Demisexual, male prefLocation:
The first impression many people receive of T'tallon is… well… that he’s a bit odd. He often speaks in fragments and visual metaphors - when he has something quick and short to say is when it comes out clearest. His attention often is snared unexpectedly, not always with an obvious reason (although there is indeed reason for it). In this way he is distractible, often losing the thread of conversation, or forgetting himself mid-task to follow whatever usually-invisible thing has captured his attention. To complicate things, T'tallon does seem to see things that aren’t before his eyes, and says what he sees as if they are. So sometimes he sounds and looks odder than intended.
There is frequently an air of nervous tension, of coiled energy about him just waiting to be loosed. The kind might call him high-strung, like a racing runnerbeast. The only times this eases are in the infrequent times he sleeps, when he is absolutely alone, or when there’s music involved - for T'tallon loves music, playing, composing, or sometimes just listening. It calms him like nothing else; this could be considered a pity, since beneath the jittering nervousness is a gentle, intelligent man with a whimsical sense of humor that few get to see. He tends to stick to himself, trying to avoid the judgments of those around him as in the past, they have been frequently unfavorable.
T'tallon dislikes fighting; he is afraid of hurting someone without intent and eschews violence if there is any other possible approach to a problem. He’s taken his fair share of being ribbed and pushed around for this preference, but it’s something he takes in stride. If he absolutely, positively has to defend himself or someone/something he cares for, he will. Perhaps not very effectively given his lack of training, but he will.Appearance:
Standing a spindly 6’0” tall and unhealthily lean enough to give him the illusion of being taller, T'tallon has the ectomorphic type of body that many a kitchen staff member has tried to bulk up and failed, and pale skin that really could use a bit of sun. Straight, dark brown hair is kept cropped relatively short, although it generally looks as though it could stand a good trim, framing a firm-boned face. His heavy brows shadow blue eyes so pale that they fade towards grey, gaze often a bit distant or unfocused, contributing to the general assessment of ‘he’s not all there’.
His clothing is generally slightly frayed and too loose for him, as he simply doesn’t pay much attention to it; if it doesn’t have holes and covers what it’s supposed to cover, it’s good enough. Tristallon has restless hands: always flexing, stretching, or engaging in repetitive motions, like rubbing the small, sparkling, polished-smooth crystal he uses as a ‘worry stone’. Coupled with a tendency to twitch or flinch over unexpected sounds or images, it gives him the air of being perpetually nervous; a bit of bagging under his eyes also gives him the contrasting look of being perpetually tired. Whether he actually is or not, of course, depends entirely on the situation.Family:
Father: Tevienon, journeyman harper, Western Harper Hall
Mother: Trisea, kitchen staff, Western Harper Hall
Brother: Dornevien, journeyman farmcrafter, Ruatha HoldPets:
Tristallon was born at Western, where his father had been posted to the then-young Harper Hall and met (and fell in love with) his mother. The younger of two boys, Tristallon was close to his elder brother, Dornevien, and sadly missed him when the elder left home to pursue an apprenticeship in the farmcraft. Showing some talent for his father’s craft, Tris was ushered into apprenticeship there at twelve and bid to be a fair harper someday, although not outstanding. Maybe. If he just focused and stopped acting so oddly
Thing was, a childhood oddity for talking about places he’d never been and things he couldn’t possibly have seen never really stopped. At first, it was brushed off as a youngling’s love of making up stories; but as the Turns progressed, his family and the other denizens of the Hall had to admit it was something else. He believed
what he said, insisted he saw them, felt them, heard them. And the odd, disjointed snippets he spoke of had the disturbing habit of being either entirely plausible with no proof, or turning out to be true.
It was, perhaps, understandable that few people really trusted him as he dragged through his first Turns as an apprentice. He was either lying, or spying, or just plain demented, depending on who was asked. Suspicion and unfriendliness, coupled with frequent flickers and floods of images he didn’t understand the source of, slowly turned Tris into a flinching, awkward, reclusive young man, preferring his music and solitude over trying to make himself understood. At least when there was music, there was only
music in his head.
It was one of the journeymen at the Hall that finally started noticing a pattern between the nervous apprentice’s quiet, more sensible periods of music-making and the odd statements that he made in between times. It took an arrival of her own firelizard with a note from home to cement her theory. Tristallon, still half-immersed in modifying a new melody, commented that “the fire-top was kind, giving her tastes of the sea.” The journeyman’s firelizard had only just finished sending her pictures of the woman’s redheaded friend bribing the green with dried fish. Tristallon, then, had seen the same images her pet had provided, without making any effort to do so.
It explained rather a lot. And although it didn’t exactly fix the problem or completely dispel all of the negative opinions about him, it certainly made it easier to progress in his lessons over the next Turn. And then his frequently unsteady life got flipped upside down all over again: he was Searched. Although he wasn’t entirely certain that he’d have any better luck fitting in at Dalibor Weyr, Tris accepted the Search. Just to see where it went.
Of course, he didn’t count on the number of firelizards the Weyr had...Dragon Name:
IothDragon Color:White (#e1ded0)Dragon Age:
< 1 Turn (WI:17 11P)Dragon Length:
Weyrling (Adult 17 feet)Dragon Personality:
(Written by Ruin)
Intelligent, and empathic, Ioth easily encompasses everything that Pern has come to expect from its Whites. From birth he sought to find his soulmate and tie their lives together, in order to bring his Rider peace, happiness, and longevity, but he seeks so much more than that. Ioth is selfless, willing to give as much of himself as is required to help ease pain and heal old wounds. His mind is a tether, and he uses connections he forges to bring people together.
The first to offer encouragement, advice, or an ear, Ioth is wholly cooperative. Completely benevolent, it requires dire circumstances to incite him to retaliate with violence. Even at his most protective he favours flight over fight, and will always caution against escalation even in the face of aggression. This does not mean he is toothless; his mother's ire runs through his veins and woe the creature that brings pain to T'tallon or truly pushes him beyond even his seemingly endless patience.
Something of a songbird, Ioth enjoys producing whistles, clicks, and other such vibrations to create music of sorts as he goes about his day. It will not be uncommon for him to startle innocent Weyrfolk as he grows older, until they come to understand what--or rather who--is making the eerie sounds that seem to carry through corridors, barracks, and the skies themselves.
Ioth is extremely comfortable interacting with others in a social setting. He will always be there in the back of his Rider's mind with any information that may have been missed, forgotten, or lost somewhere in transit. Like most dragons, he is able to quickly produce the names of Bonded individuals, but unlike those who are not his colour, his intelligence and lasting memory means he will soon become a reservoir of those who are unBonded as well. He will always strive to make a tether between his T'tallon and the other folk.
Deeply telepathic, Ioth will, over time, prove to be something of a barrier against the assault T'tallon has suffered since birth. This gift will be at first unstable and difficult to master, but Ioth is certain that with time he can forge a bond between them that will allow his Rider to better control the overstimulating excess information. The White will never give up his great need to help the man, or the unconditional love and trust that was burned between them at Impression. Dragon Appearance:
Like mother, like child. As most of his siblings have proven, Rivath's gracefulness has bred true in her children. Ioth is a lanky creature in every aspect, from his neck to his limbs and tail, even his wings seem spindly and delicate. His head is shapely and sharp, and his forelegs are slightly shorter than seems typical in contrast to his over-long tail.
While his limbs are narrow and slight, they are muscled and well-formed for flight. He is well equipped for any life T'tallon sets him on. He will grow to 17' as an adult, falling at the average for his colour, though his tail will double that. Not prone to energetic fits, Ioth carries himself with a proud grace, ever calm and composed as if reserving his energies for more important matters.
His neckridges seem to ooze off of his body as they form a crest from between his eyes to the start of his wingshoulders. They rise again sharp and firm between his hind legs, and once more like a scythe from the near end of his tail. These ridges, as soft as they may appear from a distance, are hard and unbending. His hide is truly white, pure like snow, but where shadows fall the colours of the rainbow show through in shades ranging from red to violet. Though shade cannot mute the brightness of his white hide enough to change the hue of him. Dragon History:
Safe at last.
The bright White would wait no longer for what had been calling to them. Their Green sister had already gone to find her own, she would never have waited so long but...they needed a partner in all things, and there were none left save for the one that would be theirs forever. They'd felt the boy from the very start, been called to him, so it was absolutely no trouble at all to make their way now through the boys. Some seemed angry, others, frightened. Such was the way of the world. If they weren't capable of handling it, they would simply leave and find another calling on Pern.
The little creature approached their chosen Rider with a happy fluting whistle. Following them was the pressure of their presence, something akin to their mother, yet different. There was no malice or venom, no need to see everything. No need to lay a person bare. Their mind was like a blanket, the hum of it slowly seeped into the mind of their boy and blocked out the noises, the sounds, the images, the chaos. There was no Fortath, no world, just them. The Dragon and the Rider.
The hatchling arrived at Tristallon, and reached out to gently nose at their legs, their hands, the bits of them that seemed to run a little red. Touch amplified the power of their gift. Like a void where there had been screaming, and when the boy finally looked into the White's eyes they burst into a spangle of rainbows, then finally spoke. T'tallon, I am Ioth he whispered, but for a time, he was the only voice that the boy could hear, he was the only thing the boy could see.
I felt you when I hatched, I am sorry I did not come sooner, but they needed me. I am your tether, we are bound now and it cannot be broken and I can help. I can help straighten out the world for you, if you want that the White made another series of clicks and whistles as he pressed closer. There's so much to do, you see he straightened his wings and coiled his tail. Food first, I think, and as the heavy waves of Impression faded, so too did the effect of his blanket upon the pair of them.
There would be intrusions, there would be visitors, but it was something they could work on.