Recreating Byaghro in Fiction, An Analysis

The lovely Windsoar, from Jaded Alt, agreed to write about a question that came to my mind when thinking of topics that we could write about and see the various responses that came from thinking of ourselves and how we would analyze and recreate ourselves if we were the basis for a fictional character. At the time of this posting I do not have the direct link to her post, so I will update this post accordingly with the link later today (and if anyone else would like to take this question and post their thoughts please let me know, and I’ll add those links too).

The Question:

If you were to recreate yourself as a fictional character, what would that character be? Things to consider are such things as primary character trait(s), “fatal flaw” of the character, and a personality description.

The Answer:

Imagine a place where honor and chivalry exist to some degree (at least in the way we remember them), such medieval/Renaissance Europe, feudal Japan, the American West, or a post-apocalyptic future. Regardless of setting, the idea of a “code of honor” would certainly be paramount. Keep this concept in mind as you read a short description of Byaghro, otherwise known as… “that guy… over there… yeah, him…”

Dossier

Name: Byaghro

Occupation: Unknown

Personality: Sarcastic, calm, reserved, spontaneous.

Strengths: Analyzes situations quickly and adapts to changes easily. Intelligent and objective.

Weaknesses: Prone to not trusting others, guided by an internal “code” instead of societal constraints, will often observe instead of acting.

Fatal Flaw: Love

An Introduction By Story

The wind whipped through us as though it were a lash of ice, burning our lungs and turning our faces a bright pink. It seemed only a few weeks ago we were a part of a great, marvelous, and technologically advanced civilization, yet looking upon our current state one would wonder if we ever even had electricity. The Earth no longer looked upon us as friendly inhabitants, but viewed us a plague worthy of extinction.

My name is unimportant; it creates an emotional tie to something that no longer exists. I am, for the moment at least, a survivor of the world’s second catastrophic climate shift, and this is my story…

I awoke on the morning of July 4th expecting to continue my normal routine. The weather was fairly typical, though slightly hotter than previous records. I made my way toward work as usual, stopping to get a much needed cup of coffee. It was there, while waiting in line, that my world was forever changed. A tornado suddenly appeared and obliterated a three mile swath of buildings and highways full of morning commuters, and a torrential downpour began to create flash floods within moments.

The story was the same all over the world. The oceans rose and hammered the life from coastal communities and towns. Temperatures began dropping, reaching record-shattering lows by the end of the day. Within a twenty-four hour period I was searching for warmth in negative thirty degree temperatures.

I was stunned. I watched as people were overcome by hysteria, abandoning all sense of reason in an effort to save some attachment to their suddenly destroyed world. Men, women, children… the sight was enough to make me believe this was actually the best thing for the human race given how quickly they would turn upon one another.

And then I met them.

Originally I barricaded myself in an older home located out away from everyone else. While I knew I would not survive indefinitely, it certainly would allow me to escape the magnitude of death and destruction my race was bringing upon itself in its panic and desperation. When they came I watched, unsure whether to reveal my presence or wait for them to leave. I suppose what brought me to take the chance and trust these people was oddly emotional and irrational, and yet my solitude was surely a path to depression and self-destruction. I could not help but feel that a group that was taking care of a cat, in addition to themselves, might be worth trusting.

Since then we’ve wandered, in short spurts, from the former southeastern United States to the former midwest and back south, picking up one or two more people here and there along the way. We now number two hundred and thirteen, including roughly a dozen children and five or six household pets. It is the hope of most that we will find at least one place left that is hospitable enough to attempt to farm, though the temperatures are still cold enough that I believe our hope is ill-fated.

Tensions are high as we enter what used to be Texas. The shock of trudging through mountains of snow in the middle of August is still difficult to move beyond. I have been watching as those frustrations are sometimes misdirected and people verbally lash out at one another. Once a man hit another during one such altercation… I sincerely doubt he made it out of his bonds, back in what used to be Virginia, before the weather silenced his angry screams.

For now we live. For now we attempt to find some way to atone for the destruction we caused upon ourselves. For now we live in relative peace in spite of being on the brink of death.

What happens when the weather is no longer our enemy?

Update:

Windsoar’s Post - http://www.jadedalt.com/2010/09/15/creating-a-character/