Character type: Candidate
Rank: Candidate
Age: 14
Gender: Male
Sexual Preference: Unknown


Mez has dark black hair and large, dark eyes. He has angular features. There’s always a glint of mischief in his eyes, and he always steps with a springing, spry sort of energy. He tends toward the lean side, but is strong from his duties, as well as swift and sure. He is very lanky and still looks quite boyish, Mez has all the makings of someone that's going to at least appear to be tall, but he seems to be a late bloomer in terms of growth spurts.

Mez has a winking left eye. When his right eye is wide with eager enthusiasm, it is finally cracked to a normal level. When normal, it is half closed. It is only when Mez has narrowed his eyes with suspicion or near sleep that his two eyes finally seem to be in agreement on size. This is for an injury as a toddler, when he fell face forward and cut open the side of his head on a sharp stone. The scar runs from the edge of his left eye and nearly to his ear. It is wide in the middle, though faded now, and almost like a birthmark to him.

Mez prefers dark clothing, despite the heat it attracts. To him, there’s something elegant about those clothes, and despite the fact that he has holes in most of his clothes from his errant adventures, he does have an eye for elegance, and likes to fancy himself as one who would look smart if he… Well, if he cared enough to keep his clothes looking smart.


Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we shall die.

Perhaps it is a very old quote from a very old world that none of the Pernese know, but it is an attitude that shall always exist as long as the human spirit does. Such an attitude exists in abundance in the somewhat morbidly enthusiastic young man named Mez. Mez is a lively teenaged boy, with high spirits that deny conquest and an unquenchable enthusiasm for life and disaster alike. To him, they are two parts of one another, as inseparable as breath and life, yet as much together as light and darkness. He embraces it all.

Mez has developed a perfectly fatalistic, morbid sort of world-view, and is quite convinced that death is chasing everyone. Now that he’s been assured that they are protected from the Sky of Death, he’s convinced that the earth itself will open up and eat them all, or the winds will grow so strong as to carry away all the dragonriders, or the buildings they take refuge in will soon collapse on them all. He’s convinced that today when the candidates go out to do their chores, they will misfire with a sharp object and cause themselves or others their ultimate end. He just knows that /between/ will get tired of being sequestered to momentary visits by dragons and firelizards, and will soon open up to engulf them all. However, he is not depressed about it. He wants to meet it all face on! Make it happen! So he says so with all the great merriment that he can muster. “I dreamed last night that the cliffs all fell in, and so today I shall eat my favorite meat and sweets, grab up my favorite clothes, and my favorite walking stick, and trade chores with those under those cliffs!” Why, he’ll even beat all the cliffs back himself! And when disasters /don’t/ happen, he goes to bed with a sigh that is impossible to tell whether it is relieved or saddened. “Well, tomorrow then.” He has been known to say at the end of such carefree days.

Because life is being chased by death, Mez has absolutely no patience for rest. He exerts an incredible amount of energy and tries to jam-pack as much into each day as possible. To him, to go to bed even an ounce of energy left in his body would be to shake his fists and curse in the face of life itself. Because it is frowned upon to go to bed at a time much later than the ‘masters say they must, at least Mez is no longer finding himself asleep in strange places after refusing to acknowledge his own human need for a bedtime. Instead, he is waking up much earlier and has often all ready used the silence of the mornings to dress, bath, and eat most of his breakfast by the time wake-up call is given. He uses the extra time he has to practice sword and knife fighting skills, or to create mini-avalanches after spending several mornings figuring out how to best create the most impressive crashes, or to go harass the poor beasts that he comes across in an attempt to discombobulate them into a rage or confused stampede. Or maybe work on his little colony of trundlebugs and tunnelsnakes in that mostly unused portion of the lower caverns. While there’s an ounce of danger in all of these, at least he does it out of the sight of the majority of the population (even if it IS for the sake that most aren’t even awake), and they are all past times that he takes a great deal of enjoyment from.

This outlook goes into his view of relationships with other as well as his idea of honor and just causes. He feels it's important to be friendly to all about him, but to also be quick to jump up and defend anything that has been said or done out of sorts. Life is short, and so it should be enjoyed and honored. Friendships should be gained quickly and should be carefully honored. Deeds done should be deeds done well, and any and all injustices in life (whether they're real or imagined to him), should be swiftly taken care of. If you don't enjoy those friendships now, if you don't stand up for that which is wrong now, then tomorrow you or they might be gone, and you'll have to live with the knowledge that you could have done something, but did nothing. And that's a horrible mar on a person's personal integrity and honor.

It's also a horrible thought to have to deal with. Mez was only 12, and a tiny tyke, at the time thread fell. He couldn't have done any differently than he did. But he lives with an incredible amount of Survivor's Guilt. To stop, just for a moment, and to think about what he's doing all of his running and roaming about- To go to sleep and not just pass straight out- is to invite thoughts and nightmares both of that horrible day and of Everything That Could Go Wrong. On the outside, Mez survived thread. On the outside, Mez lives it up and faces the world with all enthusiasm. But you gotta laugh, or you're going to cry. And maybe on the inside, he didn't survive thread fall. Just maybe it's eating him up to little bits. The trick is to get him to stop spinning and moving fast enough to see the haunted look behind the glimmer of enthusiasm.


Birthplace: Unknown Hold, Ista Island, 8.438.2.15

Mez comes from a family that has largely remained separated from the other farms and the hold which they are closest to. Stories say that a pair of candidates from Ista Weyr, both from family lines with a notable dragonriding history, chose to abandon the Weyr for a myriad of rumors, and with their family’s knowledge of the land, chose a spot which has served their descendants well. Successful among those who thumbed their noses at ancient wisdom, Mez’s family owned a large portion of land from which they both attempted to carve out as independent-from-others sort of existence as possible, but commercially grew crops and raised cattle. The generations of family history used to show clearly in the architecture in land use, and Mez very rarely had reason to set foot off his family’s land. But that’s all gone now, and Mez is now unlikely to set foot on it again.

It was a happy life, and Mez was hardly aware of the murmurs around him concerning his family. They raised their cattle like family, spoke of them fondly and by name (even at a meal made of Canter or Luck), fought territorial battles should anyone wander onto their land, and had odd habits, hobbies, and ideas. Their land was unofficially called the Ada-Hold, named after his many times great-grandfather after a particularly fierce dispute between him and small Hold they were technically supposed to be a part of. Is it true that they were there before that Hold? Or is it all rumors based on history so embellished that truth can never be unveiled? It no longer matters. Neither the smattering of farms and ranches nor the small hold exist any longer.

The Ada Family Farm’s philosophy that their life was also death, and death was life itself became notably prophetic when thread final fell, and his farm fell along with most others which had their origins in wisdom-nose-thumbing founders. Mez survived because he was small enough to have Grandmama Adalinda toss her huge stone-pot over his head, and he was far too frightened to do anything more than sit there like he was commanded, despite the sometimes horrific sounds he heard outside. A sibling survived in a similar manner, small enough to get tossed inside of the family’s fireplace, and lucky enough not to get sought out.

Though they demanded to go to Ista Weyr (that’s what their roots were!), they were denied by the searchrider that found them. The rider knew that there was too much work to be done and there would be too many individuals seeking refuge at the Weyr. Who had time for a kid that didn’t even look to be 12 turns claiming some sort of radical history?

No one believed that Mez was the age he said he was: He staunchly claimed 12 turns to anyone who asked, but the most put him at 10. Still, his eagerness to work and the marks that he’d salvaged from his ruined home were enough to convince a certain Guard to take him under his wing, and begin training him for that position. Uncle Fezloter, his new guardian, happened to be of an unwavering optimistic disposition with a dark sort humor. The two got along tremendously, and it wasn’t many months before the population at large never thought twice about considering them as true family members. Although Mez continued to be an annoying kid that tried to get the dragonriders’ attention (he always *did* try, but never could seem to get so much as a glance), Uncle Fezloter eventually brought his thoughts to this: If he never did get to Ista Weyr, it wasn’t such a bad deal, and almost as good, to become a guard for the Hold. And maybe even take on a wher for it too.

But then, fantastically, Mez was called upon by a searchrider. He got a raised eyebrow when he announced his age to be 14, but he got the invitation! He was finally going to go to Ista Weyr. Ha, ha and ha again! All those people who doubted him could go write their words on a new hide and eat it up.

The Weyr has been a place of wonder and excitement for the now 17-turn boy. He has been there a little over half a turn, and has been busy getting himself acquainted with all of its workings. He learned quickly that a lot of the stories he’d heard as a child were…. Just stories…. And that he really had no idea what it was he was getting into. But the truth remained that he was now a citizen of the Weyr, and he was following in the footsteps of his ancestors (supposedly). He figures there’s got to be some truth to it, anyway. After all, he’d seen the search dragons before with his eldest brothers, and he’d been searched. Surely there is something of value for him here too?

There’d better be, because the alternative of living life as a drudge or some other worker sounds mighty boring.



Most Dead
"Uncle Fez" — A Guard at Ista Hold that fostered him.
Unnamed Sibling
Possibility of one or two other family members surviving.

Craft (Candidate)

Craft: Guard
Rank: Jr. Apprentice

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