Wingleader R'ollan and
Bronze Morlanth
Played By: Cymiri
Character Name: R’ollan
Pronounciation: Row-lan
Character Type: Dragonrider
Rank: Wingleader
Political Alignment: Neutral
Age: 32
Gender: Male
Sexual Preference: Heterosexual
Appearance:
R’ollan is not anyone’s idea of a dashing bronzerider, least of all the Fort establishment’s- or in fact any who would prefer it if their bronzeriders looked worthy of idolization and every inch the hero that political spin makes them out to be. He has a high forehead and a crooked nose, his skin is olive in tone, and he has a lean, somewhat awkward build that looks as if it could have been graceful but missed the mark somewhere.
His thick, slightly wavy and somewhat stringy black hair is neck-length and is worn in a simple style. Green eyes are deep-set in a craggy face, topped by thin, sardonic eyebrows. When not in riding gear, his wardrobe is dignified and utilitarian, featuring a substantial amount of purple, but still he manages less the aura of the haughty, supreme mountain feline predator then the domestic pet that got caught by the laundry water. Somehow, no one who casts him a second glance can resist the word ‘bedraggled’.
Personality:
R’ollan is a determined man, outgoing but not very optimistic. He occasionally leaves the viewer with the impression of a distant, distracted irritability, but mostly projects a serenity many mistake as evasiveness. He appears, and to a small extent is, melancholy, but it is salvaged by an assertive streak. He can be courageous, but disguises it under a pessimistic façade that many find off-putting. But a naturally humble nature does not get one through Fort candidacy in one piece. It certainly isn’t a survival tactic for a boy who impressed bronze, either. So how does a quiet boy who does not want to swank and posture avoid getting bits of him handed back to him on a platter by those who mastered those arts?
R’ollan’s answer lay in developing a hair-trigger temper. Although it is very much a tool, and one he would not be stupid enough to deploy at the powers above him, equals and underlings who unwisely pick a fight or start trouble are greeted with a bottle-covey-worthy temper explosion that magically manages to stay on the allowable side of the line- but only just. Most, shocked at the slightly over the top and certainly very impressive tantrum from an otherwise unimpressive specimen, will back down swiftly, if only to make the tirade stop before their ears pop. Observers, not caught in the blistering path, tend to find it amusing, as R’ollan has an impressive harpering skill at insults that suggest he was a loss to the bawdy sort of harper’s tale. More seriously, it keeps trouble-makers at distance and has earned him a reputation of sorts that heads off most trouble by itself these days. Ironically, his steelier, slightly stubborn but far less suicidal ‘real’ temper is kept in very tight check and only occasionally surfaces when someone who ranks him pushes him that bit too far, R’ollan actually being quite placid by nature.
He has kept alive a childhood thirst for knowledge, tempered now also by a desire for power, though less for the classical reasons then because if he has it, people will leave him alone. Well, actually, they will plague him for a bunch of new reasons, but he doesn’t mind the mechanics of being in charge of things, provided there is no one sneering or trying to lord it over him. He has had enough of that for one lifetime.
R'ollan is amusingly petrified of children and the young. He wants to be all the right things, but has utterly no clue how to go about it and really wishes he could just invite them to have a swig of good wine with him.
R'ollan is an inveterate ladies' man too, and rarely goes long without some star eyed pretty on one sleeve- or two. He is a genial lover, though, easy come and rarely offended. Just don't expect to nail him down for long- if the woman who can do that exists, he hasn't met her yet.
That said, and his 'girls' may not always be aware of it, but while he has a faintly paternalistic attitude that may wear the nerves of his less traditional conquests, R'ollan also was raised to treat girls well and look after them by a rather fearsome mother. He's not going to activly track you once you leave his sight, but if any of 'his' women ever came back to him to ask for help, chances are they'd get it. Maybe with added grumbling, certainly with a moan or two, but it would be exceedingly rare to get an outright refusal. He has a soft and sentimental heart somewhere in there.
Birth Place: R’ollan was born Rollanadar at Fort Hold
Parents: Mother: Allana, a laundress Father: Roldan, travelling journeyman Harper.
History:
R’ollan is exactly what you get when you take a quiet natured, scholarly, amiable boy with little driving ambition and no political interests and hammer him on the anvil of Fort candidacy. Still back home at Fort Hold, he had proved a gangling, inept sort of boy, hopeless at his father’s craft, not much good at any others but not content to a life of drudgery either. Miraculously, a search rider thought he might have a chance at impressing to brown, so he took it- and himself to the Weyr.
At the Hold, he had managed to avoid most of the boys his age. In Candidacy, that wasn’t an option, and for a few years he had they joy of being a sitting target, in the main for his lack of any ambition past ‘Well, impress a dragon, I suppose.’ He didn’t jockey in the power stakes, or any of the other things a wise boy learns to do. Also, while he hardly curried the favor of the boy-lovers, girls-standing-for-colors and other freaks, he wasn’t quite vocal enough in his condemnation, either, preferring a live-and-let-live, leave-me-alone-and-I-will-do-the-same attitude to those poor, strange specimens. Surely they were more to be pitied then condemned? Uh… wrong, apparently.
One day, pushed far too far, he very uncharacteristically exploded, ending up the remarkably eloquent rant [well, he IS a harper’s son, after all] with a good sock to the other boy’s face that laid him out –but only briefly. For a while, everyone left him alone. No fights, no hazing… and so, the next time someone did try something, he attempted a reprise…and again… and again. Eventually, it became a habit, but it was one that got him left alone, a jot of something that could pass as respect from some and a quiet life.
No one was more surprised than he when he impressed bronze as part of Zarith and Mayrth's 08.07.03.08 clutch- brown had been the utmost heights he had aspired to. Weyrlinghood had the possibility of being tough for a boy not really in a suitable role- but, ya know, that reputation preceded him. So they managed, and by now he had learnt to pay a more convincing lip service to the traditional attitudes. He graduated having done better than anyone, themselves included, expected. He first served in the wing of T'valfer, which rather solidified his disdain for the ambitious.
Since then, they have woven a careful path through Fort politics that has left them standing on the ‘right’ side more than the ‘wrong’ and served them well enough for their ambitions. R’ollan doesn’t like having to punish or hurt underlings, especially those in the tormented ‘freak’ groups, because he would far rather let everyone be, but it doesn’t mean he won’t, because one lesson he learnt very well in candidacy was that self-preservation trumps fellow-feeling any day. He is usually amiable to work with but demands high standards and slacking off is an easy way to earn a dose of the notorious declaiming temper. All in all, they fly a middle path between what is expected and what they can be bothered with, and don’t seem to be doing too badly from it.
R'ollan knows, in his more sensible layers, that at the rate he swings through women he must have more then one child out there. One pitching up on his doorstep however, was more freak out then he needed. He's still not too sure how he feels about said son's green impression, but he'll give the boy the benifit of some doubt for now.
Talking about women, what did he do to deserve crossing paths with then gold-candidate Ardany? She was even a little on the young side for his usual tastes...though a neck (and balls) of brass might explain that. All the same, their rocky relationship still gets the odd revisitation. If nothing else, she keeps him on his toes- or nerves. He isn't sure.
Recently though, R'ollan finds himself getting sad- or 'feeling old' as he tends to put it. He sees Fort deviating more and more from the sane and sensible. It’s a step up from Masena's utter disaster, but it’s going to far the other way and only trouble will come of it. Instead of kicking over the traces in protest, though, he is slipping into apathy instead. His joking (for he cannot take it as serious) promotion to wingsecond did nothing to divert it.
For a man who is very astute under it all, and one as well informed as he keeps himself despite his lacidasicality, one might wonder why he continues to openly associate with K'sin and his rebellious attitude to the current administration. *Especially* given that they will never see eye to eye on the topic of the Weyrwoman (on whom R'ollan has, though he would never admit it, the faintest of crushes), Is he really blind to the noose it could create for his own neck? Does he hope to moderate the rather hard-line vision the young man has? Or has he really given up and stopped caring?
Apparently, it may be the latter. Because while R'ollan is shocked to the bone and even more saddened by the twin tragedies of the 'Long Night', the awful deaths of the 2 golds especially...and while he and his ambitious bronze do *not* take kindly to the intruders at the deeper levels that still exist under the apathy, his reaction to Z'vin's announcement was hilarity. The man is so obviously desperate he couldn't help it. He just had to laugh
But he's leaving well alone, and was not one of those who caused trouble that morning.
Why? Because the Istan buffon can't do any worse than the rest of them. Seriously, who cares?
He does, but whether he'll do anything about it remains to be seen.
~~Dragon~~
Dragon Name: Morlanth
Color: Bronze
Age: 15
Appearance:
Morlanth has a broad, elongated body with a deep chest and long, muscular limbs. He also has an impressive set of talons, even for a dragon, which fortunately counterbalance wings that, whilst normal and average in every respect, on him somehow just seem… frilly. If anyone dared say it to his face.
His faceted eyes are wide and deep in a broad, blunt-muzzled skull. His colour is the bronze of dancing flame, shading lighter to the front of his body and much darker at the tail. He is one of those dragons that just seem to have that built-in sneer. He is a pretty average size for a bronze.
Personality:
Morlanth is cannier then his rider, with a more ambitious and underhand nature that complements R’ollan well. He is also lazier. He has an equal stubborn streak and a tendency to smugness when he achieves. He is distrustful, especially of other rankers, and keeps a careful eye on his own and his rider’s back lest someone appear with a knife to stick in it. Oddly enough, he likes stories, and several harpers may find themselves being casually eavesdropped on.
Weyr of Origin: Fort Weyr
Abilities and weaknesses:
Pronounciation: Row-lan
Character Type: Dragonrider
Rank: Wingleader
Political Alignment: Neutral
Age: 32
Gender: Male
Sexual Preference: Heterosexual
Appearance:
R’ollan is not anyone’s idea of a dashing bronzerider, least of all the Fort establishment’s- or in fact any who would prefer it if their bronzeriders looked worthy of idolization and every inch the hero that political spin makes them out to be. He has a high forehead and a crooked nose, his skin is olive in tone, and he has a lean, somewhat awkward build that looks as if it could have been graceful but missed the mark somewhere.
His thick, slightly wavy and somewhat stringy black hair is neck-length and is worn in a simple style. Green eyes are deep-set in a craggy face, topped by thin, sardonic eyebrows. When not in riding gear, his wardrobe is dignified and utilitarian, featuring a substantial amount of purple, but still he manages less the aura of the haughty, supreme mountain feline predator then the domestic pet that got caught by the laundry water. Somehow, no one who casts him a second glance can resist the word ‘bedraggled’.
Personality:
R’ollan is a determined man, outgoing but not very optimistic. He occasionally leaves the viewer with the impression of a distant, distracted irritability, but mostly projects a serenity many mistake as evasiveness. He appears, and to a small extent is, melancholy, but it is salvaged by an assertive streak. He can be courageous, but disguises it under a pessimistic façade that many find off-putting. But a naturally humble nature does not get one through Fort candidacy in one piece. It certainly isn’t a survival tactic for a boy who impressed bronze, either. So how does a quiet boy who does not want to swank and posture avoid getting bits of him handed back to him on a platter by those who mastered those arts?
R’ollan’s answer lay in developing a hair-trigger temper. Although it is very much a tool, and one he would not be stupid enough to deploy at the powers above him, equals and underlings who unwisely pick a fight or start trouble are greeted with a bottle-covey-worthy temper explosion that magically manages to stay on the allowable side of the line- but only just. Most, shocked at the slightly over the top and certainly very impressive tantrum from an otherwise unimpressive specimen, will back down swiftly, if only to make the tirade stop before their ears pop. Observers, not caught in the blistering path, tend to find it amusing, as R’ollan has an impressive harpering skill at insults that suggest he was a loss to the bawdy sort of harper’s tale. More seriously, it keeps trouble-makers at distance and has earned him a reputation of sorts that heads off most trouble by itself these days. Ironically, his steelier, slightly stubborn but far less suicidal ‘real’ temper is kept in very tight check and only occasionally surfaces when someone who ranks him pushes him that bit too far, R’ollan actually being quite placid by nature.
He has kept alive a childhood thirst for knowledge, tempered now also by a desire for power, though less for the classical reasons then because if he has it, people will leave him alone. Well, actually, they will plague him for a bunch of new reasons, but he doesn’t mind the mechanics of being in charge of things, provided there is no one sneering or trying to lord it over him. He has had enough of that for one lifetime.
R'ollan is amusingly petrified of children and the young. He wants to be all the right things, but has utterly no clue how to go about it and really wishes he could just invite them to have a swig of good wine with him.
R'ollan is an inveterate ladies' man too, and rarely goes long without some star eyed pretty on one sleeve- or two. He is a genial lover, though, easy come and rarely offended. Just don't expect to nail him down for long- if the woman who can do that exists, he hasn't met her yet.
That said, and his 'girls' may not always be aware of it, but while he has a faintly paternalistic attitude that may wear the nerves of his less traditional conquests, R'ollan also was raised to treat girls well and look after them by a rather fearsome mother. He's not going to activly track you once you leave his sight, but if any of 'his' women ever came back to him to ask for help, chances are they'd get it. Maybe with added grumbling, certainly with a moan or two, but it would be exceedingly rare to get an outright refusal. He has a soft and sentimental heart somewhere in there.
Birth Place: R’ollan was born Rollanadar at Fort Hold
Parents: Mother: Allana, a laundress Father: Roldan, travelling journeyman Harper.
History:
R’ollan is exactly what you get when you take a quiet natured, scholarly, amiable boy with little driving ambition and no political interests and hammer him on the anvil of Fort candidacy. Still back home at Fort Hold, he had proved a gangling, inept sort of boy, hopeless at his father’s craft, not much good at any others but not content to a life of drudgery either. Miraculously, a search rider thought he might have a chance at impressing to brown, so he took it- and himself to the Weyr.
At the Hold, he had managed to avoid most of the boys his age. In Candidacy, that wasn’t an option, and for a few years he had they joy of being a sitting target, in the main for his lack of any ambition past ‘Well, impress a dragon, I suppose.’ He didn’t jockey in the power stakes, or any of the other things a wise boy learns to do. Also, while he hardly curried the favor of the boy-lovers, girls-standing-for-colors and other freaks, he wasn’t quite vocal enough in his condemnation, either, preferring a live-and-let-live, leave-me-alone-and-I-will-do-the-same attitude to those poor, strange specimens. Surely they were more to be pitied then condemned? Uh… wrong, apparently.
One day, pushed far too far, he very uncharacteristically exploded, ending up the remarkably eloquent rant [well, he IS a harper’s son, after all] with a good sock to the other boy’s face that laid him out –but only briefly. For a while, everyone left him alone. No fights, no hazing… and so, the next time someone did try something, he attempted a reprise…and again… and again. Eventually, it became a habit, but it was one that got him left alone, a jot of something that could pass as respect from some and a quiet life.
No one was more surprised than he when he impressed bronze as part of Zarith and Mayrth's 08.07.03.08 clutch- brown had been the utmost heights he had aspired to. Weyrlinghood had the possibility of being tough for a boy not really in a suitable role- but, ya know, that reputation preceded him. So they managed, and by now he had learnt to pay a more convincing lip service to the traditional attitudes. He graduated having done better than anyone, themselves included, expected. He first served in the wing of T'valfer, which rather solidified his disdain for the ambitious.
Since then, they have woven a careful path through Fort politics that has left them standing on the ‘right’ side more than the ‘wrong’ and served them well enough for their ambitions. R’ollan doesn’t like having to punish or hurt underlings, especially those in the tormented ‘freak’ groups, because he would far rather let everyone be, but it doesn’t mean he won’t, because one lesson he learnt very well in candidacy was that self-preservation trumps fellow-feeling any day. He is usually amiable to work with but demands high standards and slacking off is an easy way to earn a dose of the notorious declaiming temper. All in all, they fly a middle path between what is expected and what they can be bothered with, and don’t seem to be doing too badly from it.
R'ollan knows, in his more sensible layers, that at the rate he swings through women he must have more then one child out there. One pitching up on his doorstep however, was more freak out then he needed. He's still not too sure how he feels about said son's green impression, but he'll give the boy the benifit of some doubt for now.
Talking about women, what did he do to deserve crossing paths with then gold-candidate Ardany? She was even a little on the young side for his usual tastes...though a neck (and balls) of brass might explain that. All the same, their rocky relationship still gets the odd revisitation. If nothing else, she keeps him on his toes- or nerves. He isn't sure.
Recently though, R'ollan finds himself getting sad- or 'feeling old' as he tends to put it. He sees Fort deviating more and more from the sane and sensible. It’s a step up from Masena's utter disaster, but it’s going to far the other way and only trouble will come of it. Instead of kicking over the traces in protest, though, he is slipping into apathy instead. His joking (for he cannot take it as serious) promotion to wingsecond did nothing to divert it.
For a man who is very astute under it all, and one as well informed as he keeps himself despite his lacidasicality, one might wonder why he continues to openly associate with K'sin and his rebellious attitude to the current administration. *Especially* given that they will never see eye to eye on the topic of the Weyrwoman (on whom R'ollan has, though he would never admit it, the faintest of crushes), Is he really blind to the noose it could create for his own neck? Does he hope to moderate the rather hard-line vision the young man has? Or has he really given up and stopped caring?
Apparently, it may be the latter. Because while R'ollan is shocked to the bone and even more saddened by the twin tragedies of the 'Long Night', the awful deaths of the 2 golds especially...and while he and his ambitious bronze do *not* take kindly to the intruders at the deeper levels that still exist under the apathy, his reaction to Z'vin's announcement was hilarity. The man is so obviously desperate he couldn't help it. He just had to laugh
But he's leaving well alone, and was not one of those who caused trouble that morning.
Why? Because the Istan buffon can't do any worse than the rest of them. Seriously, who cares?
He does, but whether he'll do anything about it remains to be seen.
~~Dragon~~
Dragon Name: Morlanth
Color: Bronze
Age: 15
Appearance:
Morlanth has a broad, elongated body with a deep chest and long, muscular limbs. He also has an impressive set of talons, even for a dragon, which fortunately counterbalance wings that, whilst normal and average in every respect, on him somehow just seem… frilly. If anyone dared say it to his face.
His faceted eyes are wide and deep in a broad, blunt-muzzled skull. His colour is the bronze of dancing flame, shading lighter to the front of his body and much darker at the tail. He is one of those dragons that just seem to have that built-in sneer. He is a pretty average size for a bronze.
Personality:
Morlanth is cannier then his rider, with a more ambitious and underhand nature that complements R’ollan well. He is also lazier. He has an equal stubborn streak and a tendency to smugness when he achieves. He is distrustful, especially of other rankers, and keeps a careful eye on his own and his rider’s back lest someone appear with a knife to stick in it. Oddly enough, he likes stories, and several harpers may find themselves being casually eavesdropped on.
Weyr of Origin: Fort Weyr
Abilities and weaknesses: