Post by levi on May 17, 2010 15:34:11 GMT -8
Name: D'van (Donovan)
Age: twenty-three, born in spring
Gender: male
Sexuality: heterosexual
Rank: Blackrider, Chydyn Watch Captain
Location: the Eyrie
Personality:
If ever there was a person that could be qualified as 'the rock' in a group, D'van would be it; he is stern, but not cold, grounded, but not single-minded. Beneath his brusque, to-the-point exterior is a compassionate man with only one goal in mind; to protect what he sees as his. His people, his home, his country, his friends, his family; he would die to keep any and all of them safe, and has come close several times.
D'van is something of an alpha male, domineering and confident in his decisions, and while he can sometimes come off as overbearing, he always has the other's best interest at heart, even if he interpreted that interest incorrectly. He has a strong sense of territory, and tends to bristle when he perceives a threat to it; he isn't particularly aggressive or impulsive, but he is possessive, very much the jealous type. His over-protective nature puts some people off from him, but those close to him know that he means well, even if he aggravates them from time to time. And if all else fails, abundant blackmail material can be found in his secret soft spot for cats, perhaps the only aspect of himself about which he is embarassed.
Though not the type to laugh or smile very often, D'van feels happiness and humor just as much as others do, and his highly expressive gaze stands as proof; in his case, the eyes really are the windows to the soul. He has a surprisingly witty sense of humor, and knows enough about a decent array of subjects to be enjoyable in conversation, if highly opinionated. He might not be particularly book-smart, having paid much more attention to combat training than education, but his intelligence is not to be underestimated; he has a sharp, quick mind with an eye for tactics and the potential to one day become a master strategist. He has learned through the trials of his life how to twist a disadvantage so thoroughly that it becomes an advantage, a puzzling talent than continues to confound his enemies and allies alike; he could never be mistaken for the glass-half-full type of man, but he seems uncannily adept at pulling a silver lining out of his ass at the last second, given the appropriate amount of pressure. Its usually completely off the wall and totally crazy, but it almost always works.
Though he was always more of a listener than a speaker, D'van became more withdrawn after his brother's disappearance; the change was subtle, but those who knew him well enough saw it happening - his behavior was relatively unchanged, but those expressive eyes died a little that day. His words don't really seem to reach them these days, an almost imperceptible flicker of pain becoming a constant rather than a variable. While he has matured greatly over the last few years, the sadness in his carefully-guarded heart is still present, old wounds still raw, having not been allowed to heal. Nieneph has helped to fill the void left by Dylan, but it is obvious that D'van will never be quite the same.
Appearance:
D'van can best be described as an ectomorph, composed of tough, lean muscles rather than bulky, prominent ones. He is tall and rangy, with long, sinewy limbs and a broad chest and shoulders, tapering into slimmer hips that make him look a bit top-heavy. His triceps, biceps, calves and thighs are thick and hard, but not disproportionate, muscles finely cut, giving his less imposing frame an air of sturdiness and strength, and his broad-palmed hands are thick with callus, rough fingers riddled with as many scars as the rest of his body, the most notable of which being his right hand, which is missing its ring and pinky fingers. The digits were lost during his bonding with Nieneph, and he has adapted to using the crippled hand as a shield bearer, his shield equipped with modified straps to make holding it three-fingered easier. Hardly useful against the koxi, but against human opponents the accommodation works just fine.
One could say D'van is attractive, in an unconventional way; his features are sharp and harsh, a heavy brow shadowing intense brown eyes, so dark they seem to blend with his pupils, and his blunt nose is slightly crooked, the result of a meeting with a bludgeon early in his guard career. His lips are thin and his angular jaw is perpetually beset by stubble, lending credence to the feral grace with which he moves. His dark hair is cut professionally short, out of the way and easy to care for. It is often disheveled, the result of a habit of running his fingers through his hair, and it is obvious he never bothers to try and tame it; its likely he doesn't even remember its there until it starts falling in his eyes. Then out comes the nearest knife, and he's forgotten about it once again.
Though his proportions might be just off enough to look a little awkward, D'van's build is a practical one, creating an almost perfect balance and strength and agility. While he might not have the speed of a scout or the strength of a juggernaut, he can use his moderate supply of both to his advantage in any situation, the winning move in a game of 'paper, scissors, rock', if you will. He dresses practically, his civvies consisting of a simple tunic and pair of trousers in black, dark green, or some equally unflashy shade, made for function rather than form. He wears rough but durable leather boots, and his battle-wear is made of cured, hardened leather with metal plates over his vital areas, light but tough, and easy to move in. He prefers blades to blunt or ranged weaponry, and carries a steel longsword as his primary weapon, a long-knife down his left boot as a backup.
Though a non-material man with little use for knick-knacks, D'van wears a simple woven hemp bracelet, approximately three inches in width and half an inch thick, a gift given him by his mother before she died. He seems to have little regard for it, and yet he never takes it off.
Family:
Pets: None
Simourv Name: Nieneph
Simourv Color: Black
Simourv Age: four
Personality:
Nieneph is a proud, lordly creature; intermittently haughty and gracious depending on whose opinion you ask. He tends to look down on others without realizing it, and has a 'take charge' attitude that he is known to let run away with him, finding giving orders to be as natural as breathing. He holds himself in very high regard, head held aloft and shoulders rolled back, glancing down through his lashes at whomever he addresses, courteously polite but professionally distant. He and D'van share one goal however; to protect. Nien holds it as his sworn duty to protect his brood, and he has no mercy for those who disrupt the peace; his conviction is flawless, and his dedication and loyalty are unshakable, once earned. He respects D'van's determination and willpower, and carries him without shame.
Haughty as he often is, Nien has yet to perform the Chase, finding the flighty greens to be 'below' him, slender beauties though they might be. He can often be found flirting idly with them, though he rarely goes much farther than simple words, despite his more instinctual inclinations; he has his eyes set on none other than Her Ladyship, Eceph, and if there is anything Nieneph is good at, its getting what he wants - or admirable persistence, at any rate.
Though kind, if detached in the presence of friends, Nien is ruthlessly vicious on the battlefield, with no scruples about shedding some blood. Through his bond with D'van and some instinct seated deep in his psyche, Nieneph nurses a deep hatred of the koxi, and the thought of tearing one apart sends a thrill down his spine. He enjoys his post as Watch Captain's simourv, truly, but he would much rather be out scouring the land for battle and glory, and a decent amount of lizard meat, for which he has a raging penchant.
Nieneph grudgingly supports D'van's obsession with finding his brother, though it pains him to feel his rider's grief; he would be glad of the ability to help his human move on, but his efforts thus far has yielded little result, and he has largely resigned himself to simply being there to keep D'van from killing something in a fit of frustration, lowbrow as the job might seem.
Appearance:
Nieneph is an enormous beast of a simourv, a full sixty feet in length and thirty feet tall at the shoulder, broad of chest, shoulders, and hips with thick, powerful muscles and a wingspan that dwarfs the majority of his smaller cousins, and even some of the other blacks. His face is harsh and wolfish, dark amber eyes like liquid gold, ringed in inky skin that stands out against the splash of gray that colors his angular snout. His ears are slightly sharper in appearance than that of other simourvs, and his riveted horns have begun to curve toward his back slightly as he grows older, the shorter set above his eyes reduced to sharp little barbs by frequently rubbing his head against the thick bark of the native trees, marking his turf. His long, whip-like tail is reminiscent of that of the ancient Terran legend of Quetzalcoatl, slender and covered in soft, short feathers until the last few feet, where it fills out in long, fully-developed plumes.
The simourv's feathers are almost entirely mono-hued, the inky jet black common to his strain, though his underbelly and the tips of his wings are a snowy off-white, creating a dashing contrast. His powerful legs are rough-skinned and scarred by a life of battle, his pitch talons long and wickedly curved, frequently sharpened in shows of dominance and hard as diamonds. He is a handsome specimen indeed, an ideal of his strain, and he isn't afraid to let people know it, in his subtle, haughty way.
Parentage:
Wild Gray x Wild Black
History:
Timeline:
- Year 35 - Donovan and his twin, Dylan, born to Louis and Mareth of Chydyn four years after second influx of simourvs hit warfront.
- Year 37 - Donovan and Dylan show bond that borders on empathic. The two are as inseparable as rider and simourv.
- Year 43 - Koxi raid leads to Mareth's death. Donovan is wounded trying to defend her, and is confined to infirmary for weeks. Dylan stays with him throughout, and helps him recover. He heals quickly, and the two bond further over their grief. They begin combat training.
- Year 50 - Dylan and Donovan join Chydyn guard at minimum age of fifteen, working together in the same squad fighting rogue koxi
- Year 52 - Raid on and subsequent evacuation of border settlement turns bad, Dyl and Don separated in the fighting. Dylan disappears - hasn't been seen since.
- Year 53 - Donovan leaves on hunting expedition, which comes across the infamous first clutch.
- Year 54 - Clutch hatches, Donovan bonds to hatchling black, Nieneph, who dubs him D'van.
- Year 55 - D'van helps train younger riders in combat alongside other older members of the party. Nieneph helps fill the hole left by Dylan, though D'van has never been quite the same. Eyrie is found, and the following koxi attack is efficiently annihilated.
- Year 56 - D'van returns to civilization with the other riders, aids in the defense of Sayaie. Appointed watch captain of his hometown for his notable contribution in the battles, comes to be respected as a warrior and strategist of great potential, despite his young age.
- Year 57 - Lives in the Eyrie when not on rotation in Chydyn, supports his aging father as best he can. No more notable events to date.
In-Depth:
It was Year 35 A.E. (After Exodus) when Louis and Mareth of Chydyn gave birth to twin baby boys, and after the fashion of Louis's family the two were given traditional Terran names; Dylan and Donovan. Dylan was a boisterous, collickey baby with a flair for mischief and trouble, while Donovan was quiet, dark-eyed and observant, hardly ever crying and always out for new experiences - a singular trait over which the two strongly bonded. Their youth was largely spent with their faces in one corner or another, meditating on their 'crimes', or off on another madcap adventure for which the two rapidly became known in the young settlement. It was predicted that they would be an unstoppable team when they got older, and said precognizants would not be disappointed; the more they grew, the more uncannily in-tune they seemed with each other, until their bond bordered on empathy. Up until they were about four Don largely refused to speak, and Dyl was admonished more than once for speaking for him (an enabler, of sorts), knowing what he wanted to say just by looking at him. In turn, Don threw his weight around to protect his doppelganger, who, despite his spit-fire attitude, had not cultivated the skills needed for the occasional childhood brawl.
Life was good, despite the circumstances; the boys were apprenticed to their father, a leather-worker of some repute, when they were seven years old, and began learning the trade with enthusiasm. They enjoyed what they did, to some degree, despite their craving for adventure and excitement, and were quite content with their lives until their eighth year, when the walls of their cocoon came crashing down. The raid was vicious and completely unexpected; they were grossly unprepared, and when the koxi struck the fighting was fierce and desperate. Mareth took up her bow and arrow and shot through the second floor window as she defended her boys, and Louis fought tooth and nail to keep the huge beasts out of the first floor, supplying armor to anyone who could get inside. It was sheer, unadulterated chaos, and there was a time when they were sure they were going to die. Mareth had worked her way out the window and onto the ledge of roof that jutted out from the base of their house's second floor when a vicious blow from a thick, scaly tail shattered the tiles and collapsed the structure, sending her plummeting to the forest floor.
Don was out an unguarded window like a shot, and though the lift had been destroyed he managed to pick his way down one of the old rope ladders leading to the forest floor. Dylan ran after him, but he was less agile than his twin, and he was only halfway down the enormous tree when his brother was crouched over their mother, small knife he had grabbed from the kitchen in hand, teeth drawn back in a snarl. For all his show, however, he was still only a child, and he didn't stand a chance. Dylan barely managed to drag him away into a tight lattice of roots in time to escape with their lives; the koxi that had attacked Donovan could not follow them there, but it had gotten something for its trouble - Don was wounded, and making an escape was out of the question. The two huddled together beneath the great tree for two hours before a group came searching for survivors of the raid. They were examining Mareth's body with sad eyes when they heard a call from the network of thick roots, arriving at its source to find Dylan staunching the bleeding of his brother's wounds with a mass of moss pulled from nearby bark, both covered in blood and completely exhausted.
Don was taken to the infirmary and his wounds were treated; it was two weeks before he was permitted to leave the bed, and this would be followed by another few months of what limited physical therapy they had to offer. Dylan was with him the entire way, and he recovered surprisingly quickly, despite it all; the two bonded further over their grief, and when Don had regained enough dexterity the two took up combat training, determined not to let what had happened eight months earlier to happen again. They showed a great amount of raw talent and potential, and as they advanced their skill began to border on prodigious, the weaknesses of one covered by the other. They were as much the unstoppable team as they ever had been, and when they turned fifteen they began training under the Chydyn guard.
When the twins were seventeen fate saw fit to throw them another curveball. They were patrolling through a border settlement with the rest of their squad when a surprisingly vicious koxi attack caught them off guard; there weren't many of them, but it was obvious that they were half starved and mad with desperation. The two were separated in the wild fighting that ensued, and the subsequent attempts at evacuation, to save what villagers they could. The survivors took cover in an isolated vale of the forest for several days, and when they hesitantly returned to survey the damage Dylan was not among the dead; for reasons Donovan can't begin to fathom, Dylan disappeared that night, and hasn't been seen since. Don headed a search party shortly after the battle, and several more for weeks afterward, but he could find no sign of his brother, and he had never felt more alone. Something in the young warrior broke that day, an empty space opening in his heart, and he was never quite the same. He had always been quieter than Dylan, a listener rather than a speaker, but a brick wall went up during those harsh weeks, firmly separating him from the outside world. His behavior suffered little more than a slight chilling, in truth, but those who knew him could see the barriers he had erected, shutting himself off from hurt and heartbreak.
Not every change was necessarily for the worse, however; the following months would see Don truly begin to mature and come into his own, becoming a protective patriarch of a man with the stone foundation to weather the harshest storm, and the stern compassion to care for his brood. He became prone to worry, but expressed it with determination and an unparalleled work ethic, the fervent desire to protect what little he had left; he had lost his mother, his brother and dearest friend, but he would not lose his homeland to the koxi scum.
He was eighteen when he left Chydyn on a hunting expedition, contracted as a protector for the younger and less combat-experienced members of the party. The pickings were decent, if not abundant, and they never saw more than a single koxi lumbering in the opposite direction far in the distance; a relatively peaceful trek, up until they found the Gray. She was a sickly beast, curled protectively around a clutch of enormous eggs; he was no expert, but it was obvious enough that she was hanging on by a thread. The expedition party stayed near the cave, tentatively at first, soon beginning to provide what meat they could spare from their gainings for the old simourv to eat. She showed gratitude, and they were eventually allowed to remain in the cave with her, curiously examining both her and her clutch. The old gray was dead by the turn of the year, and there was concern for the future of her hatchlings for some days. Until the hatching, and subsequently the bonding, that is; each simourv that hatched immediately bonded with a compatible human, forging a link between the two of previously incomprehensible strength. Donovan himself was bound to a hatchling black that identified himself as Nieneph; a stern, lordly creature even in youth, with a presence that brooked no argument. After the initial conflict Nieneph dubbed his rider D'van, and so began a beautiful, if unconventional friendship.
During the following months the newly-christened riders attempted to train and become accustomed to their simourvs, and the elder members of the party instructed the younger in the ways of combat. By the time they found the network of caves that would become the Eyrie they were becoming a force to be reckoned with, as the koxi would soon learn. The newly-settled Eyrie saw its first attack shortly after its discovery, and through superior defensive position and tactics, as well as the strength, skill, and teamwork of humans and simourvs under the impromptu command of the blacks and gray, the koxi were driven out like beaten dogs, utterly defeated, with no casualties to the defending side. D'van was put in charge of a squad of his fellows, and as the others rebuilt what was damaged and tended to injuries they chased, struck, and harried the injured survivors far to the north, making damn sure they knew not to come back.
The riders returned to civilization after their simourvs turned two, and were immediately presented with the koxi threat yet again in the form of an extensive assault on Sayaie. Splitting into squads once more, the riders swept the city like a wildfire, purging it of what did not belong with ruthless efficiency; the humans had been terrorized by the koxi for too long, and now was the time for vengeance. The koxi were driven back again, and regular sweeps for the next week kept them running, Sayaie safe once more.
Things changed rapidly over the next year, a heretofore unforeseen shift in Pohonian society, a strengthening of foundation and morphing of infrastructure that left them stronger than they had been since the first decade after the Exodus. The riders were split into squads and assigned duties, and Ro'za's gray solidified her dominance, giving them the leadership that they had needed for some time. Recognized for his contribution in recent events, D'van was appointed Watch Captain of Chydyn, and would rapidly become recognized as a tough and talented, if young and inexperienced warrior, with the potential to become something great.
He is currently living in the Eyrie when not on rotation in Chydyn, visiting his father when he can and writing when he can't. He takes his duties very seriously, and has become known as the go-to man for any problem under the sun, from repairwork to training demonstrations to anything one can throw at him, willing to apply what talents he has in any field to aid and protect his kinsmen. He has turned into a general protector of all he surveys, and while he might tend to be overbearing at times, he is generally well-liked and respected.
His occasional forays into the wilds on what scraps remain of his brother's trail remain fruitless...
