|
Persona Name: J'rand (Rand) Former Name:Jerand Rank: Weyrlingmaster Gender/Sexual Orientation: Male/Hetero Age: 37 Location: Mornings Dawn Weyr Birthdate: I172.08.20 Birthplace: Vamori Hold Parents: Both of J'rand's parents died in the plague. His father, Javer, was a Mastersmith assigned to Vamori hold. His mother; Lellaran, had no particular position. She raised her children, and worked as any other hold woman. Foster Parents: n/a Siblings: : J'rand has one older brother, Farald, and two sisters. Farald is 44, a Mastersmith at Vamori Hold. His eldest sister, Laretta, is 42, a journeywoman weaver residing at Fort Hold. His youngest surviving sister, Ishabetta is 33. Also at Fort Hold, she is a Masterbaker. Bitalia, the youngest of his siblings would have been 30 this turn, but she died in the plague. She had been an apprentice Harper. Children: n/a Weyrmate/Spouse: J'rand lost his weyrmate, Verandala in the plague. She was a cook at Morning's Dawn. Others: n/a Physical Description J'rand is a tall man, (six foot eight inches), though without the lanky look of many tall men. More than one person has assumed from his proportions that he is quite a bit smaller, only to find themselves craning their necks to look up into his face when they approach him. The broad shoulders and massive chest that foster this optical illusion are his father's legacy, though a youth spent as an apprentice smith didn't hurt, either. Lately, he has begun to fear that he is developing a bit of a pot belly, though it is invisible to any impartial observer. Besides his stature, J'rand's most striking feature is his thick, red-blond hair. He keeps it cut fairly short, but it still seems to have a mind of it's own, sticking out in all directions. His brother used to joke (and still does, when they see each other) that J"rand looked as if he were wearing a startled hearthfire for a hat. J'rand would (and still does) just grin his crooked grin, and run his hands through his hair, emphasizing the effect. Instead of the light skin and eyes one might expect to match his hair, the bronzerider has deep brown eyes, and skin the tanned the color of worn leather. Exposure to sun and wind have begun to prematurely wrinkle his face. The creases at the corners of his eyes bespeak long days squinting against sun-glare, and long nights of laughter. The lines beginning to form around his mouth are also smile lines, though, since the plague and the start of fall, lines of pain and sorrow are also present. His prominent nose has a distinct tilt to it, having been broken in his youth. He refuses to tell how it happened, though he always smiles when he's asked. He still does forgework when he has the time. His little hobby, as he calls it, leaves his hands and forearms covered with tiny scars from the inevitable small burns. Some are near faded into nothingness, some are fresh, and they change every sevenday. The long, puckered threadscore down his left arm from shoulder to elbow doesn't change. Though no longer the open, red wound he received in the first year of the pass, it will never fade completely. J'rand always stands very straight. He walks purposefully, without wasted motion. He is a very poor dancer (too stiff), though he is quite good at most other physical activities. He is a notably good climber (He gets plenty of practice rescuing his danger-prone feline, Peril.) On the rare occasion that he can be persuaded to join in a wrestling competition at a gather, he wins. J'rand prefers to wear simple clothing in shades of dark gray. He says it's the only color guaranteed not to clash with his hair. He also wears an elaborate, interlocking clasp in place of a belt buckle, a gift from his father at J'rand's Impression. Javer had clapped him on the shoulder, and told him in a tear-roughened voice that it was a good thing he'd Impressed. "You'd've been a left-handed Smith. That always looks awkward anyhow. Stick with the dragon." he'd teased. "You'll be a fine rider, son, but you'll be missed at home. Sorely missed." Bitalia, entrusted with the gift his parents had brought to the hatching, had held it out proudly. She'd been nearly bursting with the idea that her brother would ride a bronze. "Father made it." she'd said. "For congratulations if you did Impress, and consolation if you didn't!" At 11 turns old, she still cared more for truth than tact. J'rand had been elated at eighteen, when he had been selected by a bluerider on Search as a Candidate for a Morning's Dawn hatching. He never truly believed that he would Impress, but the chance for a dragonride was exciting enough for him. When Arbeth burst from his shell, the lone bronze in the clutch, and made straight for him, he was absolutely stunned. He later laughed that he had looked like a poleaxed herdbeast for a week. Soon after his weyrling training, he had fallen in love with Verandala (Dala, for short), a cook in the lower caverns, and taken her as weyrmate. She had been expecting their first child when the plague took her life. Coupled with the deaths of his parents and his beloved baby sister Bitalia, all within a few sevendays, it was too much for J'rand to bear. He went about, face as empty as a dragonless rider's. It was finally Arbeth that coaxed him back into an interest in everyday life, and just in time. Threadfall began soon after, and all hands were needed.
Though he has many casual friends, J'rand has few close ones. After the death of his weyrmate and parents in the Plague, J'rand lost the desire for close relationships. Perhaps out of fear of yet more loss, he keeps everyone at arm's length. With a laugh or a jest, he expertly evades serious personal questions. Similarly, he has had no romantic liaisons since his wyermate's death. His dragon, Arbeth, has occasionally flown a green. Though both dragon and rider enjoy those experiences, those encounters have never developed into a more serious attachment. His brother pushes him to find new relationships, but J'rand cannot seem to do so. (Perhaps a clutch of weyrlings approaching their dangerous flying and betweening lessons, and then experiencing their first threadfalls can break through his shell of indifference...) Always ready with a grin and a self-depreciating joke, J'rand is nearly impossible to insult. If it's not true, he doesn't care what you say. If it's true, he'll laugh at it, unless he considers it important. If it's important, he'll go away to think it over, and try to improve it in the future, but he won't get into a fight over it. He will, however, make very sure that rules are followed. When disobedience seems imminent, he'll explain the reason for the rule, and why it's best followed. If that doesn't work, he isn't adverse to resorting to his mother's old standby "Because I said so, and I'm in charge here!" When rule-breaking occurs, the punishment is swift and appropriate. "Poetic justice" is one of J'rand's favorite expressions. J'rand's sense of humor is strongly ironic. He also has a weakness for puns, though he usually manages to restrain himself. If you see him trying to hide a spreading grin, someone has probably just made an unintentional pun or double-entendre. Trained early as a Smith, he retains some of that mindset. He is quick to puzzle out the inner workings of all manner of devices. Always seeking for a better way to do things, he invents simple devices and procedures to make tasks easier and more efficient.
He is not easily distracted, and reacts well in emergencies. His strong visualization skills stand him in good stead during Threadfall. He always knows exactly where he is and where he's going.
|
|
|
|
|