to Cseroth, who thankfully is ever-patient with his sometimes giddy rider.
Taking everything into consideration, you might expect F'lyn to be a submissive young man, bowing his head to a stronger personality and taking whatever is doled out. That is only partially true. He is not aggressive, falling gently between the that and its opposite emotion. If a stronger mind comes around, he feels no intimidation, nor no reason to simply let the other have his or her way. He could just as easily walk away with a slightly off-key hum as he could dump his drink in their lap. Confrontation does little to scare him, though Faranth only knows what would happen if someone decided to hit him. Violence is not his cup of klah, and so would be likely to gawk and poke at his developing bruise until it was bruised worse. F'lyn is not always smart enough to know when to turn on his heel and walk away, and so finds himself in odd situations more often than he would like.
History:
His father was a successful miner who loved his job. Day in and day out Lohesynor would pull on his cap, pick up his toolbag and head into the mines with a smile. His first wife was a nervous wreck, and her condition only worsened with each death announcement. Mining was a dangerous trade, and the fear that her husband might not come back for dinner was too much for her. She left him quite suddenly, like fog on a window. She left behind three children and no note. It was a harsh blow to the proud Lohesynor, and he tried his best to raise his children and work his normal shifts. It didn't work out, and was soon employing a full-time nanny. The village he lived in was small, so there were few choices.
The girl Fallake, then 13, was the youngest daughter of a trader who had chosen to settle down. She was the type to sit in a field and string daisy chains, and then try to sell them later. That last trait was from her father. Over the next Turn the two became close; he was lonely and she was curious. It resulted in Falynor, who was born out of marriage. It wasn't until the little boy was two and the next child was on the way that Lohesynor took her as his second wife. With six children, the marks were stretched tightly, so living was barebones and essentials.
Falynor was never short on chores or love, though there always more time for chores and less for the latter. He grew up a lanky boy, running around in cast-off clothes and a perpetual smudge of dirt on his cheek. More care was taken with his younger sisters, and he never begrudged them for it. The little boy was a scamp; more than happy to go play in the dirt or help Daddy sort his tools. He was raised in a hands-off approach and turned out rather well for it. Not having been pampered, he developed no attitude. Having only what he needed made him a simple person.
In the Turn he was nine, his mother fell ill. The Healer in their village deferred the worried family to a Hold, claiming he couldn't do anything for her. Lohesynor sold everything but what they could carry and hopped on the first caravan that ambled by. It was a long journey, but they made it to Telgar Hold, and eventually moved into a Minor Hold to live once Fallike was well. No longer able to mine, Lohesynor took up a job as an assistant to the Minor Holder. It was a bigger salary, and within two Turns the family was living better than they ever had.
By the time the Searchrider landed at the little Hold, Falynor had found his niche. Nine Turns had passed, and the lessons he'd learned as a child were still with him, just in the back of his mind. Still simple, still without an attitude, he'd become that kid in the lunchroom that sits wherever and with whoever he wants, and you don't turn him down because to do so would be a social taboo. Popular for all the right reasons, Falynor always had an amiable grin and easy stride. Life was good, and he floated through it. There were few people who disliked him, he did his drudge work well, and had even found a nice girl to settle with. Nothing serious, mind you, but it was fun. Also a bit thrilling to be with an older lady, all the connotations of secrets and a higher level of maturity. Unknown to him, he already has a child back at the Hold, but there hadn't been a bulge to notice by the time he was whisked away to Telgar Weyr. Little Adinora will likely never know her father, as her existence is unknown to him. Her mother never cared to let him know, figuring he wouldn't Impress and would be back.
Falynor spent nearly a Turn in the Weyr before he was ushered into the Sands to Stand. Life there was much different than life back home, and it was a culture shock. While his parents had never enforced chaste rules, the sheer level of sexuality amazed him. As a mostly-innocent, he had few defenses from this new world, and soon found himself in the wrong place during the first Flight that occured in his time at the Weyr. It wasn't the only first for that night, as he woke up with a male. But Falynor was far from worried about the situation, and just went with it. Obviously it hadn't been bad, he hadn't died from it, so why fight what had turned out to be quite good in retrospect? His simple mind reasoned it out until he accepted it. His mind did that a lot, actually. From dealing with strong personalities to dealing with a firm heirarchy, he had to adjust to this life. He did, and just in time for the Hatching, where he was paired off with a little Blue. While he has adjusted to this extra mind, there are still plenty of awkward mental stumbles for F'lyn.
-------
-------
Dragon Info:
Name:
Cseroth
Age:
Newly Hatched
Color:
Blue
( 517693 )
Appearance:
Sleek and lean and small, Cseroth is one of the better-proportioned dragons within the clutch. His body and limbs are quite compact, nothing is wasted in the creation of his form. He's designed for flight with his light build, the lack of extra weight working to allow him a graceful sense of agility, and surprising stamina in the air, despite being smaller than many other blues. He doesn't look odd, despite his slightly short dimensions -- he's a bit on the lanky side, which makes the stout neck and body seem quite natural. His eyes set a tad more closely together than other dragons, his neck slightly shorter, his neckridges less pronounced. A few freckles of lighter blue can be seen along his 'ridges if you look closely
Cseroth's wings... well, they look as if they have been made for a larger dragon and they will always be in his way until he's fully grown. With his over-large wings and feet, he's a funny yet touching sight, stumbling through his Weyrlinghood. It's not that he's clumsy; quite the opposite. Well, on land he is an amusement, but he more than makes up for it with his grace in the air. Colorwise, he has two basic tones: a dark and slightly slate-touched dark blue, and a paler shade that seems like snow mixed in with pure sky against the dark color. In reality, it is a medium blue, sans the stony slate undertone. Striations of the sky-blue shade also appear brushed across his wingsails, just slightly. The silvery scars of Threadfall will show up starkly against his hide, rarely disappearing completely.
Personality:
A loyal, strong yet unintimidating dragon, Cseroth is that hometown all-round nice guy. He's not just a reincarnation of your girlhood dream-hunk , though, he's the embodiment of everything good and right and loyal. Even so, the blue has an inability to understand irony or sarcasm, or any form of humor. He's just literal- if it smells like herdbeast, looks like herdbeast and seems like herdbeast, it's dinner. Pity if underneath the disguise it's a candidate playing tricks. This might prove some problems. He's such a loyal, down to earth guy, that if someone in jest mock-punches his rider's shoulder, it'll be enough to get him all riled up.
He's quite `traditional' in the sense that he knows he's much bigger than F'lyn, and so he'll want to help him wherever he can. He's got a good sense of right and wrong, he's quite the moralist which might conflict with any time his rider tries to pull some mischievous weyrlinghood prank.
He's also a dragon of little words. He doesn't go talking to just anyone. Cseroth would rather observe -- it's the stealthy commando coming out in him. He'll watch, make observations to His - but he won't bring them up again unless they are needed. Like if he sees a rider doing something naughty, he might have to let the Weyrlingmaster know, Because it is only right that he knows everything. - he'll make the excuse. It's his moralistic nature again. Cseroth isn't some boring ingot, either. He has skills other then monitoring his fellow dragons and His. He'll be in his element when training or in drills. He'll be the first up in the morning, and the last to the couch unless he masters his formations. He'll even urge F'lyn to do his chores promptly and well, earning groans and complaints. Cseroth is cool and calm, which proves more than intimidating in its own rights. If his clutchsiblings decide to bicker, he'll just stand there, and maybe glare. He's not into violence at all. He'd actually prefer being the peacemaker, rather than the antagonist.
History:
Falynor was in the middle of the sea of white, watching Adeloth rather than the eggs. Of course, the moment the first egg started to wobble, his attention was replaced. It wasn't the rabid interest of those who were desperate, or the soft interest of the hopefuls. It was just interest. It was easier not to get his hopes up in this situation, no need to create a reason to be sad later. He hummed lightly, drawing a glance from the boy beside him. Flashing him a smile, he wiggled his fingers at him and let his attention fall back on the eggs. The Hatching had started, and try as he might, he couldn't help but feel excited.
Even when half the eggs had born tiny dragons, that excitement was still there. It was hard not to be - things happened so quickly, there was always something new going on. But by the end, around the time a clumsy little blue hatched, Falynor was starting to feel a bit discouraged. How could he not? After 26 eggs, not one of them had been for him. There weren't that many left. He quickly pushed that emotion away and let his mind drift to happier things.
F'lynmine, those pictures in your head are pretty, but you should stop thinking about them long enough to feed me, a distinctly different voice spoke into his head. The boy startled and found himself grinning. The voice was so...beautiful. Like the pleasant trickle of a brook, complete with faint bird-song and the breeze in the trees within his mind. His words were gentle and flowing, with an almost fairy-tale gentlemanly concern. Though now the concern was over his own empty little stomach. The new rider reached down to place a finger the blue muzzle. It was bumped off with another query for food. Of course he complied.
Clutch:
Adoleth's 11th by Bronze Bristith
Hatching Order:
Twenty-seventh
Wing:
A11
