Balpheron didn't suffer from being the middle child. In fact, he thrived with it. However, when he and his brothers had to be sent away to the Guilds to allow their mother to run her Hold's business, he was intensely irate about it. He never quite recovered from that blow to his family's esteem, though he's the only one who really holds a grudge. And unfortunately it's not really a grudge that he can hold against anyone in particular - because he loves their mother dearly, he doesn't wish a moment ill upon her. Their fathers are dead, and their grandfather too - so Balpheron is just... angry at the world.
The storm which took both his and his half-brother's father still haunts Balpheron's nightmares. He had hoped to become a fisherman, or a net maker or a book keeper for the catches, but... After watching his father be swept into the cold, slate-black waters forever, he just couldn't stand the thought of even being near the ocean.
They arrived to the Guild halls and while his brothers both almost instantly took to things, Balpheron took a little more time to decide what he would study. He played a wooden flute, the last thing his father gave to him, adequately well - but he didn't really want to become a performer. He was good at dancing but again he more enjoyed himself with the girls than concentrated on the foot steps involved.
But he was pretty good at understanding both sides of arguments. Though he himself had issues unresolved, Balpheron's mind easily caught details when people had claims against one another. So when he was ten (after about a year of floundering about at the Guild) he finally asked to become a legal attendant. This surprised some, his moods would grab him sometimes and he'd have to learn to control that. But he was yet quite young, and those things have a way of changing over time.
When he was fifteen, just after his elder brother Bitaplan had been awarded his Journeman knots, Balpheron himself was given a seat upon a justice bench - something he'd worked hard for five years to achieve. He was adept at research, and had a good memory for events and statements. More than once, he pointed out inconsitancies in arguments led by more experienced legal Journeymen. This no doubt impressed those who gave him his chance to prove his knot-worthyness, and he did so with flair.
There was an issue however, that he couldn't do much about at all. Where the ladies were concerned, if they had an argument and came to him - more often than not, both women would try pulling him aside and attempt to sway him with their bodices open a little too far. They assumed - and he griped about this to not just his peers but his brothers - that since he was quite the ravishingly handsome man, he was as shallow as any peacock strutting Lordling.
Which he was not. Definitely not.
So as they were Searched it almost was a relief to Balpheron, perhaps... what if he was to be Threadscored? Would that make him more or less apt to be tempted by women? Or repelled? Would it make him more dashing, or ruin his looks forever? Who knew. Not that he'd actually put himself into danger, he certainly didn't want to do that! But a rider was already beckoning him from his brown dragon, there was only one way to find out whether this was all going to work or not. And that - would be to grasp the rider's firm hand, and fly to Shintaru Weyrhold!
The hatching was huge, though it looked like many eggs had yet to fully harden. There would still be sevendays of waiting for some candidates, and definitely time spent by the attentive queens while those other eggs matured.
A blue dragon approached Balpheron by walking through the line of the candidates as if they did not exist. He stepped around only his chosen then looked back, Well? Are you coming?
"Only if you stop walking through people, Venarath ." The boy responded, though he was already moving after the dragon.
How many men couold say that they were riders? How many of his own family would? Ph'ron was the first of them to pair, and he was quite proud of this fact. If he didn't watch himself, he could get lost in his dragon's self-absorbed ideals...
Balpheron (Ph'ron)
Status: Guild Born
Age: 16
Gender: male
Siblings: one full, one half brother
Born: middle
Legitimacy: born to unmarried parents
Fostered due to: financial burden
Childhood Health: very stocky
Adult Height: just normal for their age in height
Adult Build: average in build
Skin Tone: ruddy-tan
Hair Color: tan
Hair Style: frizzy
Hair Length: shoulder length
Eye Color: dark blue
Literacy Level: read at a good level of competancy
Politeness Level: everyone knows them as a rude person
Focus: they carefully attend to details
While their striking looks make some jealous, most are just attracted to them
They give and take without thinking of consequences of either
Values and Goals
Passionately hates: their appearance
Has fun with: a Dragonry or Hatchery
Strong goal: do nothing at all and relax
Very strong fear: drowning
A wooden musical instrument is in their posession
Crafting Guild: Harper - judge, Status: Journeyman
Other Skill picked up around Guild folk: gambling
Odd Skill (learned outside of craft if any): dancing
Originally From: lake side community
Location size: average sized
Location climate: rainy
Searched: this morning
Name: Venarath
Gender: Male
Colour: Blue
Father: Cloud Blue Unknown, Stratius
Mother: Gold Pernese, Golden
Size: Blue-Sized
Abilities: Psionics (Telepathy, Teleportation), Firebreath
Basic Personality: Venarath is something of a solipsistic dragon, not really caring for anyone other than Ph'ron and usually acting in ways that seem condescending or strangely lackadaisical, especially in the face of stressful or immediately dire situations. He has some inkling that life around him is real, but he is also firmly possessed by the sense that he is the center of his universe. This makes him strangely good at getting his way, for he knows when to store tidbits of gossip and whent to use them, without fear or regret of reprisal. It would take a very serious set of consequences to shake Venarath of his privileged thinking.
Bonded To: Ph'ron