Kh'ry
Contents
Prologue
It ain't easy, bein' the last truthful person on the planet. That's what Jon would say, at least.
Old Jon was always tellin' the truth, no matter the consequence; far be it that people would revere him for such a trait. No, most people with the misfortune of running into the sergeant would call him a pockmarked bastard. There were whispers about back in the day, when he'd grown up with the Lord; ol' Beradin didn't take too kindly to ol' Jon callin' him out on that deal that went sour in Crom, but he'd let him stay 'cause who better to tell everyone about just how bad it went? Ol' Jon, of course. Everyone knew it.
People know things, after all. Everyone knows things, in a hold like High Reaches, such an isolated place that it's a minor miracle that the kids these days ain't born with their hair growin' into their heads instead'a growin' out. Jon's son was born late, out of wedlock to a damned foreigner, that dark Igen girl. Jon had somethin' to say about it, sure; the truth. She was a whore, and little more, but he did his duty to his boy, even as old as he was. S'what a truthful man does, after all.
But they all knew that old Jon had a noose with his name on it, kid or no kid.
They said ol' Jon expected it, comin' in front of the Lord like he did, after th' Lord was ousted; his own Captain was sent to retrieve him from watch duty, talkin' about those damned traitors like they were pigs no better to be butchered. Ol' Jon was want to shake his head and tell his captain off, that those damned rebels had it right, even if they went about it all wrong. Didn't matter his opinion about it, in the end, after all -- he was ol' Jon. Everyone knows he's the last truthful bastard on the planet.
They say when he was asked who was conspiring against the senile Lord, he told the truth.
They say he's th' reason for all the trouble, ol' Jon.
Easy to blame, ol' Jon; he don't talk much no more, not after they made sure he wouldn't. The fishes ate good that night.
But they say his son talked plenty, before he was shipped off with the lot of them, in the dead of the night.
Wonder what ol' Jon would have had to say about that.
Description
Tall and lean, Kh'ry, with thick hair bound back in a heavy runner's tail: he will never be heavy, his build that of a runner. Eyes are rich brown and deceptively innocent, balancing well a long mouth of thin lips, expressive in quirk and curve.
He's given to more stylish leathers than one would suggest an island-exile to wear, but such is the swift current of life: a bronzerider's knot clads his shoulder, proud colors flying allegiance to Telgar.
Background
A lonely child from a lonely island: some wondered why Khorde grew distant from his own cohort, but most adults just passed him by as just another sulky child. His own father cared not for keeping close tabs on the boy, who would eventually grow into an odds-an-ends handyman of sorts. Khorde's mother died not long after his birth, leaving him without siblings other than those who were only in spirit -- and distant spirit at that.
Never one for chatting, Khorde's sullen attitude was one most all the island is familiar with; despite his social awkwardness, and sour wit, the boy showed promise in that he performed his jobs competantly, persisting until things are done. One of the last children born without a bit of Blood, he distrusted those who lord their so-called status over others, and made it evident that he cares not for the cares of the world, but for number one first and foremost.
He Impressed alongside of Iolene -- but fate would have that Temrianth would be injured in senior weyrlinghood, flying over Telgar's coverage area; he spent the last bit of his weyrlinghood there, and due to the nature of Temrianth's injury, ended up transferring long before the intrigues of his clutchsister (or more appropriately, his clutchsister's lifemate) came into affect.
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