Weyrling T'yr on Brown Vodkath

Player Name: T'star

Persona's Name: T'yr (Tyrlaugh)
Age: 17 (8.20)
Rank: Weyrling

Description: Sandy blond hair falls in a foppish mop across his mobile features. The long nose crests over the sharply defined mouth. Cheek bones stubbornly support rich, dark blue eyes. His build is proportionate, diminishing some of the effect of his 6'1" height. Lightly tanned skin blurs the lines of his lean body to average. Yet he seems loose, almost fluid in form as if he were poured into every position and _expression.

Personality: The quintessential drunken bard on the surface, he's quick with a laugh and a joke (a ribald one as often as not). His lackadaisical attitude dominates his appearances. Apparently a careless ne'er-do-well, he tends to prefer to skate through life, with minimal thought, and maximum joking. The only obvious exception to this is his music, and his rapier, both he takes with an almost obsessive seriousness, and an oddly convoluted mix of joy and bitterness.

Under the surface, he gets more complex, a sharply honed sense of the satirical drives his sense of humor. When he chooses to be loyal, the loyalty is absolute and unwavering, a fact he takes pains to hide. He has a moral code all his own, one he adheres to strictly, though it likely would make little sense to anyone else. He has a gallant streak when he wants, one he flaunts to the point that it is reputed to be a show, hiding the sincerity most admirably. Equally hidden is a cruel streak, which works its way into some of his music, those angering him might very well find themselves the but of some musical joke. Curiosity is his universal and completely incurable failing.

Gender/preference: Male, not picky 

History: Born to a trader's daughter and a Harper, Tyrlaug inherited his father's looks, and supposedly talent (though his grandfather, Kemran, would disagree on the talent score). The Trading caravan was constantly moving. Tyrlaug was a lithe restless child curiosity ever getting in trouble for sticking that long nose of his far beyond where he should.

When he was old enough to hold one the caravan guards began drilling him in the use of the rapier, which pleased his grandfather mightily, seeing him on a different track than that of his ‘wastrel’ father. His mother was less happy with this, knowing full well the dangers inherent in sword play, especially on the southern routes. He took to spending evenings with the guards, one of whom played the fiddle with admirable skill. Tyrlaug, age 9 at this point, was fascinated by the instrument, and begged to be taught that as well.

His quick fingers rapidly mastered the instrument, much to the guard's surprise, and his grandfather's dismay. That turn they wintered at Fort doing a tour of the northern continent that turn, and Kemran was prevailed upon by his daughter to send Tyrlaug to Harper Hall. His grandfather arranged for him to be apprenticed to Ytzak, one of the crustier old teachers at the hall, thinking the gruff old man would have Tyrlaugh begging to come back to the caravan in no time. Alas Ytzak was thrilled to have someone truly interested in and talented with his beloved violin. He added the multiple pipes to his repertoire in short order. He had a decent soprano which would deepen to a very good baritone when he hit his vocal change.


When spring came, the caravan moved out and Tyrlaug stayed behind, not really regretting the decision, though he did miss his evenings with the guards. He never quiet picked up his grandfather's knack for the money end of the business, though his glib tongue earned him more than a few extra coins out of the unwary. Ytzak discovered he had competition for his new apprentice when the Instrument master discovered Tyrlaugh’s deft fingers could as skillfully be employed in making instruments as playing them.

In the fall of his 16th turn he attained the rank of journeyman. He was sent to Quartz River Hold to augment the Tryron who was already stationed there at the time. His specialties with instruments judged to be a good compliment to the other journeyman’s affinity for storytelling. He arrived in time for the Turn’s End gather, getting his feet firmly planted and determined to enjoy himself down south.

Tyrlaugh and his vintner friend Pienn arrived to watch the hatching at Mountain Song, both were shocked when browns made for them. T'yr's called himself Vodkath, and T'yr resigned himself to a life where, for a while, his only recreation would be song... Wine and women were out until graduation.

T'yr has worried about P'enn since an incident early in their weyrlinghood. He actually hopes Weyrlinghood takes longer than he thinks it does, as he worries what /ending/ weyrlinghood and the end of restrictions on alcohol will do to P'enn. For now he simply laughs, jokes, and plays for P'enn when needs be. Tomorrow he will deal with when it gets here.

Pets:

Crafter: Yes (formerly)
Craft: Harper
Craft Rank: Journeyman
Specialties: Violin, Voice (Baritone), Instrument making 

Dragon Name: Vodkath
Color: Brown
Age: <1 (6.14.01)
Description: Short for a brown Vodkath’s stocky, muscled frame is a very light golden brown, rather haphazardly mixed in with streaks of lighter and darker colors over his neck and back, like rising bubbles. His wings are out sized and his legs seem just a little too long for him, lending to that staggering gait. The ‘bubbles’ fade over his tail leaving it’s length a simple smooth shade like well made whiskey.

Personality: Vodkath meshes very well with T’yr’s ‘drunk bard’ image. Though he lacks T’yr’s ability to take things seriously when needed. He doesn’t take /anything/ seriously, except maybe T’yr. Life is meant to be lived to its fullest! So eat! Drink! Be merry! Or at least that’s his view on things. Underneath the happy-go-lucky attitude is a very sharp temper. When one of the few things he values is threaten his temper comes up hot, fast and furious, though it usually cools as quickly as it comes, and the dragon’s notorious memory helps avoid the danger of grudges.