They call me Worm. A joke made amongst men who do so only at the expense of another, but it sort of stuck. I’m the little guy (figuratively speaking). A kid with too many Turns under his overly notched belt. I was born insignificant to a tiny cothold with six full-blooded siblings, three half-blooded, and a father who tasked the running of the household to his overly worked wife while he drank of all the wine and women he could get his fat little fingers on.

Life is hard when you live between the stormy ocean and chilly expanse of High Reaches territory. The ground is rocky and not much grows here, but the goats seem to like it. It takes extra work to get anything else to flourish there, but we manage. I suppose I should say ‘managed’, because that cothold, my birthplace, no longer exists. It was pillaged and burned Turns ago.

I still see everything very clearly though, and I’ve thought so often of my childhood that I sometimes imagine I’m back there. Only, instead of the meek, quiet boy I was, in my imaginings I’m my family’s protector. I’m the one that stood between storm and snow and protected my family’s livelihood from poachers, pirates, and wild beasts.
Of course, none of that happened. I don’t like to talk about what did. You’re not supposed to talk about that sort of thing. It makes people uneasy and it makes them stare. I hate it when they stare. A person isn’t supposed to lose almost their entire family inside of a few short weeks. That makes them a freak. The short of it is, while the dragons fight Thread, they don’t stand guard over tiny, no-name holdings. And while we may claim ourselves within a larger Hold’s territory because we contributed to their tithes, they sent no guards to watch our lands. Renegades are often merciless, and they pick their targets well.

So, by the time I was nine turns old, I had no parents. Some of my siblings didn’t survive, some did, but don’t ask me which or where they might be now. I survived because I knew how to be obedient. I never fought, and I proved willing to work and easy to control. By my tenth Turnday, I was sold into a mine that didn’t exactly work under ‘sanctioned’ regulations. Many of the workers were there as forced labor and the conditions were treacherous.

This is another time in my life that I would keep to my self and my nightmares. Needless to say, I earned my nickname. I was a Worm who managed to survive beneath dirt and stone. Sometimes, I helped on the ships that brought in new labor. Sometimes, I even played bait to lure in the unsuspecting. Most of the time, I carried skins of water down into the mines for those within. I helped the cook prepare the slop we were all fed. I’ve even changed the Boss’ chamber pots and scrubbed calluses off his disgusting feet.

What would you do to survive? Those who say they’d fight until the bitter end to avoid scrubbing pots and feet are those who become nothing more then a proud corpse.

This bitter life came to a screeching, unnerving halt when the pit was finally discovered and seen for what it really was. The dragons who arrived like Calvary destroyed everything and the survivors were shuffled either into cells, or given their farewells and off-you-goes.

At fourteen turns, with no home to return to and no skills, now what was I supposed to do? Here I am now, at Fort Weyr, and I still don’t know. There are few shadows to hide in, and to give into my nature and slink through them now only seems to draw more attention. They gave me a white knot, on a rouse I think, and I feel that much more out of place. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.



Wehlim has quite a few flaws. He doesn’t know how to trust. He’s nervous. He doesn’t know how to act around people and it shows. He hasn’t had a lot of positives to shape his understanding of the world. This said, he’s willing to learn a different way of life. He actively craves friendship. He wants to be a part of things. He’s scared to death that he won’t be accepted, and it shapes how he interacts with others, but if he receives that encouragement he needs, he responds to it quickly. He works constantly and without complaint but he doesn’t always put his all into it. He lacks passion in what he does and it shows. When and if asked about his past, he avoids answering. The past is in the past, and considering his less then proud or happy one, he doesn’t feel the need to share it with anyone. In his mind, its none of their business, and afterward they’d only see him for the worm he is anyway.

Feelings About Dragons:

Dragons …scare Wehlim. Well, in truth, a whole lot scares him, but in terms of size, and teeth, they definitely take the cake. His only experience with them has been a couple of quick, traumatizing flights Between, and the attack on the mine where he’d been held captive for so many turns that it was home. A lot of fire and growling and gnashing of teeth bigger then his arm doesn’t exactly lend credential to them being giant, cuddly friends who protect everyone from evil Thread. The fact that many of them look at him like one might a toothpick or light snack only adds to his conviction that they’re better off respectfully avoided.

So, why does he live in a Weyr if the main occupants are twenty ton walking meat grinders that intimidate him? While they scare him, it’s not to the level one would consider a ‘phobia’. He doesn’t run screaming from them upon sight and he’s not going to melt into a puddle of goo if one looks at him wrong. The truth is, the Weyr offers a lot of opportunities to Pern’s homeless and lost. Living in a Weyr gives him the chance to see things he’s never seen before, to have experiences he’s long since been denied. He blends in well because there are so many different types of people here, from all walks of life and it’s a community that’s used to accepting newcomers. Why would he let a fear of being squashed ruin all that for him?

Favorite Eggs:

Whirling Wormhole Egg is definitely my favorite, followed very closely by Give Us a Kiss Egg, and Clowning Around Egg.

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