Weringal The Drakadlor A Drakmuth
Said to find a blue piece of metal from a small fish monster's mouth when he was four, and that was the first piece of metal he ever created. After the townsfolk repeated talk about it and guiding him to the ocean to fish, he would start to cry and be upset. He quickly came to avoid any fishing spots, preferring to sit in his mother's gardens. A new rumor started that he pulled gems from the roots of the plants, but he ignored that one enough til it died down.
From a young age he kept a small ring of Gordist Irith on a thin chain around his neck. He claims is was scraps made by his mother, while it was really a charming seashell he found near the shore. He doesn't let anyone touch it.
Often buries his hand in dirt to hide his erihale, the darker the dirt the better, as it covers it even after removed from the ground.
Carries a pack, as he is a hound for founding gems and raw metals in the oddest locations that he takes back home. Doesn't very much nature as he gets older, or darkly colored things. Bringing jewels and bright shiny things from raw materials makes him feel better, and he likes his Erihale covered in ash, where it looks normal for a metalsmith.
In my eleventh year, a decree was set out that had everyone poorer than a Maginven work harder for their keep. I heard about a group of boys in Datarn Ver from Marbegit A Hidminten that were trying to join a merchant's class, and I considered joining. Once the news got closer, I heard they were denied and that was what I thought was that. It wasn't until ran to me one morning when mother was dealing with yet another suspicious character, that they even popped in my mind. I heard the commotion before I saw it, Marbegit narrating as the group shambled closer, riding an old cart as a wagon, a piece of cloth that might have resembled something if there was someone who knew how to embroider limply hanging off the back of a weakly nailed on pole. "We're starting a guild, for us younger than those old merchants! We have here out, ah, woah!" One of the monsters that was somehow saddled into a rickety wagon, with a flag of something that looked like a Olt Elenbin on it.It's noted on the pages most famously attached to his childhood files that there was a dramatic shift in text, even the manner of how he wrote from the two passages. A few years have passed, and he has gotten a better idea of what people think of him and his mother.
I was a boy too old to be scared of the hardships of the world, when I had a horrible nightmare of my mother dying. I was already considered to be well adjusted, working the mine runs with the Path Wheeler and not getting swindled as I manned the books of infamous Kifore Path. But one single dream of my mother collapsing before me, and I fall into a depressive state. She was getting a little restless, lately. She enjoyed being away from the path, I know it was never something she had wanted to do, but lately it feels different. I'll catch glimpses of her smiling or hear on the wind a small laughter from her direction, no one else around, whenever she's faced away from the path, from me. Once I turn to see her face, that stern powerful woman glares down at me. Or equal to me. "You father was too carefree, too happy for this world. A pointed crooked finger, and he was gone, just like that. That's what Suda commanded. Don't be happy son. Be smart." Those were always words to live by from her, ever since I remember hearing my first word in Hadur. I just didn't understand. Was she trying to finally be happy? Should any of us be happy?" I say nothing about my musings, just keep my eyes and mind alert. My inaction turns from no questions to quiet suggestions, to waving her away. More and more mother is gone, more and more a joy sparks in her, yet she never talks about it. Through my days minding the shop, I take back to using my instrument that's almost too small for my hands, I play on days when business is slow. Soon I get compliments, words of encouragement to spread it about. I didn't occur to me that without my mother around, I actually. Enjoy people. I deemed myself a quiet one, as my mother was before me, and kept to myself, talking and keeping my own self company in my mind's voice. But maybe I need to be more... sociable. The gatherings I threw at our tiny room on Boridin Row were always something I felt connected to. But since taking over and surrounding myself with those of all ages, I just like people in general. I quietly make my plans and decide when to tell my mother my decision, if and when she stays for more than a few days. The time for me to catch her is less and less, sometimes I'll sleep at dawn and late morning there's new meat hanging in our pantry. I bought a large enough firepit, not for keeping warm but for cooking, so if she ever notices she won't complain. But the plan. Live up to my mother's dreams, and start making the business she had so wished for me to create. Only a few more years.He has a love for Grassclaw, though as a general rule doesn't try to mess with monsters, as he's heard too many tales. They do always tend to catch his interest, and he'll stop and listen for a story of them. He becomes best friends with Didrit Of Framarch when they were still children. While he led a group of village child and was friendly with many of them, towards the time of their First Week, it was up in the air as to who he was planning on going with. After he and Didrit marry, the two become a powerhouse, leading their own guild and becoming very famous outside their tiny Queendom.
Relationships
Species
Ethnicity
Date of Birth
289HB 11 Dasarl of Sprines
Spouses
Didrit The Drakadlor Of Framarch
(spouse)
Siblings
Children
Current Residence
Presentation
Tanned skin, like his mother's. Light blonde hair like his father, but short and curly when he's older. Bright brown eyes, small pupils looks sharp. Long thin lips, upper protuding, broad crook nose, a permant cowlick and bad hearing in his right ear.
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