Player Name: SylverAngel/ Jessica/ Jess
Character Number: 11
Last Updated: 6-17-16
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Character Name and Pronunciation: Braedian [BRAY-dee-un]
Gender: Male
Character Rank: Ex-Master Healer
Character Age/Date of birth: 35, (July 18, 1980)
Family: Mother: Braenah, 67, cotholder's wife, near Nerat
Father: Idorian, 70, cotholder, near Nerat
Siblings:
- Rianah, 38, sister
- Brindor, 37, brother
- Nador, 32, brother
- Ibrin, 30, brother
- Daebri, 28, sister
- Idrianah, 26, sister
- Doraen, 24, brother
Former lover: Lorissa, daughter of Lord of Southern Hold, died of complications of pregnancy (Braedian's child)
Current location: White Lightning Weyr
Physical description: Braedian arrived at White Lightning looking a little worse for the wear, and hasn't changed much since. His shaggy brown hair falls past his ears, obviously in need of a cut. The matching facial hair he grew in his wanderings remains, but he at least keeps it mostly trimmed. Combined with the clothing that has obviously seen better days-- none of it in his former healer blue (though he might have some hidden in his small stash)-- he fits right in with the rest of the residents of the canyon.
If one looks close enough, the cynical light in his blue eyes is easy to notice, though it's likely also obvious he was once not so jaded. His smiles rarely reach his eyes anymore-- and for a man who lost his love, their child, his pride, his rank… everything he worked for-- who can blame him?
Play By: Michiel Huisman
Photo Reference: Pic
Personality: Braedian used to be an optimist. He used to see the good in people, used to believe he could make a difference in the lives of those he served. He used to believe he had everything he wanted.
Not so much anymore.
Now he has nothing and cares little for those around him. He learned the hard way that rank and who you know is what gets you anywhere in the world, that no matter how hard a cotholder from the backwoods of Nerat tries, he can never truly surpass his birth rank.
Plus, there's the guilt and the shame-- guilt at not being good enough, strong enough,
something enough to save his love and their child; and shame at not having the guts to tell his family the whole sordid tale. Maybe some day he'll grow a pair and come clean-- or maybe some
one will help light the way. But until then, he avoids anything serious in his letters to his parents and siblings, and hopes that somehow, he can reverse the loss of his rank and re-earn the right to claim he is a proud son of Idorian and Nerat.
Theme song: History: If it weren't for his natural inclination to help others, and what little wound tending he'd learned from his mother, Braedian would never have left Nerat. The young son of a healer nearly drowned while out enjoying an afternoon on the water, and the quick reflexes and thinking of a local cotholder's son were all that saved him from a watery grave. In gratitude, the healer offered to recommend Braedian for placement in the Healer Hall, the acceptance of which his parents greatly encouraged. They weren't all needed to remain cotholders/ fishermen forever, and here, he had the chance to make something of himself. So off he went.
Everything seemed to go well from there-- Braedian absorbed what he was taught, studied hard, and worked his way up the ranks. He never took the gift for granted, nor took advantage of how he'd arrived at the Healer Hall. He made the usual slew of friends and rivals in his time at the Healer Hall, but found the entire experience just part of life.
When he walked the tables to become a journeyman, he was assigned to Benden Hold, and spent several Turns there studying further under the master also stationed there. Seeing in Braedian an apt pupil, the man encouraged his efforts to reach the higher ranks, knowing the younger healer could do great things with his quick mind. And achieve master status Braedian did, shortly after he turned 35.
And where everything had only ever looked bright and shiny before, that was the beginning of his fall. The masters in charge at the Healer Hall sent him down to Southern Hold, whose aging master wished to step down. It was far away from his family, far away from everything he knew, and yet the excitement of new territory made him eager to begin his new position.
But he didn't count on falling in love nearly at first sight, and most definitely not falling in love with the daughter of the Lord of his hold. Lorissa's parents discouraged the match, encouraging their daughter to meet with the sons of other Lord Holders as was custom, and to forget about the nobody Healer. At times Braedian thought she'd be better off if she did the same, but his love was stubborn, and insisted she only wanted him.
It was only a matter of time before Lorissa discovered she was pregnant, much to the disappointment and anger of her father. He wanted her to get rid of the child, so she would still be a suitable wife for the other young men he was courting for her. But the young woman refused, defying her father yet again.
Whether it was due to the stress, or some other natural cause, however, Lorissa suddenly fell ill due to carrying the child. Braedian did everything he could, called in advice from other Masters, from his former teachers, anyone he could think of, to figure out what was wrong, to help her. To save her. But it was all for naught-- Lorissa and the child were suddenly gone, taking with them his light.
And with it, his pride. His rank. His livelihood. The respect he'd earned for what he'd done for others at the Hold. For Lorissa's father claimed publicly he had somehow poisoned Lorissa, or otherwise tried to rid her of the child. The man claimed Braedian had wickedly seduced her in the first place, as well, stealing his daughter away, and then harming her in his desire to rid the world of her child.
It was the Southern Lord's words against the son of a Nerat cotholder. And Braedian realized he'd never truly fit in, that he hadn't any true friends other than those he'd left at home from his childhood-- if they, even, would take him back. He understood then how politics really worked, and that he'd never really stood a chance.
He was stripped of his rank at the Lord's insistence-- the man was brother to a prominent Healer at the main Hall, and no one came forward to speak against the Lord at his 'trial'. The harpers 'found' no evidence to refute what the Lord said, and so Braedian was left with nothing, and told to leave.
With nothing to lose, he set off on foot across Southern's territory, not wanting to go back in shame to his family in Nerat. He didn't know how to tell them, or what he could tell them. And so he wandered aimlessly for a time, picking up with a trader caravan who cared for nothing but the fact that he provided a pair of hands, and proved he wasn't out to fleece them of anything after the first couple of nights.
Later, he took odd jobs along the docks along the coast, falling back on what he'd learned as a child, and using the hard labor to keep himself from dwelling too long on the past, and trying to figure out where he could go from there.
Maybe it was fate that his instinctive desire to help someone in trouble next earned him the respect of some rather shady deliverymen. Neatly sewing up the gash in a man's leg revealed he'd had some Healer training, something the men claimed to be in sore need of. They convinced him to stick around a little longer, to keep paying the innkeeper for another night-- this man's daughters were ill, another's aging mother needed a better remedy for achy bones, still another had been bitten by something and his hand had swelled. Small things, mostly, but they clearly appreciated the help.
As a result of his giving aid, his name and reputation had apparently been passed on to the local patriarch-- by no means a Lord Holder, but still in charge all the same. The man's daughter-- clearly a force in her own right-- made him an offer he knew he'd be stupid to refuse. The only caveat was that he couldn't reveal the location of the canyon to anyone-- doing so was punishable by death, as the man in charge had already proved with his own family. It was definitely a risk Braedian was willing to take, given he had nothing else to lose.
And so, he found himself living among the canyon dwellers, making a name for himself, finding his place among them. Over time, he realized they cared nothing for his past, only that he could provide services they had previously been lacking, and it was enough.
A turn or so later, dragonriders would arrive, dragonriders who rode colors he'd only vaguely heard about. Dragonriders who would soon become known as the last of their kind. And Braedian had no idea what the future would hold-- only that he was in the middle of the storm that had become White Lightning Weyr.
Craft: Healer
Rank: Ex-Master
Training location: Main Healer Hall at Fort
Specialty: Surgery/ Trauma
