Thick dark hair seems to be in a perpetual state of disorganization. On the shorter side, it sticks out from the man’s head in an array of blunt edges and spiking tendrils for that just crawled out of bed look. His tousled locks and ever present five o'clock shadow only serve to add to his rogue-ish charm. Dark eyebrows add expression to the orbs of lightly creamed coffee beneath, while a cocky little grin brings deep dimples to full cheeks. Not overly tall or heavy, his build is that of a man that can handle himself - lean musculature indicates leans more toward flexibility and dexterity than strength.


Born the second son of a pair of Neratian seafarers, Donnchadh spent much of his childhood on ship and dock rather than dry land. Truth be told the boy was born on his father’s vessel and had many a first there. A lonely life some might say, a child growing up on a ship rather than in hold or weyr, but it was Donnchadh’s life and he saw nothing wrong with it. While others his age had a group of friends to tromp around with he had some in every port.

So life when on in a relatively uneventful fashion, and the turns passed, boy growing to a charming young man even if he was more than his fair share of flirt. But then, what better tool does a trader have than his charm? And so it was that at age twenty one the ship pulled into port on the western shores of Telgar territories that a blue from the weyr wouldn’t leave with out the young man agreeing to stand for the clutch currently on the sands.

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