Name: Bansabira
Age: 75
Sex: Male
Sexual Orientation: Yes (mostly men)
Weyr: Western
Rider Rank: Wingrider
Previous Rank/Craft: Mercenary/Amateur Fisherman
Physical Description: One wouldn’t be faulted for only glancing and thinking he’s a lion given form. Bansabira has a wild mane of hair that runs from dark russet tones at the roots to a rich blond towards the ends, usually restrained only in loose braids. His beard is dark and cropped short, his honey eyes sharpened by a choice of eye liner and light makeup that makes his face appear more angular and exaggerated: truly a maned feline given a human body. As evidence by his craft, Bansabira has a body sculpted for and by risky ventures. He has a tattoo of the Daggerback Clan’s symbol on his chest: crossing daggers, with one breaking the other into pieces.
Personality: Bansabira is a proud warrior type who would never swallow it down, even if it saved his skin. He delights in being exactly and unapologetically who he is, and he ignores anyone who complains about it. If he’s drinking too much, it’s because he’s had a long day. If he’s being lecherous, who could blame him when there’s so many handsome men around? He’s 16? Doesn’t matter if he’s willing. Despite the bluntness of his personality, however, there can be a more noble bearing to his demeanor if he so chooses, hinting at the grooming he once received and his experience at commanding a small force. Confidence comes off Bansabira like cologne, and his decisive nature can cut past the bureaucratic or chatty fat. Give him a job, and he’ll make sure it’s done. Give him a hard choice, and he’ll still make it.

It just so happens that a positive light on his qualities gets twisted: that confidence is usually a loud arrogance, his latent leadership skills overshadowed by a lack of trust in others, his long term goals abandoned in favor of indulging the present. He has trouble working with others even when training in a wing, plagued with the thought that it still only falls on him to get the job done. Bansabira’s front of a fearsome savage doesn’t help him make friends either, which he assures you he doesn’t care about.

But beyond the mercenary and morose, the stern and the solitary, there’s a heart. As much as Bansabira might claim to leave behind the weak, he just can’t find it in himself to follow up on that. The serious part of him battles with the part that aims to be charming, but neither are facades—more like facets that take turns in the light. A lot of Bansabira seems to be like the ocean, stormy one day and calm the next, and no-one including himself can reign it into a stable pattern. At this point in his life, he’s made peace with that internal strife, and so long as no-one tries to stifle him, he’s fine.
History: One more run amok boy in Zanoma Camp and the child of two long-standing members, Bansabira learned the nomadic ways growing up and quickly decided that if he could hunt and care for himself, not much else was needed in his life. His mother remained out of the picture, for instance, and yet he was pretty well adjusted if he did say so himself. Nonetheless, his father impressed upon him the important of responsibility in regards to others, the need for compassion for even the vilest enemy, almost all lessons he figured only a lord holder’s child should worry about. Bansabira didn’t get why, and when his father decided to try living somewhere permanent instead, his son chose not to follow to further show his independence.

Life was just day after another day until he was Searched. After opening up to Wreximilith soon after—well, more like one the bronze barged in and roared his challenge for anyone else to take the boy from him—it was as if a new book entirely was started about his life.

After graduating, Bansabira took them on a tour of the coasts, having always been drawn towards the sea when the Camp set up by or on beaches. His jobs were random based on where they landed, from helping bodyguard particularly sensitive shipments to finding himself in a older widow’s home for dinner after helping her with her chores. He even located his father at a minor-Hold along the way and took up residency alongside him, helping fishermen and dolphineers and deterring trouble for a handful of turns. Bansabira thought his father might be proud to see his son well off after turns of separation, but while Bairen was indeed glad to see him, he was melancholic. Not one to pry too much at once, Bansabira spent many days hanging around to learn the full story.

When asked about Bansabira’s mother, his father did eventually admit that she had been an heir to a minor-hold, but that she had rejected it to find her freedom. And that freedom, which has once brought them together, had then taken her down a road he couldn’t follow anymore. As far as he knew, Irasani was dead. Saddened, but not as torn as he thought he should be, Bansabira offered to stay with his old man until he found a good opportunity to bring them some more marks. For the first time in his life, he felt a true closeness with his father.

The golden job never did come. Maybe he didn’t search enough, or maybe he had found some peace again being with family and a small community. However his home was more a resting point than headquarters, and the itch to explore would eventually tug the dragonrider pair out into greater Pern even without a concrete goal in mind.

Without Thread around, Bansabira decided mercenary work would have to do to satisfy the dangerlust he and his dragon possessed. With Wrex a force in his own right, they managed a decent living from hold to hold. The most stable job they ever had involved felines in the southernmost parts of the continent, usually as add ons for damage control if a bonding went wrong, or “pest control” if more feral species were terrorizing their Pernese neighbors. He eventually collected several people as he worked, more contacts than friends, with whom he sometimes had intrigue. It was hard for the man to wholly trust anyone, hence why he took the lead. Still, with tropical weather, a small group of competent people under his command, and a heavy coinpurse, Bansabira and Wrex lived a good life for a while.

Then the news traveled like wildfire: Thread was back. Entire holds had been wiped out within hours. Bansabira couldn’t get in contact with his father via flit mail and returned home to see that it too had been destroyed beyond repair. Suddenly the good life on his own felt like a callous decision. He could have saved his father, the only blood relative he cared about, if he had chosen to stay instead of following his wanderlust. But he couldn’t have known. When he finished his binge drinking and sent word of his decision back to the southern company, Bansabira enlisted at Western simply because it was the closest fighting weyr to him, swearing he’d burn down at least thirty times as much Thread that had taken Bairen from him. He’s been keeping tally whenever he doesn’t become a hedonist and forgets to update his personal record while seeking this pleasure or that.
Other:

DRAGON
Name: Wreximilith
Age: 46 (3529.02.11 Herath x Farvath if available by the time this gets through)
Color: Bronze
Size: 46’
Physical Description: Everything about Wreximilith screams dangerous and feral, from his thickset muscles to the large spines running down his back, and most especially in his small, usually squinty and red eyes. Nothing about his max length goes to waste, the majority of which is taken up by his huge tail; most might think he suffers from thicktail (and sometimes Wrex forgets to chew, sure), but it really is just that wide. His jaw is particularly large as well, with teeth jutting past his lips without a care, and his claws are also thicker as if to compensate for the weight.

There are a great many scars that he’s proud to wear, including a mostly torn headknob and several gashes in his neck/chest and even near his eyes. Alongside his rider’s penchant for decorating him in fur and beast bones, and Wreximilith almost looks like a monster born from a tribal nightmare.
Personality: Mindless hunger and rage have somehow been put to a dragonian body, and it’s by Faranth’s blessing, genetics, and a tough rider that Wrex isn’t capable of actually lethal harm. Territorial to a T and incredibly food motivated, Wreximilith uses the full weight of his bulk to boss others around. Thankfully his demands are pretty simple, even childish, and predictable: food, that spot on the heights, food, fighting during chases, food, cuddles for a nap....more food... His metabolism never seems to stop, making the bronze constantly on the move to feed his urges. (Which just seems to consist of eating or fighting unless a flight happens.)

On his better days, Wrex is just a meathead who shows his affection through roughhousing. He doesn’t really think beyond the here and now, and his memory is pretty spotty unless something grievous was done to him. He’s very much in the camp of “might is right” and respects those that fight for their right to do whatever, whoever, whenever. He loves a challenge and needs to be watched so that he doesn’t go too far, as he doesn’t believe in life without a lot of danger.

Wrex’s passion means being his friend is a blessing and a curse—and it’s very easy for him to think he’s befriended someone. But if he thinks he’s being supplanted by someone else in his social circle, he’ll throw a tantrum and cause a fuss until his spot is restored to him or the intruder leaves. This also extends to his rider: any potential mate will find themselves hunted by a suspicious, hulking beast. At least he doesn’t bother trying to be subtle?

QUEST INFO
Why do you want this character? monster boi + some nostalgia for an old character
What do you love most about this character, if anything? monster boi
Anything else? Wrex is straight lifted from another shop and is based on this hungry boi, who was inspired by Monster Hunter’s deviljho species. So uh basically adding more greenish bronzes! MHW also had tempered versions which gave it a green-bronze cast