Post by theorie on Jun 19, 2012 0:35:58 GMT -8
Name: Z'aiel (formerly Zanaiel)
Pronunciation: Zah-EEL (formerly Zan-AY-EEL)
Gender: Male
Age: 25 Turns
Turnday: 3048.11.01
Sexuality: Mostly straight (75%)
Weyr: RMW (Transferred from Benden.)
Rank: Wingrider
Family: Father: Fenril, journeyman beastcrafter at Bitra Hold (deceased)
Mother: Salleen, kitchen worker (NOT drudge) at Bitra Hold (deceased)
Brother: Ponclaedr, journeyman harper at Benden Weyr (born 3046.07.28)... age 27 in current Turn
Sister: Senlin, apprentice beastcrafter at Bitra Hold (born 3057.01.19)... age 16 in current Turn
Weyrmate: n/a
Friends: n/a
Pets: Jace the Azure flitter
Appearance:
There really isn't much to set Z'aiel apart from other men on Pern, nothing that particularly draws the eye. He's easy to overlook at 5'10" and 180 lbs. His frame is a bit narrow, with a smallish waist, somewhat defined muscles that are nothing to brag about, and hands that are rather bony compared to the rest of him. When his naturally-dusky, rough skin is shrouded in whatever garments come to hand from the top of his clothes-chest, he could probably blend in with the drudges... were it not for the confidence in his bearing anyway. Slumped shoulders and quivering chins are for wimps.
If nobody makes him cut it, he keeps his medium-brown hair as long as his fingers. It's one of his little vanities; he often finger-combs the shaggy mess throughout the day, accentuating the slight waves with the furrows left behind by his fingers. His dark brown eyes are equally unremarkable, except perhaps that his eyelashes are long and sparse, the eyebrows a touch too heavy. Z'aiel has what some would call a brooding mouth, quicker to twist into a scowl than a smile.
Personality:
Z'aiel is a man of many facets- and contradictions. Theoretically, he would like to see hostilities cease between different factions of humans, but at the same time he is well aware that political turmoil can be extremely advantageous to someone like him. He isn't above using whatever tools available - force, harsh comments, marks, sweet-talking, or even sex to get what he wants. It may be a bit conceited, but if he is to resolve problems for Pern, first he must be in a position where others will listen to him. By whatever means necessary... almost: it would be wrong to poison an entire Weyr, for example, but picking off a few people here and there wouldn't be out of the question. Particularly those who would like to stand against him and whatever current cause he upholds (of which there are many). Can you say "hypocrite?"
His loyalty to individuals is highly flexible. He doesn't have friends - he has allies, and few of them. When you're just slightly warped, it's harder to find someone of like mind. Z'aiel prefers his intimate encounters as less intimate, more of a business transaction. (Get 'er done.) Women can be so clingy; it's kind of pathetic really. Commitment to an individual might last a month - or an hour. It all depends on what he's getting out of it. The exception, of course, being for Silanth. The dragon is definitely his better half, and Z'aiel knows it. Which is why most of the illicit activities the rider pursues occur when the dragon is asleep.
He cares very much what people think of him, though he deludes himself to the contrary. Z'aiel has a public image to uphold; visible seething over constructive criticism probably wouldn't go over well in a fighting wing. The man does his duty for the recognition it brings as much as his desire for personal achievement, but he isn't all calculation like some of the other (read: more mature) riders. He enjoys being impulsive - as much as one can say Z'aiel enjoys anything. He isn't dour exactly, he just tries to maintain a serious demeanor because he thinks people will respect him more. Emotions don't often play a part in his decision-making process. He more or less does what he's told, until he thinks up a "logical" reason for disobedience. Someone should tell him at some point that breaking rules is not conducive to gaining rank; he's got a real problem with it. Calls it by such bland terms as "improvisation" or "interpreting gray areas." Thus far, repercussions for his actions have left him largely unmoved by the concept of cause and consequence. If you want something, you have to pay for it.
He used to be such a sweet boy: polite, enthusiastic. Always rushing to be the first to volunteer for a particularly unpleasant duty just so someone else wouldn't have to soil their hands. It's a far cry from his current mentality, habitually introverted and self-serving. It's unknown what actually caused the shift to a darker mindset - the death of his parents, or the repeated, agonizing rejections by dragon hatchlings for four Turns - but, honestly, there aren't many people still alive who remember how he used to be, aside from his siblings. He didn't have anything to do with those deaths... promise.
[li]LIKES: Silanth, music, flying in clouds, swimming, the color black, sparring, chaos, having others owe him a debt, babies, putting plans into motion, praise.
[/li][li]DISLIKES: Ponclaedr (older brother), forced inactivity, forced activity, being demeaned or overlooked, unnaturally persistent bedmates, the word 'love' when directed at him, people seeing through his facade, criticism.
[/li][/ul]
History:
On a cold but clear evening late in '48, one more small, squalling, red-faced infant was added to the population of Bitra Hold. The mother, Salleen, still had the sheen of sweat from labor and fear on her face. It was her second child, but the labor had come on too quickly for a midwife to be found. She had delivered the child alone but for the clumsy assistance of her husband Fenril. The poor beastcrafter had expected his role to be little different from when a bred female in one of the herds dropped a calf, but in all his thirty Turns nothing could have prepared him for the horrors he had just witnessed. If anything, he was more shaken than his wife, who at least had experienced the intimate agony once before. There was so much blood. But once a midwife did arrive to take over, the pride of a second son so soon after the first was weaned helped the twenty-seven-Turn old kitchen worker and her lifemate begin to forget the ordeal. Nature has a way of forcing folks to move on.
The firstborn son, Ponclaedr, watched with big brown eyes, hardly understanding why the demanding cries of the squishy creature won him a place at Salleen's breast, when he himself was firmly denied. His resentment was fleeting, but as all-encompassing as any of his other childish emotions. It was an unusually gentle winter that Turn, and the creche workers were able to take the children out to play in the snow frequently. It was a good distraction for one such as Pon, who would have spent the season indoors, getting underfoot, and being in general an adorable nuisance.
There isn't much to tell about Zanaiel's first few Turns. He developed normally, a winsome boy with a ready grin and a high voice that could've belonged to a girl child. His muddy eyes darkened along with the dirty-blond hair he had been born with, which was a bit of a relief for Fenril. The beastcrafter had wondered about his woman's... loyalty... when the baby had shown such coloring. Salleen reassured him with accounts of her own youth - her hair was as black as a deep cave now, but apparently she, too, had been born fair-haired. Eventually Ponclaedr even started to see his little brother as a playmate rather than a rival.
By the time Zan was eight Turns old, the Hold harpers had assimilated him into the casual weekly classes held for children of low birth rank. His mother made him help in the kitchen when he was not learning, aside from free time in the evenings when he was permitted to play with others of his age. It was a time of economic prosperity for Bitra, but the head cook never complained that Salleen's boy was taking work away from anyone. Turning a spit wasn't exactly high on the list of technical tasks, and it was about all such a young boy would be trusted with anyway. He certainly didn't envy Ponclaedr, who had the misfortune of having to help his father muck out stalls and the like, and subsequently smelled like beast dung as often as not. Early in '57, Salleen's first live birth since Zan produced a healthy little girl, who they named Senlin after a recently deceased oldster that had been a friend of the family.
It was less than a Turn later that the Harpers talked Fenril out of his helper. Ponclaedr was relieved that they had taken notice of him; certainly his father wouldn't have gone looking for a trade to apprentice him to, not when he was shorthanded. Pon laughingly told his brother that it was about time he get out of the kitchen and away from girls' chores, and as soon as the new Harper apprentice left, that was exactly what happened to Zanaiel. Salleen had quite enough to keep her busy with little Senlin; the girl was just starting to walk, no longer content to sit in the kitchen corner playing with her grass-stuffed fabric doll. The girl was pixie-like, fragile, and cried as though her heart would break any time Salleen tried to give her to the creche workers. But it was no longer any concern for the middle child, who no longer had occasion to be in the kitchen at all.
Fenril had been thinking about what to do with his youngest son. He hadn't taken much notice of him except to see that he was presentable and healthy and out of trouble in these twelve Turns since his birth. He was proud of Pon's apprenticeship, of course, but having two sons taken away from him by a trade was just unthinkable. So he made arrangements and took Zanaiel as his own official apprentice, under the close supervision of the Master Breeder stationed at Bitra (who rightly feared that there would be favoritism rather than an unbiased education in beastcraft).
What followed were the hardest four and a half Turns of Zan's life up to then. Without his brother around to smooth the way in the rough games they had played with the other kids, he literally got stomped. In the face. Which broke his nose. He was a strong lad, but hesitant to use his strength to his advantage; Salleen had always told him fighting was barbaric, and he didn't want to get in trouble. He quickly got a reputation for being a pushover, and in his anxiety to avoid more bruises he couldn't explain, he took on extra chores from the other hold children. When Ponclaedr had been around, chores had been shared just to get them done faster so there would be more time to play. Unhappily, Zanaiel wondered why it had to be different now. There was some good to come of it, though. Those extra chores built muscle on his body rapidly, and as a result Fenril was able to boast that his son could drag an unwilling caprine by the lead line in each hand to be sheared. Also, as part of the training his father did give him, Zan learned the rudiments of how to make and use a fighting staff.
Things might have come to a head between him and the other young people if a greenrider from Benden Weyr hadn't come by on Search. Sherralith was loud about being hungry in the courtyard before her task could begin; since Fenril was out at a minor hold to cull a few calves, and the riders were given a large degree of autonomy on Searches in the north, it was left to Zanaiel to make the rider comfortable while the dragon fed. Terev'n was a fairly young rider, only recently graduated from weyrlinghood and more intent on discovering whether Sherralith had any talent for Searching than on discovering anyone suitable to be Searched. For a time Zan couldn't get over the honor of meeting a dragon and Hers, but unbeknownst to him, as the day drew to a close and Terev'n was still amiably chatting him up, Sherralith was doing her best to take his measure. She was undecided by the time night fell, and the greenrider decided to spend the night at the Hold and finish the Search on the following morning.
Zanaiel slept fitfully that night. There was something subtly attractive about the young rider, almost coy, and he hadn't the slightest idea of what to do about it. He had never had any romantic interests, and aside from furtive kissing with a trader's daughter the previous Turn, he had no experience whatsoever. When his obsessed tossing and turning woke up Senlin, his mother asked him to go take a walk. It was a warm spring, the twin moons bright in the sky. He was shocked to find Terev'n also out in the courtyard. One thing led to another... intimate things happened... and only afterward did Sherralith tell her rider that here was an acceptable candidate to Stand. It was quite possibly the happiest night of Zanaiel's young life. His delight was dulled somewhat with the warning that candidates were not allowed to have sex, but since he didn't end up getting any more sleep (or the greenrider either) they agreed that nobody would have to know what had happened twice between them.
Fenril acquiesced to the dragonrider's request to take the lad up to the Weyr, but Salleen and Senlin were harder to win over. The mother was tearful at the thought that her son might end up falling prey to an event like the long-infamous Red Hatching. Senlin was equally worried; she'd just been learning about the basics of the Weyr War from the Harpers, though the fact that such was long past should have calmed her. As commoners, none of them knew much about the Weyrs, and what they heard was wrong as often as it was right. The existence of nontraditional dragon colors was as much myth as possibility to them, nothing they could form an opinion on since it didn't concern them.
Since he had some background with beastcraft, Zanaiel was allowed to mainly perform chores pertaining to the fowl and tithe beasts up at the Weyr, though there was a lot to learn as a candidate from a Hold environment. He rarely saw Terev'n during this time - the chemistry between them was dangerous, according to the greenrider, and he didn't want to get Zan dispelled from candidacy. The greenrider concealed from everyone but Sherralith that he hoped the Bitran would Impress to a male dragon. At that first Hatching, Zanaiel's family contrived to visit from Bitra Hold. They hoped to see him Impress as well. But it didn't happen that way. Amid the scramble of hatchlings and candidates, the teen was left disappointed on the sands. He cheered up a bit upon hearing that he could stay on as a candidate until the end of his twenty-first Turn, barring poor behavior or unforeseen circumstances. Benden could always use more candidates; those that didn't Impress often stayed on as valued weyrfolk. As long as he was permitted to continue training with a staff, he figured life at the Weyr had to be better than life at a Hold. At least he could watch the dragons fly more frequently here.
That autumn, a cold front came sweeping south and crashed into the lingering warm, wet weather at Bitra Hold. The storms and midnight cyclones that followed were nothing unexpected by those with experience reading clouds. Among the few lives lost was Salleen, kitchen worker and mother of three; she was found three days after coming up missing. Fenril went wild with grief, injuring two men, and threw himself dramatically from the fire heights as seven-Turn-old Senlin tried desperately to reason with him. It was a tragedy in the microcosm of lower-class workers that would take time to recover from - and even longer for the unfortunate Senlin. She ended up getting fostered to Bitra's Master Breeder, a childless man who had worked with Fenril long enough to have some sense of responsibility and compassion for the girl. Since the girl was still a bit delicate, he started 'grooming' her to study healing. She was bright, if presently melancholy, and he believed that it would help her move past the final shattering of her family to focus on doing things for others.
Unfortunately, nobody thought of a similar activity for Zanaiel. He didn't even find out that his parents had passed on until he sent dutiful word to Bitra Hold that he would be standing for a second Hatching soon. The runner came back with the traumatic news that his parents had been dead for nearly three sevendays. He tried to find Terev'n, the closest thing he had to a real friend here, but the greenrider had yet to return from his latest Searching. (He never did.) The young beastcrafter slipped from denial to guilt, blaming himself that he hadn't been there to help Salleen, or keep Fenril from jumping to his death. Next came anger that Ponclaedr hadn't been there either, a highly irrational response to his grief that nonetheless could not be controlled. Zan paid a precious quarter mark for a bluerider to take a message to the Harper Hall for Pon, and received a scathing reply: Pon already knew about their parents' death. Ever pragmatic, Pon was already moving on. He had fallen in love with a middle-aged journeywoman of all things, and had plans to snare her before someone else did.
In the face of what seemed to be his brother's second abandonment, Zanaiel into a deep depression that not even Hatching festivities could lift. Left to himself emotionally, with nobody to turn to, he became bitter and moody, drawing further and further in on himself until little remained of the happy young man he had once been. Perhaps the dragonets sensed his angst and were repelled by such negativity. Or, perhaps he simply did not make an acceptable match with their budding personalities. Whatever the case, he stood alone Turn and Turn again, each 'failed' Hatching just another emotional pick at the scab over his raw grief.
Until the Hatching that occurred just a few days past his twentieth Turnday. By now he Stood more from habit than from hope. He wasn't exactly healing, but he had started to pay more attention to the rumors flying through the Weyr and the world in general. He had to do something with the rest of his unImpressed life, and he really didn't want it to be beastcraft. He hadn't even pursued journeyman rank, which would at least have paid better, possibly giving him a shot to purchase a firelizard egg sooner. The one he had purchased from a secretive trader at the autumn Gather hadn't hatched yet, which was worrisome. Not that he didn't like herd animals - far from it, they were some of the only company he could tolerate anymore - but he had no intention of getting used to the smell. At least he wouldn't feel so alone if he hatched a firelizard. His ruminations on the sands were interrupted by a dragonet approaching him. He looked back, expecting to see another candidate that the baby was looking for, but the tarnished bronze reeled up to him, stumbled, and made them both crash to the sand. The sand itches, the dragonet told him plaintively. To Zanaiel's disbelief, those faceted eyes were spinning through the colors of the rainbow - he was feeling an undeniable presence in his mind that felt like a blanket wrapping around him, protective, comforting. Hungry. The baby struggled to rise without hurting his, only mentioning as an afterthought, I am Silanth, and you are Mine.
As though his luck was determined to turn completely around, the white-and-orange firelizard egg he had purchased hatched just a pair of sevendays after Silanth came into his life. It should have been harder to handle two babies, but it really wasn't. Jace - as he named the azure-blue creature - tended to eat whatever was on the human's plate at the time, except for plant matter. At first he assumed from the flitter's small size and hue that he had purchased a mislabled blue's egg. He was to find out months later, when she finally rose to mate, that she was a nontraditional color. It caused no end of grief for Z'aiel, whose superiors frowned on the 'new breeds' with varying degrees of intensity.
For a while afterward, the weyrling pair were too busy for Z'aiel's issues to come into play much, but when he finally visited his sister Senlin a-dragonback, he realized just how far apart they were in terms of personality. She barely remembered their parents, had long since grown fond of her foster father, and had already apprenticed to the healer at Bitra Hold. Z'aiel couldn't begin to imagine how she could stand to stay there. Similarly, she was puzzled at the quietly angry bronzerider that had replaced her brother. He had a dragon and a firelizard: what did he have to be angry about? They parted on barely neutral terms, and that only because Silanth was able to keep Jace from attacking Senlin's face after a particularly witty comeback.
They were almost done with weyrling training when the Weyrlingmaster asked them to retrieve a journeyman harper to the Weyr. It should have been an honor; instead, it was a nightmare. When Silanth touched down at the Harper Hall, it was Ponclaedr standing there with his bags packed and a stony look on his face. Daylin, the woman he had fallen so hard for, had left him for another man - one nearer to her own age, and in the process got Pon reassigned to Benden Weyr. The ride was full of silent tension, a sorrowful Silanth unable to find a way to bridge the gap between the estranged brothers, Jace just waiting for an excuse to growl at this human that smelled so much like Hers. Ponclaedr didn't even thank Z'aiel for the ride, and the bronzerider told his brother that he didn't give two shakes of a wherry's tail about him.
Weyrling graduation was delayed for Silanth and Z'aiel due to the young man's big mouth. He was enduring a visit by the Weyrlingmaster at the infirmary - he'd sprained one ankle and broken the other trying to jump recklessly down from his dragon's back and into the weyr lake shallows. The Weyrlingmaster was discussing the lack of need for firestone training throughout the Interval, only the need to keep remembrances alive - a subject that came up frequently with him - but the young bronzerider snapped out that it was fools like him that caused the weyrs to lose credibility during Intervals. As punishment, he was set to polishing buckles like a very new weyrling might be. The humiliation made him grind his teeth at the time, but a few months later, they were done with werylinghood for good. Jace was learning things, too; she knew her name, of course, and how to sit quietly when told. By the end of weyrlinghood, she had added carrying messages to her repertoire, though she was a bit flighty and prone to forget who she was supposed to deliver to before the task could be completed.
Between then and now have been an assortment of events best kept between Z'aiel and the women who thought his status as a bronzerider made him some prize to be won. Every last one of them found out the hard way that they will gain nothing from him but attempted impregnation and heartache. Silanth has had his own luck with females, though of the dragons he has managed to fly, only one was a gold - a junior queen at that, not even from Benden Weyr. As for Jace... apparently she rises to mate regularly, but as yet, she has declined the requests, orders, and pleading to lay a clutch where Hers can watch over them.
Z'aiel recently became a topic of discussion in the Benden chain of command. On the one hand, his wingleader seems to think he has a lot of potential. But on the other hand, Z'aiel has become increasingly prone to get drunk and pick fights. Benden has no love for Rainbow Mists Weyr, and they find it grimly ironic that their transfer of the 'problem child' may be seen as an act of conciliation. In point of fact they expect he will continue to be a pain in the rear wherever he is, so he might as well become someone else's problem. Besides, as long as he sends regular reports of their wings' strength and exactly how many of the multicolored monstrosities there are, he is still 'serving' his home Weyr. At least then his little Azure will be good for something besides the threat of foul fortune.
Z'aiel has plans of his own, however. Plans that involve attempting to build a following and eventually wrest leadership of a Weyr - ANY Weyr! - away for himself. There is no reason in his mind that the Weyrs should decline during the Interval, no reason why the holders should lose their belief in the protection dragonriders offer. And no reason for the Weyrs to continue the pointless bickering back and forth about colors and traditions. The betterment of Pern is more important than the life of any one individual or collection of individuals, and the foreseeable future looks to be a repeat of the past.
If they refuse to see his logic and label him a troublemaker, so be it.
(It should be noted that Z'aiel doesn't believe in the curse of the Azures, since most of his poor luck came along before Jace hatched.)
Adoption?: At this point, I would prefer to see him become an NPC rather than adopted out.
(Click for full size.)
Dragon's Name: Silanth (pronounced Sih-LANTH... would rhyme with a lisper's pronunciation of 'Pill Pants')
Dragon’s Gender: Male
Dragon's Age: 5 Turns
Dragon's Color: Bronze, if allowed...
Color Code: [color=A7B041]
Dragon's Appearance:
Unlike the vast majority of bronze dragons, Silanth doesn't have much shimmer to his hide unless he has recently been oiled and buffed. The metallic undertones are just hard to see under the tarnished-bronze hue that covers most of his body. His wingspan is a bit too wide to be strictly proportionate, the sails comparatively narrow - more reminiscent of the shape of falcon wings at full extension than those of an eagle. Some parts of him exhibit a noticeably darker bronze hue: from the end of his muzzle to a narrow point just beyond each eye, the toes of his forepaws, a peculiar 'beauty mark' on the left cheek, his tail tips just beyond the fork, and the trailing edge of his wings. The rest of the sails, though, are an almost sunny color. The same shade appears on the spinal ridges climbing his neck. At 39' long, he's definitely on the larger scale for a bronze. Almost two-thirds of that length is neck and tail: his body is actually a bit compact, though elegantly muscled as one might expect. Overall not a bad-looking creature... just not a perfect specimen.
Dragon's Personality:
Silanth isn't exactly your typical bronze. He is prone to quiet, usually refraining from bugling or 'loud' mindspeaking, but that doesn't mean he isn't outgoing. He has to be, to cut off Z'aiel before the young man gets them both in trouble. It is a bit distasteful having to speak to other humans besides His, but if it must be done, it must be done, and he will bear it without complaint. Theirs is a bond like what should have been between Ponclaedr and Z'aiel - the bigger one protecting the smaller one, no matter what it takes. Silanth cautiously approves the abstract ideas His has about gaining rank and influence, but he is stubbornly against the lack of discretion in Z'aiel's plans of how to get there. They are still young; they can afford to take their time. Silanth is all about mating flights. There's just nothing quite like catching a coquette. However, since leadership of any kind has yet to be at stake, since he has only ever tried for golds and greens, he hasn't felt compelled to try his hardest. Rather than seeing Jace as a rival for their human's attention, he sees her as an extra pair of eyes to help him keep the young man out of harm's way. It would be easy to say that Silanth is fearless - in most situations, he is. But when His is facing any sort of real danger, a quivering terror lurks in the dragon's heart. What concerns him most is that after five Turns of influencing Z'aiel, the young man doesn't seem to have improved much emotionally, but he isn't giving up hope. He knows with utter certainty that somewhere beneath the layers of bitterness and ambition, there is a gentle and kind side to His. It's just a matter of bringing it to the fore...
Dragon's History:
He hatched in '68 from a small light tan egg, the size of a green hatchling. Silanth rapidly outgrew the other dragons in weyrling class, experiencing frequent growth pains and awkwardness since he never really got a chance to get used to being any particular size until he finished growing. By the time he graduated with His from weyrlinghood, he was two Turns old. He won his first mating flight with a green dragon by virtue of her Choosing rather than merit, but lost the four to follow. He went to hunt in wild locales as often as possible, with and without Z'aiel, feeling that domesticated beasts pose no challenge for a hunter of his prowess. Almost a whole Turn ago, he managed to father a clutch in an open Flight for a junior gold queen at Igen Weyr, from which all twenty-three eggs Hatched, only one (a brown) going between. He has never been in an actual fight; strangely enough he is eager to make the attempt, if only in the controlled circumstances of sparring. As of 73.11.12, the bronzepair have received orders to transfer within the sevenday to Rainbow Mists Weyr, to assimilate into the breeding stock there and 'hopefully return some semblance of normalcy to the out-of-control color mutations there'... for better or worse. Though since there is no guarantee that a female would even choose Silanth, his so-called "normal" genes may never have what Benden would consider to be a positive influence.
Jace the Azure Firelizard
Fierce things come in small packages.
Fierce things come in small packages.
Appearance: Jace is absolutely tiny for an Azure, more along the lines of what one would expect of a green. At five Turns old, she is just slightly younger than Silanth, in the prime of life. It certainly shows. Her hide is a middling light blue, with no discernible markings. In form, she is nothing unusual; everything is where it should be and sized proportionately. It is her movement that is eye-catching. On the ground and in the air, Jace is smooth.
Personality: Nobody has ever questioned Jace's loyalty. What they question is her judgement. It doesn't take much to set her off into a violent rage - Z'aiel raising his voice in anger has propelled her to attack before, though so far, Silanth has always been able to convince her to keep her claws fisted, and none of her targets have ever been maimed. Though she lacks self-control, she has a decent memory for learning commands. Whether she'll obey or not is another matter entirely. One of her quirks is that she has never yet laid a clutch where Z'aiel could find it. Whether anyone else did is unknown...
***** Jace rhymes with base.
