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Name: S'met (Samet)
Age: (age at impression: 19)
Gender: Male
Sexual identity/orientation: Male; prefers females
Species/Type: human
Type: Old World (P'n)
Place of Birth: Undisclosed
Place of Residence: We're Rococo
Rank/Craft: Tannercraft
Duties: None yet
Sponsors(s): None assigned
Sponsorling(s): None
Bond(s): Navoroth (Old World bronze)
Lifemate(s): None
Pet(s): None
Others of note: None
| Agency | Title/Number | Chased | Caught | Eggs, viable/fatalities (#, #:#) |
| -- | -- | -- | -- | -- |
| Viable Offspring | Mate |
| Offspring info |
Name info |
| Offspring info |
Name info |
| Current Gen | Parents |
Self |
Undisclosed human |
| Absent father human, bluerider |
Hair/armor/feathers/fur: Limp and lifeless, his nondescript brown hair looks dirty whether clean or not. Because it is a pain to keep anyway, he keeps it cut rather short, with a medium-short, slightly choppy fringe in front.
Skin/exoskeleton/scales/markings: Constantly tanned from exposure and a little off-color from his craft, his skin tone is naturally on the ruddy side. He only has a couple of moles here and there as distinguishing marks, one to the left side of his mouth on his cheek and one on the side of his neck on the same side, and a few on his forearms. Otherwise he has a narrow jagged trio of gashes that run diagonally up his arm from an early craft-related accident. He will not go into detail other than that it was stupid and he was weak at the time.
Limbs: He has long, powerful muscles all over, but with the bulk of his strength in his arms and torso.
Eyes: Very dark brown with little distinction between iris and pupil, their overall impression given is of cold, angry marbles.
Size/Physique: Besides the musculature, he is quite strong. One might think of long distance running or other sports for the long musculature but it comes from many long hours of pulling and stretching, holding a position while he or another tie something down. As a result his strength is power driven, and if he were to try to run or perform other exercises (the exception being swimming) he would likely not know what to do.
Clothing: His preference is for heavier, heavy-duty linen that is unlikely to fall apart even when abused. He wears browns and unbleached fabrics, as well as leather. He will also wear heavy-duty leather apron, boots, and elbow-length glovess to protect himself from splashing chemicals and fluids.
Other: Despite the bad reputation for his craft being offensively odoriferous, he does like to keep as clean as possible, more times than not bathing twice per day. He scrubs with heavy soaps, but also uses moisturizers and salves to protect his skin more than for any other reason. But it does present an interesting paradox as far as his image goes.
Endurance: The nature of his craft demands great endurance or strength would be meaningless (at least in his point of view). Though he does not need to train outside of daily routine, if he ever finds himself without work or on vacation he will train, and prefers water exercises to to it when possible.
Strength: As mentioned, he is quite strong, capable of keeping one strenuous position for several minutes.
Intelligence: He is very good with cloth and leather, but if it goes outside his craft or swimming his interest wanes. This may be mistaken for a lack of intelligence.
None: None.
Attitude: It probably should go without saying, but S'met is not very friendly. He has that gruff demeanor that makes it difficult to discern whether he is angry or accepting of a situation. His dragon is probably the best indicator of his mood, should someone catch them together. Navoroth is never phased by his rider's grouchiness, or short replies.
Hobbies: None, really. He is completely obsessed with his craft. However, when he is not constantly bombarded with orders, he likes decorating leather with designs and stains. If he were ever to demonstrate his affection for someone it would probably be in this manner, with a highly decorative piece of leather.
Plans: None. He looks forward to seeing new places but he does not actively seek out adventure or transfer. He certainly is game for it though.
The day of the hatching was wet and miserable. Samet had not slept the night before, instead working on some last-minute alterations for a particularly pushy rider. He had charged extra, partially for the rudeness (it was well known that Samet was also a candidate), but also because he was a damned Bluerider.
He hated blues.
Hate.
Or at the very least, genuine disgust was felt. He could not particularly identify why; perhaps it had something to do with mention of a blue-riding father whom he had never met.
Never mind.
Yes, the hatching was miserable. He could practically hear the rain running down the walls of the Hatching Sands. He was dripping-wet from his walk across the Bowl, and for the entire occasion he felt like a steaming drowned rat. He probably looked like one too. Glowering and feisty. Just try to pick a fight with him today!
With growing impatience he watched the hatching. A bronze hatched and bonded, leaving Samet a new kind of irritable. There were so many Blues left after that. Then a bronze amid a pack of about three. Would the torment never end?
With the bronze safely Impressed, the candidates turned their attention back to the other eggs--and the three dragons that had hatched in the meantime. There was already a second bronze on the sands, this one smaller but just as outgoing as his brother, in addition to a pair of blues. It was the larger of the two blues that bonded first; the other blue seemed to shy to approach the candidates and the bronze seemed more interested in some of the cracking eggs than the humans.
The larger blue ignored his siblings and took care to inspect all the candidates. He finally stopped in front of one boy and crooned. Grevorage leaned down with a smile. "Come on then, Tath, let's get some food for both of us. I'm as hungry as you are."
Another blue hatched as the second bronze hatchling watched the egg, and the bronze stepped back in startlement as the blue appeared. He crooned cheerfully at his larger sibling and then dashed over to his other brother, the one who was too shy to approach the candidates. With the one blue pushing the other encouragingly, the two of them finally went to the candidates. Somewhat perplexed, the bronze followed behind them. Despite the newest blue shoving his brother along, the shy hatchling did not seem interested in any of the male candidates, and after pushing him away from a particular candidate with a snarl, the more outgoing blue seemed to shrug and led his brother toward the girls. Though several hung back uncertainly, one or two of the female candidates stepped forward welcomingly, and it was one of these that the shy one finally chose. "Artinth, I'm sorry I was so hard for you to find," Cetiga told her dragon happily, uncaring that a blue was not exactly what she had had in mind.
With his brother finally Impressed, the other blue raced back over to the male candidates. He went immediately to the one he had pushed his brother away from earlier, and Reejan perked up after thinking he had been rejected twice over. I'm sorry about earlier, I just had to make sure he didn't steal my rider, Awemiath said as he butted his head gently against his rider's side.
With all the blues Impressed, the bronze finally seemed to grow bored and started looking for his own rider, to the relief of the candidates. He drifted from one to another without interest, but then he stopped in front of Samet, and stared, before finally giving his name as Navoroth.
~ Sedona clutch 6
The little bronze laughed in Samet-- no, S'met's mind. It was shocking. He had never actually felt laughter, inside of himself before. He almost smiled, and the corner of his mouth tugged off to the side in an unfamiliar way. But he was not about to give this creature an inch. "What were you doing out there?"
Again, he felt that amalgamation of thoughts, images, and feelings. The hatchling was still just a hatchling, so while more complicated than he could handle at first, it was still simplistic in an infantile sort of way. He was... being himself. Poking his nose into the blue hatchlings' business (and, if he was going to push blues around, that was perfectly fine with S'met), lollygaging around, yes it all sounded like Navoroth already.
But they shared a deep understanding that S'met would never be able to articulate. Navoroth seemed to know that no matter how S'met complained, or sounded angry, he would never be angry with his dragon. That faith was inexplicable and undeniable. "That so?"
It was indeed so.
No Story Yet | Navoroth
Sedona Weyr | Clutch 6