Birthing Date: 06.19.2711
Xílan is ruggedly built. Four years of Smithing gave his body hard muscle, and though the years have tried, he hasnít let much of it stray. Muscles donít bulge so much as subtly make their presence known and most who come across him go away thinking that heís one not to be messed with. The well built frame of his body is oddly accented by his facial features, which are angled, again making a somewhat imposing impression. Features weathered by long hard years donít make the most pleasing sight in the world, and only when he is truly happy will the rough angles melt away to show a kinder, gentler face. Head covered by dark brown hair that is cut short, Xílan has noted the first few grey hairs hiding in the brown and is none too happy about it.
Standing right at five feet seven inches, Xílan is perfectly content with his height. Now, if only the burns and scars across his body would fade into oblivion. Sure enough, his arms have a burn mark or two here and there from smithing, and hands calloused and worn from both the hammer and the leather of riding straps. However, itís his left leg that truly bears the mark of fire. Scar tissue runs from mid thigh down to his ankle and is the reason why he wears long pants in all but the hottest weather. On stormy days, or exceptionally cold ones, an old ache reawakens and makes moving more difficult than it should, but it doesnít truly hamper him.
Upon first meeting Xílan most people would think that this rider is what he looks to be; a rough person, more likely to shout orders and yell than to speak quietly and offer advice, and in thinking this people are partially correct. The few years spent smithing developed an excellent capacity for yelling and shouting, and his rough voice only reinforces that idea. However, if one looks closer, they find something different, the flash in the eye of a person attentive to his surroundings, the head angled just so to catch every word. Under the rough outside lies an intelligent man, with a good sense of when to talk and when to raise his voice. Of course, heís still human. Talk wrong about his dragon, or his charges, or his friends and nothing good will come of it. Luckily, the line is a fairly bendable one, and itíll take some real prodding to push Xílan to acting on his anger.
Calculating every move he makes, Xílan is a thinker when he wants to be; detail, always detail when heís working, or planning the next few Sevendays. Ever since his accident, detail was always at the forefront of his mind. He is a stickler, for the very reason that someone else wasnít and nearly caused a tragedy. Those under him will come to resent this, until it pays off when theyíve moved on, and realize exactly what he was always after.
Under that is a cheerful man who, like any other sensible person, appreciates a good drink every now and then. However, there is too much of a good thing, and on the rare occasion he allows himself to get drunk Xílan is a mess. For in his past, misfortune has struck time and time again and he never has truly been able to let go of his past, merely burying it under duty to his dragon and his fellows. Anyone who asks about afore mentioned past will get cut off, somewhat sharply depending on his current mood. Itís something he doesnít want to think about; not now, not ever. Thank You.
Snapshot: Intelligent, advisor, planner, picky, reminiscent, blunt
To find Xílanís past, any curious enough to get past his refusal will have to take quite a journey; in fact, theyíll have to journey all the way up to Telgar Hold to get the first of it. Xílan was born Xolan to a well meaning pair of Holders. In all, he had seven brothers and a pair of sisters and his parents had quite the time keeping them in line. As a youth Xílan was the average one of the bunch, getting in as much trouble for various things as the next boy and always watching the dragons come and go, dreaming like everyone else did. Dreams were one thing though, and Xílan had a back-up plan in case he never was searched. For what young lad did not like playing with fire and pieces of metal that could be molded to oneís will? So at twelve he apprenticed to the Smithcraft, with the forewarning from his father that life would be rough until he got the hang of things. Apprenticeship was tough for Xílan but he pulled through his first Turn and only gained ground from there, developing a knack for making detailed items. Granted he lacked the extra bit of skill needed for the items that would hold an edge for Turns, but his items earned a pretty penny for detail and pure good looks.
Four enjoyable turns passed in this way, learning and creating at the Smith Hall. Xílan earned enough trust from his Masters to be elevated to a Senior Apprentice and slightly after he turned 16 gained an opportunity he didnít hesitate to take. A spot for an apprentice had opened up back at Telgar Weyr, and the position was brought to him first. He accepted without hesitation and found himself at the Weyr and in a new lifestyle. Adapting to the way of the Weyrfolk took a few fortnights, but adapt he did, and truthfully he enjoyed the new surroundings more than heíd ever enjoyed the plainness of the Smith Hall.
It was at the Weyr, on one cold winter day he happened to be in the right place at the right time and met a Searchdragon and its rider. Upon being informed of his eligibility, Xílan moved his belongings into the Barracks and there resided until the first hatching after he turned 17, when he Impressed to Blue Azanth. The pair quickly developed a reputation for being the ones who were always at the back of the class, not struggling, but encouraging and helping those who needed it. Weyrlinghood was easy for the new pair, for after all, the return of Threadfall was Turns away yet, all one had to do was not lose your head when going *between* and everything would be fine.
Incidentally, it was those very words that came back to haunt Xílan and Azanth the very next turn during the Games for that Turn. As entertainment for the good Holders of Telgar, the starting point of the Games was to be a mass entrance of the wings, each entering their respective airspaces and letting loose an impressive flame while flying over and under the other wings. On Hide, the plan was sound, the altitude separation perfect. However, in the jump *between* something went wrong, and a new rider in the wing below Xílanís came out to high and too far ahead of the rest of the Wing, already flaming.
The scorching flame seared Azanthís left foreleg from claws to mid-joint. Xílan, though set up higher was injured as well, the heat blistering and burning the skin on his left leg from the mid-calf down. Though his memory is good, Xílan remembers the brief jump *between* after the initial flame, and then the image of Telgar Weyr before everything went dark. Azanth managed to keep his calm, and made a very rough landing at the infirmary.
Recovery for the pair was very touch and go. Xílan fared better than his blue, getting away with scar tissue and the occasional ache and pain in his leg. Azanth came out much worse, for he had been in direct contact with the flame, and his leg wasnít doing well, despite the Healers best treatment. As wounds went, it was a particularly nasty one, and soon enough infection started in and decided the course of action. Thus it was that Azanthís leg was amputated just below the joint. In later reflection, Xílan was mighty grateful he was drugged when it happened. Even after the amputation it was still a long recovery for the pair, especially for Azanth, whose whole world had just changed dramatically. He could still fly, but walking, eating, balancing even had to be relearned. And so the long recovery continued, the two working to regain what they had lost, and eventually things returned to normal.
Normal was good for Xílan and Azanth, and the two got back on their feet mentally and physically. It was during this wonderful normal time that Xílan fell in love. It started with a greenflight, and not far after Xílan discovered that his heart had found a home in Kera. The young greenrider was a new transfer and for several Sevendays the two young riders dated on and off. And then the bronzers caught notice of the girlís good looks, and just like that Xílan was out of the picture. Slightly heartbroken, Xílan went back to Azanth and solitude and for a long time the two just were. With their injuries they had been assigned to the Weyrling Wing for recovery, and nothing the pair could do would get them restored to the wing. After many long Candlemarks of pestering the Weyrleader, Xílan was finally released from the Weyrling Wing and given a drill with his old wing, as an experiment. The drill was a disaster for many reasons, and somehow all the blame was directed on Xílan and Azanth. Grounded once again, the two fell into a depression and once again lived for each other and nothing else.
All this changed near the end of the turn, when at the noonday meal a new Candidate sat down with Xílan and starting talking to him. The boy had come from a family of Harpers and after a few reluctant moments Xílan found himself in interesting conversation for the first time in a long time. On and on the two talked, about Weyrlife, riding dragons, the usual. Finally a Candlemark later, the boy finally excused himself citing a lesson missed.
The Candlemark was worth it, as Xílan had found something he could do and take strength in. Slowly but surely he and Azanth worked their way back into the Weyr, and people noticed. In his spare time Xílan would seek out the Candidates, the new people to the Weyr, and hold question and answer sessions for them. The sessions caught the notice of the current CandidateMaster, and after watching surreptitiously for a few more Sevendays, decided to appoint the Bluerider as an Assistant CandidateMaster. It was a position that worked well for Xílan, and he stayed on, working with class after class to get them ready for Impression.
Turn after Turn passed in this way, and before he knew it, Thread had returned. Then, word came from Eastern Weyr, down South that their CandidateMaster had been disabled. The decision to move was a tough one, but the deciding factor was the fact that winters at Telgar werenít fun, and at 47, he was starting to feel the ache every now and then when a hard cold hit. So willing and ready, Xílan sent word that he would gladly come South and fill the vacancy if he was needed.