Jadoryn

[Jadoryn]

Player: Azazel
Best Reached: "admin" account T'laes - "weyrleader", Sostosian - "sostosian"; or cbox
Name: Jadoryn
Age: 17
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Bisexual
Duties Around the Weyrhold: Dishes, laundry, purifying water, and he's usually around the Healers area enough that he can bandage people as well
Rank: Drudge
Appearance: Jadoryn is 5'4" tall, with a rather vehement complex against being called "short", with black hair and dark eyes which appear black as well in most lights. He has high cheekbones, so much that it shows lines on his face near his lips, which are particularly feminine and pink in color. He has a pointed chin and round ears despite the overall sharp features to his face. There's a crick on the bridge of his nose from a smack into a cavern wall he didn't expect a few turns ago.

Over all, Jadoryn has almost no muscle to him, and he's usually extremely skinny. He's always been "under the weather" as far as health goes, and if he doesn't have a cold then rest assured that something is wrong with him. Despite this, he's almost always well groomed, as the Healers have got him into a habit of compulsively bathing often.

Jadoryn has a great number of small scars across his arms, legs, and back from the sheer number of times he's taken ill and fainted, the very reason he's stuck with the life of a drudge. Jadoryn periodically collapses after his breathing will cut out on him, occasionally falling into seizures. He tends to be pampered and taken care of, but it's made him somewhat lazy as a result.

His clothes are typical for the poor, often consisting of lose pants and shirt with a long wool coat pulled over it for warmth as he seems to lose body heat at an alarming rate. Bandages aren't uncommon to find on him either after he's experienced one of his fainting spells, and he usually has contusions of some sort on his face. His lips take the most abuse, in that he knows not to bite his tongue, so before he passes out, so long as he knows it's coming, he'll bite down onto his bottom lip until it bleeds or he'll stick his fingers into his mouth and bite them. This doesn't help in blocking his fall, but it's kept him from being a mute.

His voice is usually very soft, and he seems almost always as if he's more lost in thought than he is interested in a conversation, though he tends to smile a lot at people if he isn't spacing out entirely.

Personality: Jadoryn doesn't like to talk to people anymore. He used to be somewhat quiet, but he let his dragon be his voice. Now, he's just plain lost in his mind half of the time. He's paranoid of being ill, and yet at the same time he's always been so frightened of dying that he's scared to follow his green between. Jadoryn tends to keep to himself, walking around almost ghost-like in that he doesn't really speak to anyone, anymore. When people try to comfort him, the only spark that mentally he's still alive that he'll give them is to brush them off or whine at them to be quiet, because he doesn't want to talk, that was her job.

When Jadoryn spaces off into his own little world, he'll usually tap on what's in front of him as if he's beating a drum, tending to play a small song just for himself. He hums as well, but he tries not to let others hear it, songs he wrote himself that he can't seem to fully recall. He knows bits of them, and when they come to him, he comforts himself with them.

Jadoryn acts somewhat "pathetic". He's always been needy, but now he'll not eat unless he's nearly forced, and he'll ignore even those who used to help him, more like a child who just had their best friend die than an adult, who mourns. Jadoryn doesn't know how to mourn, and he hates to his those older than him crying, usually getting annoyed with them and brushing past them irritably.
History: Jadoryn was born at a Weyr to a pair of dragonriders, though he hadn’t aspired to become one himself. Jadoryn loved to sing and play on simple drums and flutes. A strange sort of Weyrbrat, he was given the right to go and become a Harper, so when he reached thirteen turns, he went to make the move too the Hall with a small caravan on runnerback. Jadoryn doesn’t remember the trip there, but he remembers waking up from the accident. Jadoryn was lucky he survived, but his condition wasn’t a good one.

On the way, a feline had startled the runners. Jadoryn’s runner, tagging along behind the rest, had gotten bitten on the hind leg, pulling the runner into a fit as the cat attacked. Jadoryn was bucked off, and he’d screamed, everyone tells him, before a kick to the head from the dying runner left him unconscious. He can’t recall the matter and nobody ever claimed to be his hero, but he’d woken up half-alive in a Hold some candlemarks later unable to remember what happened to him and barely able to say awake.

He spent nearly a turn in recovery despite the fact that he’d seemed well most of the time. It was during this turn that Jadoryn began to collapse and faint, occasionally seizing before he hit the ground. His body started to get thinner and thinner for the first time as he constantly spent time asleep. Walking too far made him weak and dizzy, and soon the Harper Hall rejected him when the Healers claimed that Jadoryn may not recover.

Sent back to his foster parents, Jadoryn worked on various chores, all simple, until he built himself back up in strength as best he could manage. A hatching at the Weyr in the early morning was the first thing in two turns to drag Jadoryn out of bed on time. He watched eagerly, enjoying the atmosphere and excitement as candidate after candidate Impressed. After the second gold Neziacath had Impressed to Canaulia, however, Jadoryn found the bustle a bit too much and he’d fallen asleep on his foster mother’s loving shoulder – making him miss a frantic green which demanded her way into the stands and bugled loud directly into Jadoryn’s face. After all, he had been born of riders, and thus able to Impress, but with the state of his head, he hadn’t thought he would – not that he truly considered him cut out for the life. He couldn’t lift a bag of firestone without falling over.

But Kalsoriath insisted. “J’rynmine, wake up! Up! Your Kalsoriath is hungry! You can sleep after you feed her!”

J’ryn, it’d only been his name for two turns. Weyrlings died all the time, J’ryn pessimistically believed that the first time he went between was going to be his last, but he managed to graduate. Flying had terrified him, but they’d done it. Every task set before them, at least the major ones, they had managed to achieve with practice, time, and love. To all of J’ryn’s pessimism, Kalsoriath permanently remained the optimist, and it was she who demanded that they follow her goldsister to the new Weyrhold! Despite the fact that many people seemed adamant that J’ryn was not to go, he’d barely even managed to graduate let alone the fact that he’d never recovered fully from his disorder. J’ryn didn’t care. It was what Kalsoriath wanted, and that’s simply what had to happen.

Sometime before the queen’s Flight, Kalsoriath took her own maiden Flight, and mated to a blue. J’ryn found himself fancying the rider and they quickly became weyrmates. Things were going fantastic, though, and J’ryn continued to lose weight at a rapid rate for some strange reason. He just simply couldn’t manage to stomach food, and he seemed to be getting weak again.

The day of the eruption, J’ryn had been wrapped up comfortably in bed with his lover. The blue dragon received a call to the skies, and the two lovers dressed quickly as the ground beneath them began to shake wildly. They took off, J’ryn calling out to his dragon as he clung to his ‘mate. The smoke that went overhead was searing hot, and through Kalsoriath’s eyes he saw the smoke surround her. Her skin had itched tight before she blinked between. He held his breath, anxious for her return, desperate to know if she was all right.

She didn’t ever come back, but J’ryn waited and waited, until like always, he passed out only to wake up to the next great disaster in his life. J’ryn had become dragonless. He was still young, and already he had lost so much. The weakness his body felt was the only reason he didn’t follow Kalsoriath in death. Angry and weak, he hated himself for lacking the strength to kill himself. There always seemed to be someone watching him, and he hated it as he shut in on himself, encouraged to do small tasks again so long as he could manage to get out of bed.

J’ryn rejected being called by the name his dragon gave him. He was Jadoryn again. The life he was living was the same as before, worthless.

Pets: None

[/blockquote]