Post by Zane on Jul 29, 2012 14:46:15 GMT -8
Name: Tikra.
Pronunciation: Ty-kra.
Gender: Female.
Age: 17 Turns.
Turnday: 3056.13.6
Weyr: Ice Stone Weyr.
Rank: Dragon Candidate.
Family:
Tikrel {Father}
Takiyah {Mother}
Friends: None.
Pets: N/A.
Appearance: Long, medium brown, hair falls over her shoulders in messy waves. It is nearly unkempt and yet one would think it a style. Natural red highlights intermingled with a touch of darker brown hues mixed throughout her locks, making her true color difficult to place. Her brown almond-shaped eyes are very dark. There is a squint to those eyes, her lashes dark and short. Her face is lightly freckled, it being mostly over the bridge of her nose and across her lightly tanned cheeks. For the most part she’s got a flushed color to her skin. Her baby face is well-rounded, giving her a childish cuteness. Her lower lip is fuller than her thinner upper, her dark brows being well shaped although thickly lined. Her nose is small, though not quite button shaped. Standing at an average height of 5'6”, she's done growing. She weighs approximately 115 lbs. She has a feline-like appearance to her somehow, which is only all the more backed up by her movements. Tikra could easily be described as feral.
She’s a slim girl, with a petite chest. The majority of her height is made up in her legs, not appearing to be muscled, simply lean. She’s fit, however, more than fit really. Tikra is fast on her feet and quiet as she moves along. Almost as if she’s a shadow, unseen. Her eyes are the window to her forever mischievous nature. They’re always laughing, most literally, with a twinkle that spells out troublemaker. Most often her expression is that of a smirk, and knowing the reasoning behind said smirk is far from an easy task. Her clothing betrays her gender. She is often clad in the wear of a boy, though her clothing is a smaller fit for her feminine form. Her curves can’t be fully appreciated with her chosen garb, despite her potentially see-through whites. It’s quite often that she wears white; white against black, or white on white. Shorts are her more favored choice, over pants. Button-up shirts that can be if only a bit undone are her other favored choice. Vests or darker-colored tunics, preferably black, are worn over top, always more loosely worn.
Her fingers are long and dexterous, her reflexes sharp. Her hearing is her sharpest sense from many hours of spying, followed by her keen eyesight. It’s not to say there is anything extra about her abilities, it is simply that she has honed in on them to the best of her capabilities. She has a dislike for dresses, and even at gathers and various other festivities refuses to be made to wear one. She likes her clothes to be masculine; no ruffles, or typically pretty designs. She likes to be comfortable, and yet add a touch of her own stylistic flare every now and again. She has small feet, and is quite picky over what goes on them. She is often wearing new shoes a lot of the time, not wanting them to appear worn. It’s a quirky concern of hers. She tans easily, but thankfully her skin isn’t the type to just as quickly burn. A lot of her time is spent outdoors, giving her that earthy scent. There is something sweet-smelling about her, always, even if she’s caked in dirt. Naturally, she just has a good smell (not that anyone would want to get close enough to her to find out!)
Personality: Well not a raging feminist, she supports women stepping up to bat. She isn’t sexist towards the opposite gender; rather she searches for something higher than equality among them. Her level of maturity is far exceeding her age, making many a person stare curiously. Leadership roles are her standing and once she’s secured them, only a blood bath awaits any who try to step-up alongside her, or overtake. She is eerily possessive of what’s hers. Sharing has never been her forte. Selfishness is tattooed over her heart and has made a home there, cozy next to greed and lust. Lust for control that is, a control that wins her the power she so desires. She has the patience required for such time-consuming pursuits. She’s an ambitious teen who shares her thoughts and desires with no one. Every dirty little secret is stored away, safe, and completely unknown to others. She is good at hiding what’s right on the surface, if ones would only manage to see past the veil. The wish for a hostile takeover is not out of the question, not to her. She doesn’t see it as dreaming big; she doesn’t see it as dreaming at all. To Tikra, it's only a matter of time.
Saying she’d go as far as to betray her own family to accomplish her means is not a far stretch from the truth. Relationships are a setback in her eyes, and unnecessary. She never tries to make friends, or puts any real effort into getting to know anyone. If she pays attention to someone, chances are she has a hidden agenda. She finds woman just as attractive as men. She was not at all afraid to declare herself bisexual. No one dared to tell her any different, knowing how sure the girl was about every decision she made. Conclusions are something she comes to rather quickly, sure of herself. Never does she back down on a choice once it’s been made, one to follow things through. Authority is something she oversteps, thinking herself to be the ultimate exception to any rule. It’s not as if she’s attempting to be a typical teenage rebel. She doesn’t even consider herself rebellious, merely right. She considers herself a higher power, a superior being. Doesn’t mean that’s the case. Her ego is hard to miss, deserving of a good eye roll. Her withering glare could rival Medusa’s. Not many receive that look, and the ones that do are black-listed.
She has a wretched temper that made her family step away from her. She’s perfected temper tantrums into a fine art. Weapons are always on her person, and whether or not they’ve caused the last breath of a sorry soul is unknown. Putting it past she would be a mistake. When people get in her way, they get in her way, their loss, not hers. Perhaps it is a mistake, her considering herself invincible. Then again, it’s largely what keeps her going. Many think her without an operative heart, betting that were her figurative heart something she could cut out, she would. The girl is downright emotionless. She always has a look of amusement whenever trouble is afoot, and the rest of the time her expression is blank and lifeless. She always knows what she’s going to do, one for having a solid plan. Boundaries are non-existent to her, she crosses any line. “The creature,” might as well be another breed of human entirely. Compassion and sympathy are lost on her. The weak are weak, the strong are strong, its black and white with her.
She is fascinated by Pern’s newest and oldest creatures. She believes all of the creatures to possess an undiscovered intelligence. Dragons are favored by her for their strength, size, and capabilities. Rank is everything to her. She’s not one for leisurely activities. She doesn’t do any reading beyond discovering new ways of doing things, nor does she bother with writing. She’s not into music, or having pets with no degree of telepathic abilities. She finds animals to be a nuisance, save for the use of food. She goes running to clear her mind, and stay fit for battle. She excels in hand-to-hand combat and the use of her weapons. She prefers swords and blades, always having at least a dagger on hand, hidden away in her pants. Her sword has a fine encasement that secures onto her belt. She is not one for showing-off, knowing that those who underestimate her will get there’s someday. She never forgets a face, or taunting words.
History: Her journey really began when she heard there were individuals, young, like herself, whom were intending on venturing to a Weyr called Ice Stone. Due to her desire for power, she came to the conclusion that she’d be amongst them after being Searched herself, as they were. Surely a fine beast would choose her, and then who would be able to stop her from causing damage? She’d fight against all those whom opposed her, and win, with her beast at her side. Fighting was, after all, what she did best. Her father was a fighter, and a fine fighter. The man had an infatuation with his hobby, when not busy performing his smithing work. He could see his daughter’s overall interest, and potential, and took her on as an apprentice of sorts. She picked up his moves quickly, and wound-up going it alone once she’d learned all that she could from him. She incorporated moves of her own and even her father couldn’t keep-up. She made her practice her life since the age of nine turns, which was the age her father permitted her to begin. Pushing her limits was her own personal high.
Her father had taught her so much, and yet she knew how much she’d learned all on her own. Now it was her time to prove herself, to herself. Maybe a part of her wanted to impress her father, a small part of her. It was time to make her first kill, and that’s precisely what she was going to do. The event took place a turn after she began her practice. She was going to kill. A wild wherry was her target, not that she felt that felling the creature would be a challenge. She remembers it like it was yesterday, for hardly a feeling since then has surpassed it. She approached the creature slowly, her steps light, her breath shallow. It was moving at a steady pace, unaware of its pursuer. Blade firmly in hand, she had it poised to strike, a look of determination on her face, sweat on her brow. The smell of death would be sweet, she’d savor it. She didn’t need a past experience to tell her that, she could feel it. Her instincts were driving her closer and closer, her knuckles white in the hand she possessed her weapon. The creature turned at the last moment... Maneuvering around it, avoiding beak and talons, she did not hesitate to stab the creature through the side, smirking while it squabbled and flailed about. To defend itself it attempted to twist around, the blade only being further sunk through its form. Slowly pulling the blade from the creature, she was quick to slash at its neck, red covering the ground. Her smirk enlarged all the more, and she stood back to observe her work, an occasional twitch of the near dead wherry dragging a chuckle or two out of her. A glimpse of the future? One could only hope not.
The innocence a child starts off with, it is undetermined if there was ever a time when Tikra retained that innocence. Stubborn behavior, impoliteness, and disobedience became more prevalent as the turns went on. Her parents once thought it was a phase, or the result of bad parenting, but it wasn’t long before they came to the conclusion that it was neither. Their daughter did not share their values, and it was the idea of being able to bond with her over something, that made her father want to teach her forms of combat. Her father added it to his list of regrets once he saw how far she’d taken it. He had by no means meant to start an obsession, though he felt like that’s exactly what he’d done. The reason he'd come to want to learn fighting techniques himself was because he had an interest in the overall grace and style of various movements. He could see that Tikra merely enjoyed the aggressive aspects of all that he taught her. Tikra made the excuse of wanting to spend time with him, using guilt to get him into further practice sessions, and he had not the heart to deny her. In part he couldn’t help but feel like he’d partly created what she’d later become.
In preparation for her journeying to Ice Stone Weyr with the others, she desperately searched for a way to one-up the other potential candidates. She didn’t want to be like the majority of them with nothing held to their name. Her father knew not of her plans, and her mother, not a warrior, but a healer, always failed at her attempts to comprehend her daughter or have even so much as a foot in her life. She was very independent and solitary, even as a child. Once she hit teen hood, her anti-social behavior worsened. Her parents, not sure what was swimming about her head, decided not to worry that their daughter was a tad... different. Of course this difference was deeply affecting them both, but they ignored it. Were they in her head the term different would’ve been reworded to psychotic.
The time had come for her to head out, to Ice Stone Weyr. Leaving no note, no anything, for her parents, she took her pack of things and left. It wouldn’t come as a shock to them, seeing as the presence of her ever-growing anger had already caused them to be all the more distant from their daughter, seeing the unruly changes. They’d both figured it was a matter of time before she pulled something drastic. She was so secretive, after all. The journey to Ice Stone was not distressing, and she made haste, arriving with a crowd of others. Heading straight to the candidate’s barracks, Tikra settled in, not so much making a home as a sleeping arrangement and storage space. No place was ever truly home for someone whose intent was to make their way around. So, therefore, her story begins in the here and now, at Ice Stone Weyr.
Adoption?: No. I don't generally adopt out my characters.
Dragon Preferences: {Still deciding! So many colors... its hard to say really. I think, mostly, I'm looking for a strong personality that will help her achieve her goal in that she can cause some real drama at Ice Stone. YAY, DRAMA!}
Looked over the colors and thought about what might be interesting to see her on, or with. Dragons as they were listed: Gold, Rainbow, Silver, Azure, Blood, Copper, Purple, Aurora, Black.
