Post by Lyrt on May 15, 2012 12:39:30 GMT -5
Name: Yrën Îdhion
Age: Seventy-Nine
Race: Elven
Occupation: Ceramist Apprentice
Allegiance: Du Weldenvarden
Physical Description: From the first glace it is quite clear to any of the elven people that Yrën is different. From the way he walks to the way he speaks a great divide rests between the grace expected of an elf and the blatant lack of it shown by him. Like a black sheep he sticks out like a sore thumb among them, an imaginary line chopping himself off from the race.
His skin is pale yet contains a certain glow like a pearl basked in the midmorning light, smooth and flawless as it should be. Yet dark bruises seemed to blossom on his limbs, blemishing the perfection expected of him. Various colors from a deep violet to a sickly yellow mottle the surface in odd patterns. Battle wounds would be the thought first thought to flit through ones mind but it is simply not so.
He would simply be strolling along a riverbed or walking back through the forest city to his home, it would make no difference either way. The result was always the same in end, over and over without fail it would happen. Someway and somehow his ankles would twist around each other and he would lurch forward with a cry arms flapping to try to scavenge the little bits of balance.
Then with a soft cry he would slam into the ground soft blond hair sticking to his forehead as the loud splash breaks the silence and serenity of the land. He would sit blinking confused and soaked in whatever body of water was stationed nearby almost as if he had been pulled towards it. But it was not something so complex in the slightest. All it was that somehow the young elf stationed at a mere five feet and eight inches a dwarf among his own people had tripped over his own long legs yet again. Another few bruises blossoming in mere moments after.
Personality: Yren is a bumbling fool, a happy one at that. Everything to him can always seem so hopeful even if the world was simply crumbling apart beneath his feet. There is always something to be thankful for in any situation , always a reason to smile even in the darkest of times.
His race on the other hand is almost always stoic, face closed off to the emotions they felt. To him thought it was not a weakness to show them freely as many did seem to feel. Crying when sad, smiling when happy, there was no harm in it. It was even better to do so, the though of his people swelling up and exploding from bottling it up brought tears to his large cyan eyes. Even if it was utterly impossible the possibility of it stayed permanently lodged in the back his mind.
Most of his time is spent in silence, deeply involved in his work which takes his top priority until something pops up to distract him. Whichever of the two it is he devotes himself to it completely spending his energy without limits until something else grabs his attention. Usually in another few moments, with so many things going on about him patience is not something that is his virtue by any stretch of the imagination.
At a moments notice he is off in another direction dashing along merrily to fuel his never ending curiosity leaving his master silently steaming in frustration but knowing all to well it was useless to convince him otherwise.
History:
Having spent most of his life in training Yren has not had much of incident occur during his schooling in Ilirea. Most of his time was spent bouncing off the walls bursting with far too much energy to be contained. Teaching him magic was truely a task for the most patient the boy hardly able to sit still enough to concentrate for a moment at first. Even after many long years of it little changed, even if he could sit still for a little longer than before Yren stayed the same high spirited child as before.
Once his training had been completed he returned to Ellesméra and began a pre-arranged apprenticeship to a potter by the will of his parents. They believed that the hard work would slowly tame the unmanageable boy. There he has stayed falling slowly into the rituals of daily life and slowly carving a place for himself to thrive doing as he wished.
Age: Seventy-Nine
Race: Elven
Occupation: Ceramist Apprentice
Allegiance: Du Weldenvarden
Physical Description: From the first glace it is quite clear to any of the elven people that Yrën is different. From the way he walks to the way he speaks a great divide rests between the grace expected of an elf and the blatant lack of it shown by him. Like a black sheep he sticks out like a sore thumb among them, an imaginary line chopping himself off from the race.
His skin is pale yet contains a certain glow like a pearl basked in the midmorning light, smooth and flawless as it should be. Yet dark bruises seemed to blossom on his limbs, blemishing the perfection expected of him. Various colors from a deep violet to a sickly yellow mottle the surface in odd patterns. Battle wounds would be the thought first thought to flit through ones mind but it is simply not so.
He would simply be strolling along a riverbed or walking back through the forest city to his home, it would make no difference either way. The result was always the same in end, over and over without fail it would happen. Someway and somehow his ankles would twist around each other and he would lurch forward with a cry arms flapping to try to scavenge the little bits of balance.
Then with a soft cry he would slam into the ground soft blond hair sticking to his forehead as the loud splash breaks the silence and serenity of the land. He would sit blinking confused and soaked in whatever body of water was stationed nearby almost as if he had been pulled towards it. But it was not something so complex in the slightest. All it was that somehow the young elf stationed at a mere five feet and eight inches a dwarf among his own people had tripped over his own long legs yet again. Another few bruises blossoming in mere moments after.
Personality: Yren is a bumbling fool, a happy one at that. Everything to him can always seem so hopeful even if the world was simply crumbling apart beneath his feet. There is always something to be thankful for in any situation , always a reason to smile even in the darkest of times.
His race on the other hand is almost always stoic, face closed off to the emotions they felt. To him thought it was not a weakness to show them freely as many did seem to feel. Crying when sad, smiling when happy, there was no harm in it. It was even better to do so, the though of his people swelling up and exploding from bottling it up brought tears to his large cyan eyes. Even if it was utterly impossible the possibility of it stayed permanently lodged in the back his mind.
Most of his time is spent in silence, deeply involved in his work which takes his top priority until something pops up to distract him. Whichever of the two it is he devotes himself to it completely spending his energy without limits until something else grabs his attention. Usually in another few moments, with so many things going on about him patience is not something that is his virtue by any stretch of the imagination.
At a moments notice he is off in another direction dashing along merrily to fuel his never ending curiosity leaving his master silently steaming in frustration but knowing all to well it was useless to convince him otherwise.
History:
Having spent most of his life in training Yren has not had much of incident occur during his schooling in Ilirea. Most of his time was spent bouncing off the walls bursting with far too much energy to be contained. Teaching him magic was truely a task for the most patient the boy hardly able to sit still enough to concentrate for a moment at first. Even after many long years of it little changed, even if he could sit still for a little longer than before Yren stayed the same high spirited child as before.
Once his training had been completed he returned to Ellesméra and began a pre-arranged apprenticeship to a potter by the will of his parents. They believed that the hard work would slowly tame the unmanageable boy. There he has stayed falling slowly into the rituals of daily life and slowly carving a place for himself to thrive doing as he wished.
