You're walking through the candidate's weyr area, and hear the sound of ... battle? Metal against metal? That can't be right! You head over to the source of the sounds, which is across the way from an eerily silent kennel.

Several things assault your senses right when you push aside the heavy wherhide curtain to enter: There are two men paired off each using a large weapon to strike at one another; it is bright and clean, very tidy and hardly anything out of place; it smells very nice, not of the men's (certainly) sweating forms, but of - ah there you see beyond them a basket of fresh-baked rolls which wafts through the air around them. They stir the air again, the one man has a long staff which has a solid, curved blade at the end, while the other, slightly younger one, lifts a well-crafted sword against it. He does very well actually, until they both notice you standing there with your mouth open.

"Ah hah," says the older man, "well I think it's time we were done this afternoon, ey Xexys?" He bows deeply, though formally - he is a well-seasoned guard, that's for sure. You aren't certain where he's from nor why he's with this young man! As he passes, he slaps his huge hand upon your shoulder, "Xexys is a good swordsman, don't let him fool you. He's smarter and quicker than he looks."

"Hey what does that mean!" This Xexys says, laughing himself and putting his sword into its sheath, which is just as ornate as the hilt itself. When he comes up and looks at you, you're stunned. He is without a doubt one of the most handsome men in the Weyr, probably that you've ever seen in your life! And with the number of good-looking men in this Weyr, that's saying something! "Hello, I'm Xexys, but you heard that already from Nybarr there."

"Yes, though I'm confused, where'd he come from?"

"Oh he's ... well, he's my bodyguard, sort of..." Xexys looks away, rolls his head around and stretches his muscular arms. "My father sent him, just in case I needed something... more than what I'm capable of myself. But it's nice to have someone to train with, woudln't you say?"

"Certainly, if you're looking for swordsmanship, you've definitely got a good partner for that!" You say. You introduce yourself, and tell him, "I'm here to interview, if you don't mind?"

"Not at all. Oh, would you like a roll? They're fresh, I promised myself I wouldn't have any until I was done with practice, so here goes!" He took one for himself, and whether you were ready for it or not, tosses another into the air for you. You catch it, fumble with it. They're not hot, but obviously right out of the oven from the kitchens below. He flops down on a wide chair, rakishly draping himself like he knows how good he looks doing it. "Well, interview!"

You find a place to sit, winding up on the corner of the bed. "I know your name, and that you're a good swordsman, but where are you from? And what else do you do? You're a little older than some of the other Candidates, you probably have some other interests they might not because of their young age."

"Yeah," Xexys says, folding his hands over his chest, and continuing to chew while he speaks, "my family isn't really... all that settled. We didn't live in a Hold, Hall or even a Weyr for any length of time. We moved from place to place a lot, buying and selling, but also finding whatever we could in the wilderness."

"A wanderer? You? I'd have thought you were a Lordling!" His demeanor and dress certainly say that! You begin to wonder whether his family stole those... but then he speaks.

"Well, we hired ourselves out to the local area as guards, you see. We didn't trade, but the people around us did! I grew up with a knife in my hand, and a rose in the other." He laughs. "We all learned how to use some kind of weapon, though I was usually able to be the one doing other things. I learned how to paint," he throws his hand toward a painting which while inexpert is certainly pleasant to look at - a portrait of someone. "Not easy to do while on a caravan, let me tell you."

"Who is that a picture of, if I may ask?"

There, he darkens a little, his smile fading a bit. "That's my mother, rest her soul, she mostly led us. My father did the hard work, but she arranged everything. Including where I was to go... But that didn't happen when she died." He looks away. "I know you're going to ask, so I'll just say it: my sister Xadix decided to ruin everything, by trying to get us to settle somewhere we weren't particularly welcome."

"But your father? Didn't he try and stop her?"

"He was distraught, they'd been together a very long time, he and my mother. And I loved her, we all did. She was a wonderful woman." He bites his lip a bit, "everyone who met her said the same." He reaches over and picks up the portrait. You notice then, that it's been through a bit of stress: the frame has been fitted together over some breaks, and there's a clear but small rip right along the side of the portrait itself. It doesn't mar her beauty.

"My sister ruined everything for us, until the Search riders came." He says, putting the picture back on the clothing dresser. "My brother and I had to look out for our littlest sister, while she was busy giving out all our possessions and throwing our whole livelyhood into the midden. That's why I was glad to be Searched. It was a few years ago, by one of the Dragonhope riders actually."

He pulls in a sigh. "I wish I could find my supplies," he tosses his head toward the painting. "I had a small amount of pigment, colors and the right kind of mixtures, but she sold them right out from underneath me."

"You could probably get more, if you Impress you'll be given a stipend."

"Oh... really?" He says, more brightly. "I didn't actually know that. That's good to know. There are plenty of scribes around here, I wish there were more painters."

"Well the scribes could find you some, I think." You tell him. He seems a bit put off.

"Well the scribes are pretty full of themselves, when they know you can't understand what they're writing," he says. "They've given me this children's book - can you imagine? A book for a toddler!" He doesn't bother to toss it, but you can tell that he's angry at the 'intrusion' of this. But he's clearly struggling to read it, when he says, "primer for letters and numbers, fah. I lived for twenty years without it, I can live without them now!"

"If you Impress high, though," you counter carefully, "you'll need to read and write fairly well - and honestly I think you may impress a good ranking dragon."

He pauses. His eyebrows furrow, "really? I mean... huh. I'm not all that great."

"Ah, that's what your body guard meant... you don't believe in your own abilities, but they're there, I can see them even now."

Any more arrogant of a man might have grinned and encouraged you to continue. However, he waves his hands in defeat. "Hardly, I'm not that great. I'm able to lift a sword and appreciate beauty, what's a rank got for me there?"

"One of our queen riders is a Master Scribner," you comment, "and at least one bronze rider is a flutist - a good one at that. You'd be surprised what dragons find when they look into you!"

"Huh. Well at least I know dragons are smarter than animals. I can't stand to see anything looking into my eyes if it's a dumb animal!" He gives a shudder, and you jot something down. "I'm not supposed to be afraid of anything, am I?" He asks, weirdly. He's completely honest, he doesn't realize that everyone is afraid of something.

"You can have whatever fears you like, a dragon, I'm told, will help you overcome them. I know plenty of the riders around here who started out terrified of heights, or dragons themselves!"

He looks surprised at that. "Really. Well... I suppose you're going to write it down anyway, like the other scribes, I'm ... well I have had some problems dealing with runners in my day."

"You were on a caravan, that must not be good."

"It wasn't," he admits. "When I was quite small a runner smushed me up against the side of our cart. It broke my arm, actually, left me with this scar. I tell the girls it's from Thread, but some of them know better. It doesn't look at all like a thread scar."

He shows it off, it is puckered but quite small, old. "Noooot really."

"I didn't think so. I'm not really looking forward to getting any Threadscore, mind you, but ... it'd be a better battle scar than being thrown and crushed by a horse."

"It's a reasonable thing to be afraid of them," you say, "they're only animals, after all. Any dragon would know it's harming a man, and stop."

"So they really can't hurt us?" He asks. "That's interesting. I do wonder, though... What dragons will see in me."

"I'm sure you'll find out, Xexys," you tell him, bow and leave him to his thoughts.

You walk into a weyr and immediately notice its inhabitant who has a sparring partner using elegant sword against bladed staff.  It smells of baked goods here. Looking around, you see it is very neat.  This weyr is located right near a Kennel.  Scanning the room you find a broken/ripped and repaired painting of a person.

Status: Wanderer
Age: 21
Gender: male
Siblings: 3
Born: next to last
Legitimacy: born to married parents
Childhood Health: sick occasionally like a normal child
Adult Height: just normal for their age in height
Adult Build: lithe but muscled
Skin Tone: well tanned
Hair Color: darkly brown
Hair Style: wavy
Hair Length: shoulder length
Eye Color: rich red-brown
Literacy Level: are unable to read and write
Politeness Level: their manners are well known for being somewhat poor
Focus: they are continually distracted by the things around them - work? What's that?
They are considered remarkably attractive
They give without thinking of consequences of either

Values and Goals
Values: their portrait
Hates: hot places
Practically nonexistant goal: locate something lost
Very strong fear: horses
Weak hatred: their sister
Odd Skill (learned outside of craft if any): artistry

Originally From: scrubland community
Location size: well populated
Location climate: seasonal
Searched: as a teen