Description:

Dark brown hair has been recently cut - sides and back are cut close to his scalp, but the top is left a little longer, a little mop of unruly curls here and there. Dark skin show off his startling pale green eyes that look upon the world with amusement, as he has a way of often finding something to laugh about. Full, sensual red lips lie beneath a nose that just somehow fits his  face, not too large and not too small. He stands over six feet, closer to the half way mark if truth be told. Skinny some say, well-built others, but he pays them no mind, feeling quite comfortable with himself the way he is.
Golden-yellow linen tunic drapes from Z'eir's shoulders, belted with a simple black wherhide belt. Black linen trousers tuck into sturdy boots of polished wher-hide - the uniform of a weyrling.
Double cords of maize and jet intertwine in a single, simple loop, wrapped wtih a bronze sisal ribbon, to denote his rank as an Igen Weyr Junior Weyrling, rider of Qwinth.

Background:

Growing up at Katz Field Hold after his dad's death, Zasheir learned to ride runners from an early age, helping to train the many racing runners that area is wide-known for.  Foregoing the training by the Herders, he instead learned the ropes from working on his uncle Heirhin's breeding farm, starting out in the stables and working his way up to trainer, the stallion Lucky Red one that earn him his fame by winning the races three turns in a row!

Yet, even as happy as his work left him, there was that need to travel, to see new sites and meet new people. When that itch became too much for him to handle, he said his goodbye's to his family and struck out on his own.  His travels have taken him all over, and now have led him to Igen Weyr, taking on a job as a stablehand while he explores his new temporary home.

His time at Igen Weyr proved to be one that changed his life - in many ways! From his first few days where he found a new drink that quickly became his favorite, until brozerider T'paz explained those horrilbe side-effects that the pink cactus tea had, to his run in with the tipsey Sr. Weyrwoman Gamma who was busy oogling people's knees. His life really changed when the WLM's own brown decided he smelled just right for the clutch upon the sands, and wouldn't let him up till he'd agreed to become a Candidate for Spectrath's clutch.

Candidancy went by fast, chores done and the usual small pranks and fun had in the candidate barracks. Then, that day came when the dragons started thrumming, and it was time to don the robe he'd found in a chest and walk out onto the sands.

Time stopped for him when the heat of another's mind touched his, one kissed by flames.

<< Join me, Z'eir, and we shall hunt and lead together. >>

That voice, that sweet voice: husky and forever adoring almost threatens to send tingles down Zasheir's, now Z'eir, spine, down to his very core. A pregnant pause brings flames' a-crackling  and smokiness adrift, and the words never forgotten follow:

<< I am your Qwinth. >>

And now, the two find themselves weyrlings, bloodbrothers for life...
 
 

Qwinth's Inspiration

Fire Lizards:

Scruffy:
Darkness curls around the lines and curves of this grand firelizard, hooked muzzle the only area of brilliance. Nearly gold, the tip curves sharply down, slicing the air in an eagle's beak, shining hide colored in brilliant earthen gilt. A darker shade of newly tilled soil brown enwraps head and neck, winded erosion tarnishing highlighted features. Shadows convelesce across backridge and and body, vanishing into gunmetal gray, broken only by recalcitrant rings encircling each taloned claw. Tarred and feathered, is this ones wings--spars dripping inky blackness down 'sails, leaking back onto a blunt, balanced tail.

Aeir:
Angled wings glimmer of the sunset as the light runs through their thin veined tapestries; pure illumination, they're almost whistling of the winds that oft run about them. Crystalline eyes glance at you from chiseled complexions of a milky blue hide rushing around, sometimes eroded to a dark forest core that juts in place of sharp origins. Snake tail twists to tests the air about him, for all it's possibilities; while blunt claws patter cross the grounds with an agile hop.

Kosh:
And then there is mystery.  Clothed in smoke, whirled in mist, he is a bronze of average size and average color who somehow... is still not average.  Oh, he is the same green-gold-brown-copper color as any other bronze firelizard, slightly hinted over with a smoky patina of silver.  He's got all the parts in the right places: head, limbs, wings, tail.  But there's something... else.  Perhaps it's the way he doesn't screech or creel like other firelizards.. he warbles in a soft and haunting voice.  Perhaps it's the effortless deliberation of his movements, the way, even walking, he seems to float, to flow.  Perhaps it's none of these things, or all of them.  This one is different, that's all.

Baldrick:
Indigo emblazons darkling hide in swirls and patches over the surface of this firelizard's skin, serpentinian spirals etching around rutabaga calico and patterning flanks to dance rondels around svelte purple tail.  Velveteen-lined wingsails glisten with stardust, wingtips dashed with the same dark indigo as sides and deepening belly.  Overprominent headknobs set at a kilter to his little head prevent him from ever being graceful, although his sweet nature is evident in the subtle gleam from gently whirling eyes.

Rabida:
The essence of the most brilliant green, the soul of the rainforest, flies across poised shoulders and trips over the serrated edge of this petite firelizard's neckridges.  It tumbles into the flickering bright purples and tropical yellows that fleck willowy wingsails and flat, beaked tail spade.  Spidery fingers of lime reach, sheathed in jewel-toned ocean blues that crumble slowly, across the brilliantly gleaming hide on her neck, flanks, and tail; intelligently shadowed eyes whirl slowly 'neath glowing white headknobs.

Envy:
Lurid green smudges this brown's eyeridges with the flames of jealousy, stoking his internal misery with invidious comparisons. Sunlight suffuses the warm chocolate hues of his wings with soft brilliance, but he knows only that they do not shine. His sinewy legs bear him admirably, but he tends to envy sculpted muscles, deeming his body unflauntable. Smoldering resentment burns in his heart, coating body and wings with a concealing smudge of soot.