Unknown, probably bisexualLocation:
Dragon CandidateAge-Out Date:Personality:
Under the placid appearance of Kallen’s broad face and half-sloped shoulders, the small man is close to shaking with rage, because he loves this new world, this world he has been denied so long. How could anybody dislike Dalibor Weyr, dislike their new and exciting ways? He talks very little, and when he does, the words sound rehearsed. Because they are. He doesn’t want to seem as abnormal as he believes he is, with the hill-hold mumble rather than the clearer tones of the Weyr and greater Holds; with the shy (or worse, hissed like they could mean the end of the world) questions--about history, relations, colors of beasts, songs, and Holds. And the folk of Dalibor must know, too, that Kallen is meticulous. Everything must be understood, found out, examined and classified for him to sleep at night. He has seen that the world is a dark place, and his guiding light takes the form of organization, body and mind. He loves to write since being moved to the Candidate Barracks, practicing on sandtables and slates and pottery shards, at last having a chance to extend the education Bazyon kept from him for so long. He was bound once by laziness and tomfoolery, living with a snake among the wherries, but he is determined to not be weak again. Physically, Kallen will go to any length to visually and mentally distance himself from his wreck of a father. He is neat, tidy, groomed for what he hopes to be every occasion and possibility. His outfit is nearly always soft grey-brown, a color he feels blends well into stone, creating the illusion one is part of the other.
But, despite Kallen’s history and steep learning curve, he is also a boy, with a boy’s pride in his looks and assumption that his future is bright. He is almost never seen without a comb, because what if you know, just needed to clean his 18-27 chin hairs right then and there? You never know.Appearance:
Kallen’s small, powerful body is built like a barrel, constantly on edge and ready to fight. When he gets too intense in a conversation, he tends to lean forwards, as though trying to make himself look bigger. It doesn’t work, particularly when he overextends and stumbles right
as he was making the best
point. Once he gets another growth spurt on him, he will be an even 6 feet tall, but will never lose the vague resemblance to a wher or guard canine, with his heavy, shamble-footed gait or the way his movements seem to center between his shoulder blades rather than from the shoulder itself. His hair is thick, nut-brown and silky, a forelock occasionally falling forwards across his round wher-face, right down between his round eyes.
The tips of his right fourth and fifth fingers are missing, as are two of his smaller left toes. He also bears a frostbite scar on the side of his left leg, though it does not impede his mobility very much. Family:Mother:
Kaelrim, drudge Father:
In the far North, serving under Bitra Hold, there is a small cothold, little more than a few buildings jammed together. It is called Fair Winds Cot, the best joke anybody, to their knowledge, has told in the area for a very long time. Kaelrim and her husband Bazyon were the owners of one cothold, farming the small amount of tough land that was even arable, every night bringing in their few beasts to sleep in the stone building--the stones twice regulation length to keep in the heat generated by their bodies.
They had always been unlucky with attempts towards children, towards expanding their farm or gaining better repute amongst their neighbors. Unlucky, they said, with farming, and love, and craft, and kin; or so they bemoaned when anybody would listen. Their Farmholder was a kindly sort, or perhaps he simply did not care to often chase up into the cold and wet to try and drag mediocre tithe out of cotholders who asked for nothing but to be left alone.
In the third year of the current Pass was the white wherry plague, and they seemed to trade the symptoms back and for several months, although neither died. Kaelrim and Bazyon managed to have a single child later that year--a boy named Kallen, sturdy when well-fed, born with quite a bit of confusion and fanfare, as there was no way to get a birthing-woman out to their cot, and they wouldn’t have trusted one anyways. Harper-trained, probably, and they didn’t need that
around, telling them what they needed to do and what they didn’t.
Kallen was a biddable child, useful for a farming cot, strong and sensible with the most obvious wher-headed traits of his parents not appearing on immediate inspection. Quickly he learned that his best chance of survival, as well as the survival of his family, was to complete his chores at the farm, or improve upon them. Bazyon and Kaelrim may not have been interested in doing more than what directly benefitted them, but Kallen wanted more. Wanted to adapt and thrive, not just survive, in this cold cot at the top of the world.
When Kallen was eight Turns of age, the Storm of all Passes hit Pern, leaving Fair Winds cot hidden further in the cold and dark of the far North of Pern. Kaelrim barely survived from that horror, forcing Bazyon and Kallen to nurse her back to health even as they hurried to clear the ice and snow from their frozen smallhold. It was here that Kallen gained his frostbite scars, the marks he carries to this day to remind him how tenuous his former life was.
The next Turn was fairly unremarkable, as most Turns of Kallen's life had been at Fair Winds, following the cycles of extreme cold and faint heat, shearing and spinning, the twice-yearly trade runs down to larger Holds, birth and death of their beasts.
It was the Doomfall that ended that. The erratic Fall tore their small world apart, killing beast and parent, leaving Kallen and a handful of their herdbeasts alive, their fields consumed despite Kallen's steady burning of them with agenothree. He buried what he could, Bazyon and Kaelrim both, under cairns to protect their remains in death from Thread, before trying to make his way southwards to slightly safer lands.
The going was slow, trading for what he needed, begging when it suited him, working the most. Ten turns old, his looks could sometimes garner pity, and sometimes the holders and crafters he came across saw another strong back. During his movement south and his time serving as a drudge over the next three Turns, turning to whatever masters could keep him, the word of Dalibor Weyr naturally reached his wide-flung ears. A Weyr who thought forward, who thought ahead...rebellious, certainly, in the eyes of some, but to Kallen their preparation made sense. The world was dangerous, but you could carve out a life if you were clever and fast and farseeing. Which Dalibor was, and Dalibor, a young and growing Weyr, would need workers, riders...Candidates.
With what marks he had earned, and little more than the clothes on his back, Kallen made the journey to Dalibor in the hopes of Search, of service, and of protection under stone and steel.Adoption Preference:
Transfer or KillCross-Impressionable
: YesImpression Preference: This section is completely optional
Desired Colors:Banned Colors
Reds. Out of character, I do not think I could play an effective one in the least.
Preferred Personalities:Mauling Preferences
Up to hamstringing on one leg or loss of an eye. Loss of hands and feet--one hand and/or one foot. Bruised ribs a-okay, as well as light cuts. Please inform me beforehand on big ones (loss of eye, hamstringing), if possible. If not possible, please just do one, not both.