Post by InsaneWhitey28 on Feb 2, 2012 23:53:28 GMT -5
“It's the pain that makes us strong, so suck it up.”
.:Humans:.
name;;
Chandil
age;;
twenty-two|11.25.3000
gender;;
male
sexual orientation;;
heterosexual
rank;;
dragonless|journeyman healer|tinker|
physical appearance;;
It’s not that he’s bad looking, hardly; it’s that he’s gathered an air of irritation that just doesn’t seem to want to leave any time soon. Which tends to ruin his dating chances... not that he seriously minds.
A mess of sandy blond hair decorates his crown, once neatly trimmed and cropped so that it rarely tickled his ears or obscured his view, though mess seems to be a rather incorrect term when describing the strands a top his head. Though not as fastidious as he once was, Chandil makes it a point to keep his sandy crop neat and short, very much still pleasantly in control. Just brushing his shoulders in terms of length, the young man keeps it kept in a loose runnertail most of the time, only rarely letting the locks flow free to do what the please. Granted, his bangs receive that privilege indefinitely. Broody blue gray eyes peer out from between the sandy strands, often not noticed simply because they fade so well into the color of his hair... if not for the fact they glittered.
A young and awkward lanky teenager is he, losing the boyish charm that once had so many adults falling at his feet; he appears in the middling ground at this point. His boyish charm is gone, but his matured looks have yet to fully settle, leaving him with an almost rustic feeling. Standing at 5’11, he nears the end of the average spectrum in height for men. As lean as he is lanky, with his lack of body fat, from lack of appetite, the wiry strength of his body is apparent even if he has the tendency to trip over things. He’s learned the trick of regaining his balance fairly well, grumbling with annoyance whenever he does trip. The once bright smile that hardly ever left his features is gone and replaced by a dark scowl that has no particular target. His facial features are sharp and strong, though bony as he is now, gaunt. A straight slightly rounded nose, sharp cheekbones, strong chin and high forehead make up his features, though they have yet to fill out and he has yet to regain much of his natural charm, the rare simple quirk at the edge of his mouth, his old smile coming through, is what makes him.
A light creamy tan dominates his skin color earned by his naturally light complexion soaking in the rays of Rukbat, taking in as much nutrients until his skin refused to go any darker. Dark circles have appeared under his eyes, the only sign that he scorns sleep more often than not though he may act slightly delusional at times.
As a resident on the Southern continent, he is used the more humid weather, the sleeve less shirt he tends to wear seeming to be enough for him on most days, even sometimes in the winter though he has a jacket on standby should he need it. Over the shirt he wears a dark brown vest contrasting with the light yellow color of the shirt, and yet matching it perfectly. The pants that he prefers to wear are not as loose as others, Chandil having found that the looser your pants are the harder it is to move in crowded areas. So the tan jerkins that adorn his legs are tight and tucked into the candidate issued boots, the only part of his ensemble that may be considered the uniform as he refuses to accept himself as a candidate anymore. His left wrist is decorated by a wooden charm bracelet his mother had made him so long ago, one he had always vowed to begin hiding at the age of fourteen but never got around to it.
There are three items he added to his ensemble, a gray colored sash like piece of cloth tied around his waist, and reaching his knee on the right side, an obvious fashion statement if there ever was one. His right forearm is covered by a blue gray arm warmer covering half his hands, hands that are long and slim enough to pull together to most intricate necklace, or carve the most subtle pattern. He’s carved himself a talon out of wood, a remembrance of Kerpth and way to fill the blackhole in his mind
personality;;
Regardless of the years that have passed...
Was he just a bit estranged after losing Kerpth? That would be a yes.
It wasn’t the fact he had lost the bond so quickly after receiving it, considering the bond didn’t have time to become as deep as a lifelong rider and their dragon, it was the fact that something that should have been there, was gone. A huge, gaping void within his heart, soul and mind, gnawing at his self as it tried to swallow him whole.
Angry, hopeless, frightened. These were characteristics that began taking over his being, his once cheerful disposition a distant memory. His trustful air is gone, replaced with something more distrustful, wary even as he tries to figure out his opponent’s next move. The void causing confusion where his train of thought would usually be clear, he leans toward the category of self-centered but has found that it’s easier to escape it by being selfless rather than dwell on his own misery.
Once he was kind, easily forgiving his enemies or those who had slighted him, now he snaps at the slightest mistake, a sarcastic and biting comment making its way out of his mouth and into the world. Leaning more toward the side of cruelness, though one could hardly go as far to say cruel, he does not go out of his way to help others. His once gentle hands with patients have become rough, coarse, his mind nearly almost always completely distracted with questions and wanting answers that don’t exist. His once naïve disposition is gone, his world completely disillusioned in the face of the Wastelanders, the war between Benden and Fort that much more real to him now when once it was just something that didn’t involve him, a carefree child within the Southern Continent. Reality is a harsh mistress, and he has learned this in the hardest way possible. Pessimistic, calculating. Once optimistic, and ignorant of the brain nature had given him, he has now done a complete one eighty turn, the bright view he has of the world now given over to realism, those dreams he had nurtured now completely ignored. In the never ending cycle of questions in his mind, he has discovered that he is not as completely and hopelessly dumb as he once thought he was(but then we all question how he became a healer apprentice), and in his search for answers he instead has nurtured his mind. Ignoring fantasies and tending more toward science, he ignores the hopeful little peak of that person he once was whenever it appears.
The easily accessible jokes he once wielded with ease are locked away from him, and ones that are now easily accessible to him are the same as his comments: sarcastic, biting and sometimes hurtful. Sometimes he’ll be able to snatch one up, his old self gleaming through and that hopeful little piece of his soul lifts its head again, until he ruins the entire thing by trying to snatch up another joke and it ends up being an awkward failure. Though he has grown slightly more even tempered over the terms, he is still a far cry from that little boy who would smile through his tears, more often than not a frown on his face now, his smiles being so rare.
Though one thing remains the same within this young teen, perhaps possibly two, he is insistently protective of those close to him and worry wart. A habit that came from taking care of four younger siblings while his parents were sick, though they annoyed him to no end at times, he always held a soft spot for them. Even facing his fears to take care of them, amidst much snickering and giggling from the four; his protective streak became very well known. It was a known fact that when his siblings weren’t within his sight, even his mother, his paranoia would kick in and he would near worry himself to death. A month into his candidacy he had become near hysterical with worry for his family before they managed to calm him down, and though he’s toned down with age and pain, his instinct to worry remains the same. Perhaps one of the few things that he didn’t have time to develop as a child, so worried for siblings, was his bashfulness. Glances or flirting that are thrown his way are met with blank stares, as unused to his by women, and when he can derive their meaning, usually leaves his face an utter red mess.
Being an insomniac was something he had never experienced before, something he pretended he could sympathize with, sure, when someone around the Hold complained about it and asked for some fellis, but he really never knew what it felt like. Until half his existence was ripped away. Sleep eludes him at best, shuns him at worst, and leaves him to wander the corridors of the Weyr in the dark and lead him to grudgingly accept the actually fairly important existence of whers, an existence he never noticed before. When sleep does catch up to him, unless it’s the dreamless type, where his mind is completely and fully gone, he is visited by nightmares. Nightmares of the Hatching, nightmares of being swallowed by the darkness and even nightmares of between.
Once a coward, a person who jumped at every shadow and worked hard to hide the paranoia so deeply ingrained into him, the shock of the sorrow filled event has washed that cowardice away, no longer does he quake at every shadow in the next hall, no longer does he fear to venture forth in the night. You could call it courage, you could call it bravery, but all you’ll receive is a shrug. More than simply facing his fears, accepting them, they have simply gone away, making way for other fears even Chandil himself doesn’t recognize, and now these secret fears are the ones he runs from. One fear he has come to recognize, is that of Impressing. Anything that could take Kerpth’s place or fill the emptiness, he runs from just as hard as the void Kerpth left. The paranoia has not left him quite as easily, the distrust still deeply ingrained into his being.
Timid, obsessive, the final components in the personality that has become so different with the never filling void. Developing the habit of muttering, he merely murmurs that words he’d like to shout at people, being far too held back by his own lose to actually stand up and say them. But perhaps this is a good thing, because even muttering his musings and denial of certain decisions is a far cry from when he would hold them all to himself, especially since if one actually manages to overhear them, he has no problem repeating them and defending his case. Timidity as a weapon; he’s such a contradiction. He has found that he can no longer leave certain tasks unfinished, he can’t leave one thing out of place or not do this or that before bed or he will find himself bothered by it, like a canine bothered by a tick or flea until he scratches it. He was fastidious before, but now it’s just ridiculous.
history ;;
Family
father;; Turandil|whereabouts unknown, likely dead|
stepfather;; Brenal|southern hold, 46|
mother;; Christal|southern hold, 44|
half-brother(s);;Chren|southern hold, 18|-Bisten|southern hold, 15|-Enstal|southern hold, 13|
half-sister(s);;Balli|southern hold, 20|
11.25.3000-11.30.3000;;
It wasn’t that he was a mistake, more of a surprise. His mother was the type not to show a pregnancy after all. In the midst of his mother’s honeymoon, he decided to make his existence known and Christa went into to labor. Being so near the sea, they had taken their honeymoon on the waves and so his stepfather was on his own, with a child that wasn’t his of a relationship gone bad nearly five months ago. But he kept his mouth shut, and managed to be a half way decent midwife… er, husband. And so he was born on a little dingy not far from the Southern coast, in the humid November that Southerners call winter.
12.01.3000-06.04.3005;;
Questions brimmed through the minor Hold when the couple returned with the newborn, the mother having miraculously survived a days out at sea after child birth, but they were all pushed aside by the father of the child explaining that though the birth was unexpected, it was still a joyful time for them, even if they had to admit to fooling around before the marriage. His stepfather having thus accepted him into the fold, the couple returned to their new home and graced the youngster with his name in traditional Pernese fashion; with his biological father’s name. Chandil.
Though questions arose once again, no one bothered to voice them.
By the time he could walk, he was into almost everything the only thing that kept him away was being afraid of monsters in the cupboard, no matter how much his mother tried to reassure him that all those fantasies were just that. But he refused to be reassured the little bugger that he was. When he was able to quickly dart into cupboards or darker spaces, the little trinkets of wood or objects he found in the blacksmith(oh that panic he caused his mother when he wandered in there unattended) always had a way of turning into tiny carvings or strange clanking bracelets Chandil had the habit of gracing his mother with. Even if no one ever knew how he managed to get a carving knife every time he had wood. No matter how hard they tried to hide them, Chandil would find at least one.
With all his tinkering and sneaking around into the local blacksmith, it was no wonder the man running the smithy decided to see if Chandil would take an interest in smithcrafting. And so the smither’s mission commenced, and he would offer to keep Chandil out of trouble for his mother, and showed him around the smithery. How the blows worked, how he hammered metal into shapes(granted they were rather dangerous shapes most of the time, but he really didn’t show the boy that) and how much satisfaction he got from creating what he did.
“Like w’en I make mam’ clankers?” Chandil would comment stumbling over his h’s, u’s and sometimes a’s, using his special word for the bracelets he made his mother, a vocabulary he created that he still uses to this day.
“Exactly like that,” the smithcrafter replied, a Journeyman in his own right. As Chandil hung around the smithery more and more often, the crafter began to drop more and more hints to the boy’s mother about him possibly becoming a smithcrafter apprentice in the future. By this time, Christali had given birth to Chandil’s half-sister, Balli, and was worn out from taking care of the new child while her father was out in the fishing boats.
“You think he would be good at it? He’s a little young isn’t he?” she asked, rocking the sleeping girl’s crib with her foot while sewing a patch in one of Brenal’s trousers.
“He shows enough interest in making things,” the crafter replied, “With a little practice he should be a fine crafter. And it’s good to catch a youngster’s interest soon, it’ll make deciding a crafter easier later in life.”
“And bring in another apprentice for the smithcraft,” Christal stated dryly, the crafter gave a crooked grin in response. Having heard the conversation from the stairs, Chandil promptly bounded down ignoring the fact he should be in bed, his earlier fear of a monster under the covers vanishing in the light of finding out exactly what a craft was, and why he had to bang metal all day.
“W’at’s a craft?” he asked walking over to his mother, who by now was not surprised her son was up this late. As she explained, she allowed him to take over the rocking of Balli’s crib to give her foot a rest, and waited for her son to answer the ultimate question of whether he should be a smithcraft. After a couple minutes of pondering, he gave his answer.
“Na’. It’s too ‘ot. I d’n want to be ‘ot all the time,” he stated, scrunching up his nose and for good measure he added, “And t’ere mig’t be fire creatures that wo’ld eat me.” This statement earned a quiet cough from the crafter, but he said nothing. And though the crafter tried persuading Chandil further, his mother watching on in faint amusement that was borderline irritation, Chandil was adamant. He liked tinkering, but he didn’t like hammering.
Plus there was the fire monster you know.
06.05.3005-09.14.3013;;
It was almost luck that the family(a family that had been enlarged by Chandil’s first half-brother, Chren) decided to move to a larger Hold, specifically Southern Hold that was only a few days away, a couple months before Thread reappeared. They traveled with a caravan, all unsuspecting of the danger, and Chandil was charged with looking over his younger sister who at three Turns was beginning to become quite the little explorer. Christal just couldn’t keep up with the girl and look after Chren at the same time.
The pair were much alike in the sense of adventure, though Ballie was the one that was braver than her elder brother, something she didn’t mind much considering she pulled him every which way. Something Chandil completely minded, which irked him especially when he was the one running back to mom crying his eyes out because Ballie had scared him. Best big brother ever.
There was one day during a sevenday where they were set behind because of non-stop rainstorms, which had some whispering the legends of Thread around the campfires in the caves they had taken shelter in, when Ballie had once again scared Chandil out of his mind and he had run off. But this time he got lost. Amid the many wagons of the caravan, the huge runner beasts looking at him with curiosity(he could swear they looked hungry), Chandil ran into a kindly woman and her husband. Tears were streaked down his face, his nose running like never before and all in all in later years he’d be embarrassed to remember how he met the pair. The woman was kind, giving her name and a hot mug of tea even as their own daughter came out to peer at the crying boy. She didn’t know boys could cry.
After a few minutes of calming Chandil down and assuring him that runnerbeasts don’t eat meat, and so wouldn’t eat him, they managed to grab his name and introduced themselves as Kunca(the woman) and Orl( the husband) alongside their daughter, Korl. Then they waited, knowing Chandil’s parents would come looking for him eventually. While they waited, Chandil took interest in the exercise Korl was doing, her parents being jewel, and charm makers, carving small images in wood and creating jewelry to sell. He asked to try, and the family found another little tinker to train up; which is exactly how Brenal found his adopted son, sitting on the edge of the wagon carving and completely at ease.
Days after that Chandil would go back and visit, and learn the tricks from the family in small little games. Knowing Chandil only had a few more days with them, Kunca wrote down the rhymes and tricks in a small notebook for Chandil to learn from when he was older, though it would be up to the boy himself to figure out many of them without a teacher of his own. With his tinker skills much improved, though Balli still followed him around and scared him again to the point he nicked himself with a knife even though Orl was watching(this earned Balli a very stern lecture, one that still rings in her ears to this day), Chandil went with his family to Southern only slightly sad he would have to leave his new friends behind. Especially the runners, he had grown to like them quite a lot. He opened the present left for him from Kunca only a few Turns later.
The only downfall, was Thread. It returned to them only a day or so after they had reached Southern Hold, luck for them but bad luck for the caravan they were traveling with. The fate of the caravan was never known to them, but considering how many causalities the Hold itself had from being caught unawares(after all who had expected Thread back when it was supposed to be gone forever!?) it was more than likely they were all dead. Though Chandil clung to a vague hope that maybe his friends had been safe at the time, his child eyes had seen what Thread could do and that hope remained vague.
In the sevendays that followed, there were healers running around to and fro that caught Chandil’s interest as he sat on the sidelines watching(having been considered too clumsy to help after the fifth time he tripped and spilled water and numbweed salve) he found that healing peaked his interest more than anything had. And he began following various healers around until they got annoyed enough to chase him off. Of course Balli was never far behind and part of the reason he got chased off in the first place.
And of course after Thread, the children didn’t pay much attention to the gossip of the grown-ups, finding it much nicer toddle off without a care in the world and play to their hearts content. The Turns passed almost peacefully for them, Threadfall coming and going, siblings being born and Chandil having more unwanted responsibility shoved onto him. The little terrors took after Balli’s lead and Chandil’s life was living hell at times. There was one incident when Enstal had just been born, the final child his mother swore, Balli, Chren and Bisten had been following him around scaring him out of his wits every chance they got. He eventually lost his temper with them.
“Why don’t you leave me alone!?” he had screamed at them, tears streaked down his face the trio having just played at being a bandit out to get the nine Turn old(obviously the scolding didn’t do much good with Balli, even if her ears still ring), “Why were you guys even born? I hate you all! Go away!”
Of course, the trio being young as they were, Bisten only two, Chren just Turned five and Balli seven, they took it to heart. Their usually kind hearted brother that took care of them all the time, was fun to play with and scare easily, who gave up things he wanted for them, had just turned on them and basically wished they didn’t even exist. Well then. Bisten’s face screwed up, his little world all shattered, and his sobs brought their neighbor running. Chren was in shock, twiddling his fingers and trying not to cry, while Balli simply glared at her elder brother the one she secretly considered a hero(because if he could stand being taking care of her and loving her even though she scared him witless, then he was absolutely awesome), completely offended that he had lost his temper at her. That was nothow it worked.
Of course the eldest got the blame; regardless his own tear streaked face.
The kindly woman from next door was the one to scold him, holding Bisten by the hand while dragging Chandil by the ear, the other two culprits following, all the way home to explain to their mother, as she put, “He was picking on his younger siblings!”
“’Was not.” Chandil replied indignantly, earning a sharp tug on his ear. Christal took in the five, looking at her oldest with raised eyebrows. She quietly thanked the elder woman, and took her four children inside, setting Enstal in Chandil’s arms to calm Bisten; which resulted in an easier atmosphere, but also resulted in Chandil having his hair pulled by the curious baby who had developed a strange fascination with the sandy blond mass in the last five months of his short life. After soothing the trio, she ushered them out of the room and up the stair before turning on her oldest and taking Enstal from his hands.
“What happened?” her question was silent, her eyes appraising and she expected no lies from hers son, or any of her children, or they were quickly reminded what happened when false words left their lips, and Chandil gave her nothing but the truth.
“…and then I yelled at them because I was just getting so tired of them always scaring me, and then laughing. I’m supposed to be the older brother Shardit…” The foul word earned him a quick smack on his head and then Christal drew her eldest to him.
She set it firmly in his mind that he would have put up with his younger siblings antics, learn to smile and laugh through them when you cry. You were the older brother, so you were expected to have more patience, more benevolence toward the little ones and above all you were expected to be their hero, in their own minds. Chandil had stared at his mother, still innerly quivering with the indignation of it all, though after a moment he had replied with a quiet ‘Yes ma’m’, was given a quick, tight hug from his mother and sent off on his way an expectant gleam in his mother’s eyes.
Guilt and indignation swirling in his stomach to give him a nauseated feeling, he trudged up the stairs and worked to swallow his meager pride before trodding off to where his siblings’ sat, playing with their own toys halfheartedly while Bisten still sniffled in the corner, they all looked up when he came in, Bisten’s lip quivering harder. Chandil rubbed his arm, suddenly shy and awkward when confronted with his younger siblings, even while his mother’s words echoed through his mine.
“…I’m sorry,” he managed to choke out, looking up and forcing a crooked grin on his face. Their reaction was almost immediate, Bisten leading the herd as he charged over to his elder brother and clung to his leg, Balli the only one that didn’t cling to Chandil, she had to preserve her dignity(even if she clung to his arm only). So Chandil shifted, more smiles flitting onto his face even when he was screaming, or crying in terror, and he discovered jokes, things that created laughter and kept the fear at bay. Though they teased him less often after that.
It was at the time that S’rei became Weyrleader of Selenitas, Chandil held in awe at the thought of the great dragons, only three sevendays after he lost his temper with his siblings, when he managed to become apprenticed at the minor Healer Hall there at Southern Hold. Having shown quite the knack for it when he was taking care of his siblings, which got him noticed by a journeyman, though really how could he not become at least competent with numbweed, fellis and bandaging when his siblings had the habit of getting hurt when not scaring him.
He was an apprentice for two Turns, so caught up in his studies and doing the best he could, he rarely paid any attention to the gossip concerning Selenitas. The only events that really caught his attention were in the beginning, with the weyrling massacre, and Fort Weyrleaders being murdered. Then he drifted off into his own world, well-liked by other apprentices for his good will and attitude, already deciding that he would aim toward mastering herbs and mindhealing, though he was tempted to focus on pediatrics as well because of his siblings. Unfortunately, when he Turned twelve, making his time at the minor hall two Turns and three months, both his mother fell almost deathly ill, and he had to return to his take care of his siblings while Brenal was off working. With this return to the rest of the Hold, he suddenly was caught up on the rest of the happenings in the world, particularly the recent Siege of Selenitas and the death of Shmee.
Christal was sick an entire month before she improved, Chandil managing to continue his studies slightly with the every so often presence of the Healer, and even when she improved, making a near full recovery, he couldn’t go back to the Hall. For his mother, had gone blind. The sickness had left its mark, and though he was able to continue his studies from home considering the Hall was so close, he wasn’t able to get as far as he would have hoped and put it down to him not being intelligent enough to memorize all he needed to memorize.
And then, the newest clutch was almost stolen. It felt so soon after Fort had attacked the Main Hall, though it has been months. Thankfully the Clutch had been saved, and dragons were back on Search duty.
09.15.3013-02.05.3015;;
On a rare splurge of good will toward Selenitas, Southern allowed one group of Search dragons into the Hold and the possible candidates were brought forward in a line though Chandil missed the memo. Running on an errand for his mother, Brenal home and off with the other half of the list of errands needing to be finished and his siblings off to class, he only paused a moment to admire the greens and a blue before he paid for the cloth his mother had asked for, along with some food stuffs, and was heading back home before he realized he was being called. He peered over when a large shadow suddenly fell over him, and he was suddenly looking into the whirling eyes of a green, snorting at him indignantly.
You ignored even me. the voice stated huffing through his mind, while an amused rider came over chuckling.
“Uh… sorry.” Chandil stated dumbfounded and wanting to be on his way as his arms were starting to burn.
“No need to be sorry boy!” the rider said, a grin on his face and obviously enjoying a secret joke, “Here, I’ll help you take those.” Blustering over the fact that a good humored dragonrider( who was obviously drawing a joke out) helped him carry his load back home, Brenal having beaten him by five minutes; the family gawking at the dragonrider, while the youngest nearly vibrated with excitement and little squeals.
And then of course the real shocker.
“Your son here has been Searched, if he’ll comply,” the rider chortled, Chandil choking on the water he had just tried to drown. After the initial shock, Chandil hampering on about how he couldn’t possibly leave his siblings alone who would take care of them, make sure they did their lessons while Christal repaired their clothes, they all managed to pack Chandil’s bags, knowing the boy under normal circumstances would be absolutely overjoyed, and shoved him back to the square where the other riders were rolling their eyes at the greenrider’s antics, already having their loads ready to go. When Chandil still resisted even climbing up onto the green, Balli took matters into her own hands by slapping the poor boy and demanding to know why she couldn’t take care of everything when Chandil left. After all, hadn’t she been coming up with great plans to tease her brother through the years!? Mm?
Red faced at his sister’s brashness, he relented and climbed up behind the rider, other candidates following. Thus began his journey to Selenitas, where a mere two Turns later he would suffer the biggest shock of his life.
The first time he Stood was for Hepaticath’s nearly stolen clutch, shocked just as everyone when the queen dragonet trotted up into the Stands to Impress to the wherless handler Meira. His life at Selenitas was slow, and a month after the clutch had hatched he had a little spasm of worry for his family. Or maybe a seizure might be a better term. While he had been taken in by the Healers there at the Weyr, managing to further his education, he still worried about whether his family was getting a long and was quite taken with the notion he should sneak out of the Weyr to go check on them. Thankfully they caught him before any felines managed to prove just how stupid that little bit of stupidity was.
They quelled any more possible panic seizures by sending him back home for a sevenday, thanks to the Healers stating that was exactly what he needed. In that sevenday Chandil was able gain more closure in leaving his family for who knows how long, seeing that his family was getting along fine without him and he returned back to the Weyr with lifted spirits. Granted to slight teasing which escalated when people found out how easily scared he was, but still. The teasing abated some as they found he could make rather wonderful trinkets to pass around, and suddenly all the girl candidates were his biggest advocate and defender. Because you know, muses just don’t work as well when a person is completely down hearted. (He swore he wasn’t gay.)
The Gather seemed to come around so quickly, that he was almost blindsided by it. It was an enjoyable event, one he clearly took advantage of to run off and take out the fearful energy that had a tendency to build up in his chest. It was only ruined when it was found the bronzerider T’rid was noticed to be missing and Corinth went between. Fearful tension released? Eh, not really.
The Fever Epidemic came next, and though he had no time to worry about his own family, being immediately enlisted to help in the Weyr infirmary, he had plenty of time to worry about those under his care. At least until he was brought down by the fever as well, bedridden in the infirmary and delusional for the time that the epidemic sweeping Southern. He was one of the few to recover.
Candidate lessons started up again, and the Benden and Selenitas alliance was formed. Millieth’s clutch hatched only a month later after. He was left Standing once again.
When the river was poisoned, he was one of the few who managed to avoid water before they found out it was poisoned, afterwards nearly refused to drink even the clean water offered him, more of a paranoid instinct rather than wanting to be self-less and save his other candidates. Thankfully the river soon cleaned itself out.
Candidates lessons began, and High Reaches was destroyed by Fort. The escapees came to Selenitas, peaking Chandil’s interest before Fort hit the Weyr. Hard. It was a scramble to support the dragonriders fighting against the other dragonriders, something Chandil found extremely disturbing, and Selenitas pushed Fort back and the infirmary was full for the next few sevendays. The clutch hatched, he was left on the Sands.
It was before Jingth’s first clutch when Benden delivered their gifts and the Wasteland riders were kept as hostages. Something that didn’t bother Chandil much, as candidate lessons started up again and the day Jingth’s clutch hatched was the same as the others: exciting, hopeful and for some life changing. For Chandil, that life changing event didn’t happen that day, but time was shortly running out for him.
The “hostages” took over Selenitas, only a few escaped.
09.23.3015-10.31.3015;;
Millieth had Rose after the event of the Selenitas take over, caught by a Wasteland bronze and though there was high tension in the Weyr, candidate lessons went on as normal with only a slightly different regime.
When the clutch hatched, it was finally Chandil’s turn and the wingless blue trotted over to him to peer up in his eyes, and unbelievably a voice floated through his mind, Ch'il, I am Kerpth. Will you feed me?
“O-of course!” he had stuttered out, awed in the fact that he had finally been chosen after three Turns of hoping and worrying, and Kerpth was perfect. While Chan-Ch’il worried over what would happen later in Kerpth’s life considering he was wingless, back completely smooth, while Kerpth was unperturbed by it, saying he preferred feeling weightless and he’d find a way to gather his sister’s favor later. Don’t worry. He was perfect for a person of Chandil’s temperament, but that perfection was soon shattered. Kerpth was the first to go, the rider P'tol walking over, Ch’il only feeling a peaked sense of foreboding when P'tol was a few feet away and by then it was far too later.
Kerpth looked over, having swallowed a bit of meat and then P'tol was on him, cutting his throat as he gave a fearful squawk which turned to a gurgle while ichor spurted from his severed neck, P'tol shoving the shocked Ch'il away, the boy covered in the green blood. He felt Kerpth’s mind slowly slide from his, the blue calling out to the stunned boy until it was finally gone and emptiness remained. Suddenly he was no longer Ch’il of wingless blue Kerpth, but the dragonless candidate Chandil.
11.01.3015-04.??.3017;;
Quite literally, he became a human vegetable for the next two months. He didn’t speak, didn’t eat on his own, didn’t move. Suddenly what he had been waiting for his entire time at the Weyr, was taken from him so suddenly that he didn’t feel the need to work to live anymore. Why couldn’t he just fade into that emptiness that threatened to swallow him whole? The healers were only prolonging his pain.
After two months of being cut off from the rest of Pern, not caring about the murmurs around him that stated he was more delicate than the other candidates that had lost their dragons, his first word was, “Stop.”
While the healers had been forcing his evening meal down his throat, Chandil had suddenly shaken out of his reverie enough to realize that they were feeding him with whersport soup. He hated whersport soup. The only good way to eat one was roasted over a fire and stuffed with season tubers. So he refused the rest of his meal, clinging to the idea of hate to pull him out of his vegetable state. The next sevenday found Chandil slowly building an inner wall around himself, curling inside to keep away not only the darkness, but any other sympathy he might have felt for others. He would be selfish this time, he would only care about himself. Look what being empathetic had brought him, a miserable existence and a dead dragon.
When he was discharged from the infirmary, he immediately found a way out of the candidate barracks, and a full time post in the infirmary. He avoided canidates and weyrlings alike, avoided the dining hall and a possible run in with Z’ves, the bluerider didn’t need to see the utter loathing the crossed Chandil’s face at the very mention of him. Though he wasn't the one that killed Kerpth, he was part of them. He was a Wastelander and had killed another. He also avoided the color blue, but that was a near impossible task. Chandil was harsher with patients, hands that were once gentle in their care taking were suddenly rough and to the point, and most winced a groaned as he worked, younger children sometimes howling depending on their injury. The senior healers always made sure to give him the patients that were very pain tolerant.
He didn’t go to the Gather, the fact that a Selenitas bronzerider and dragon dying only touched his iron core to remind him of Kerpth, before the thought was roughly shoved away. When Ja’kin stepped down he was barely fazed, H’nes taking his place. It was after Millieth Rose, and Z’ves was found murdered his blue going between (Kerpth hadn’t been able to between to his death, his body had been burned), that Chandil found release. Somehow, having Z’ves gone was like having a weight lifted and he felt the rider got what he deserved, and somehow, somehow he found that Z’ves death reminded him of his family and he completely broke down.
Alone in the infirmary apart from patients, Chandil finally let the racking sobs out of his being nearly a Turn later, taking a seat on a nearby patient’s bed, a recently ill rider, and he mourned Kerpth. Perhaps the presence of the rider, awakened by Chandil’s sobs, and recognizing one of the dragonless candidates, was all sympathy at the teen’s sorrow, which allowed the iron shell he had constructed for himself to drop even further.
Though thoroughly embarrassed by his little lack of self-control, Chandil found himself being a bit more like his old self, though he was still awkward and would mutter insults to himself all the time, he would never be the same after that fateful day, but perhaps he would learn to smile more rather than scowl in time. He became gentler with patients, though his hands were still rougher than before and though generally still quiet except for his mutterings, came to be of a much better humor than his snappish temper. Though push him far enough he’ll still give a biting comment here and there.
His insomnia, surprisingly, came after having his little breakdown allowing fear to return to his person, he would find himself waking in a cold sweat in the candidate barracks(having moved back though he still refused to consider Standing again), and sneak out to wander the night corridors spying the large, lanky bodies of whers patrolling. While he discovered the night world, he also discovered it wasn’t as hard to see the other weyrlings that had Impressed when Kerpth was culled, in fact he found he was rather warm toward Er’ani no matter how flirtatious and intent on getting into bed with every woman in the Weyr, he admired him for actually jumping in front of his Lketh to save him.
Though he attended the candidates lessons, he felt no need to actually worry about Standing. He didn’t want to. It was only by force that he was still a candidate.
Thanks to his midnight wanderings, Chandil was out in the corridors when the earthquake happened, and managed to help where he could, and afterwards he was one of the few healers left uninjured, though he got quite the lump on his head, when Burimyu offered their assistance and New Selenitas was founded.
04.??.3017-03.??.3018;;
When Millieth’s clutch hatched, he wasn’t on the Sands with the other excited candidates, he was up in the infirmary, hiding from the hatchlings. He couldn’t push past the thump in his throat long enough to even watch the events. He was frightened. Frightened that Kerpth might be replaced and he had hung onto the blue’s memory for so long, he didn’t know if he could handle something taking his place.
With a new night time menace discovered, and the junior queen taking to the Skies, Chandil isn’t sure what his future holds anymore and wonders whether he could actually escape back to Southern Hold with his family instead of staying where more sorrows are sure to appear.
theme(s);;
Tik Tok Rok - Verse City
I Move On - Sintel
.:Candidates Only:.
name contraction (males only);;
Ch’il
desired dragon/wher color;;
no preference
dragon, wher, or both?;;
duel
[x] By checking this box, I am saying that I have read the Rules and History, and will follow them.
