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With piercingly pale blue-gray eyes and a usually solemn appearance, Mortificai is often mistaken for an older teen. He doesn’t smile openly very often, usually having no occasion to do so, but he does force smiles for the benefit of others. He has a smallish nose and prominent cheekbones, fitted with a somewhat pointed chin. His expressive black eyebrows have only the faintest hint of curve. His flyaway black hair is cropped a bit shorter than shoulder length, though he keeps it up just below his ears during the heat of summer.

Mortificai’s hands are long and slender, though calloused from long Turns of farm work, just as the bottoms of his feet are calloused from not wearing footgear in the summer. His skin stubbornly refuses to tan, barely changing shades through the seasons, and he has a curious lack of body hair that his father once called “girlish”. His body build looks slight because he took after his mother's side of the family, with wiry strength rather than muscular bulk. His shoulders are getting broader and his chest has deepened, though, which makes his waist seem thinner by comparison.

He has grown since coming to the Weyr, and now stands 5'6", and weighs 160 lbs. (Where does he keep the weight? Nobody knows, but it certainly doesn't show!) He only has two scars, one long-healed, thin scar on his scalp, where he was once attacked by a wherry as a toddler – this is visible only as a few strands of white hair on the back of his head. The other scar, about the length of a finger, is in an unmentionable place and was caused by a herdbeast kicking him before he could count his Turns on both hands (that’s how he learned not to run across a herdbeast’s field of vision). He was born with a birthmark, but it faded with time. Around his neck he always wears a necklace comprised of his late mother’s graying hair twisted together (and a single white bead), which gets slowly tighter as he grows. He walks with an odd sort of grace that sways his hips ever so slightly; if he were made aware of the fact, it would either embarrass him, or remind him of his mother's pace.

Morti is a polite, reserved young man. His sense of responsibility is keen, and he rarely ever experiences the normal childish urges to play pranks or shirk chores. (When he does, they are usually ignored.) He only ever had one real friend in his life, that was forced away from him by his father, so he has a defensive mentality about the things he cherishes, afraid that they will in some way be taken also. If he could change one part of his life, it would have been his father's hidebound actions concerning his sole friend; that encounter completely changed his life, making him more secretive than the boy he once was, in fear of being punished just for being different. He has a deep yearning to be accepted that he hides, even from himself. One of his strongest fears is that he will never find a mate as compatible for him as his parents were for one another; that, paired with his experience with Aldren, has made him willing to view both genders as potential mates.

He respects all men equally, even those of his own low rank, and though outwardly he attempts to honor rank he does so with the understanding that Lord Holders and are still human- and could quite possibly make his life very difficult if he says the wrong thing. Ironically he is more comfortable with women than men, even those of high rank, having had no painful experiences with females as yet. Often, he will duck his head and hunch his shoulders when around people in general, and not meet their eyes, though otherwise his posture will be upright.

He has a strong appreciation for things of beauty, whether it is symmetry of a person’s face, the way the moons light up a forest, or the sun’s light making a stream sparkle. He holds these and most of his other thoughts and feelings inside, where they can’t be laughed away or punished. His father never stood for his “foolishness” about pretty things, and his mother never had time to listen, so he has never had a reason to let those feelings out.

In his own quiet way, Mortificai is generous and kind, but praise makes him shy, as he feels undeserving of it. He is utterly unassuming, but gets embarrassed easily, though he would rather be ignored than scolded. He loves berries, and any kind of sweet dish, to the point of gluttony if they are made readily available; in this one thing, at least, any attempt of his at self control is hopelessly futile.

Mortificai was born in a cothold not far from Crom Hold, to cotholder Morlecol and Sulee Rafn. When he was very young he was allowed some free time to explore and play after his chores were done. Still, as an only child in a hardworking farm family he was expected to grow up quickly in order to shoulder some of the burdens they faced, what with the holdless bandits occasionally moving through the area, and herdbeasts getting loose or giving birth, or droughts necessitating buckets of water to be hauled from the stream a mile away to lovingly nurse what crops could be saved. His father was often strict, never openly loving, and beat him when he thought it would teach the boy something important. His mother was altogether different. She mentioned often the things Morti had accomplished, and that she was proud of him, and told him funny thoughts or stories of her adventures to try and win a smile out of him.

Life was made a little easier when a young man from a larger neighboring farm came to foster and learn some of Sulee's herbal treatments for herdbeasts in exchange for his labor. Aldren was a Turn older than Mortificai, and had laughing green eyes and scraggly white-blond hair. During the few times they weren't working, the boys hunted snakes or gathered the herbs needed to keep stocked. They became inseparable friends, until Aldren made his feelings clear one day in midsummer with an inopportune kiss, which Mortificai's father happened to see at a distance. Morlecol immediately sent the boy home in disgrace, and beat his son soundly for allowing the kiss in the first place (in spite of repeated protests that Mortificai hadn't known it was going to happen). Sulee refused to form an opinion, but afterward took her son aside to give him medicines.

Now that Aldren was gone, the only joy left in Mortificai's confused existence were the nightly antics of his mother's green firelizard, Piper, and the rare sight of dragons flying overhead. Although the family knew the little green went up to the Hold on occasion for mating flights, they never found any of the nests, though Piper often returned from absences looking smug.

As if winter weren't bad enough, then the plague came around. The cotholders suffered through it right up until the end, with Mortificai taking care of the most important chores, being the least affected. Sulee seemed to recover rapidly, but suffered terrible headaches ever after, while Morlecol was worst off. They weren't sure if he would make it. The spring planting came and went, without much being started, before Morlecol started to get up and move again. With fewer crops to tend, it seemed at first as though things would be better, but Morti's father was weakened- and so bitter about it he decided to give the cothold over to Sulee’s brother in the winter.

They went to an autumn Gather to sell off the best of the herdbeasts, hoping to bring enough marks to see them south, where Morlecol's extended family lived. While they were at Gather Mortificai managed to run into his old friend Aldren. The boy was no longer recognizable except for his laughing eyes, having grown into the promise of manhood. When Aldren attempted to apologize for kissing him last Turn, Morti just blushed and said it was all right. Luckily they parted ways before Morti's father came along, or he might have caught them doing it again.

As the Turn progressed, Sulee's headaches worsened. Sometimes she would lie between the furrows with her palms pressed into her eye sockets, while poor green Piper hovered above unhappily. It was hard to tell who was more attached to the poor woman, the firelizard or her son. Morti argued with her often in attempts to get her to go inside, out of the painful light, but of course she wouldn’t listen to her son. Morlecol never mentioned her suffering, but was far more considerate to her during that time than any other. It wasn't really a surprise on the grim autumn morning Piper began to keen mournfully, then winked out between. Sulee, kind and homely, had passed.

Morlecol's grief was transparent that first day, as was his guilt. Mortificai wandered away from the cothold in his own misery, on the excuse of hunting snakes. Not that he needed an excuse, so incoherent was his father. Morti meandered all the way to the stream, and sat there sobbing until it was almost dark. He felt dried up inside. He kept a dutiful eye open on the way back to the cothold, even going the long way to make the most of the effort, violently hacking the few snakes he did see, and slinging their bodies over his shoulder for the morrow's stew. The moons had come out by the time he was almost back, and he was trudging out of the woods when he caught a glimpse of another slithering creature. He missed the deathblow, and a good thing it was, or he might not have seen it. For there, nestled forlornly amid scruffy brown leaves and several discarded bones, was a broken wooden hairbrush, with a few hairs clinging to it. With reverence, he collected it to his chest, fully aware that this was the only thing he would likely ever have to remember his mother by.

Days passed, with Morlecol slumping through each chore like a halfwit, and Mortificai carrying the brush around in his belt pouch like an obsessed Lady Holder with a jewel. There was a rush to gather in the crops, to hunt and cure what meat could be had, to preserve feed for the herdbeasts so Sulee’s brother could save a few marks. The day of the first snowstorm, Mortificai removed six strands of hair from his mother’s brush and wove them roughly together into a necklace. His father never noticed that addition to Morti’s regular garb; or if he did notice it, he didn’t say a word.

That winter, the cot was often dark and cold, and Sulee’s few possessions began to gather dust. Morti’s father seemed to snap out of his depression with shocking suddenness on the day his brother was to arrive, and began methodically to toss Sulee’s things into a pile. His son could not stand to watch idly. When he asked what his father intended to do with those things, he was told in a cold voice to mind his own business until it was “time to take this rubbish out.” He did so sadly, but traded the broken brush for a small bead his mother had carved from a bone fragment. It made him feel a little better to add that bead to his necklace. Later that day, Morlecol went up alone to Crom Hold to make sure the Lord Holder still approved his decision. While there, dragonrider B'ron came on Search with brown Hath. When the dragonrider asked the Lord Holder where he could feed his dragon, Morlecol stepped forward almost insistently, saying that his beasts were fat and healthy, and his brother wouldn't miss a few.

Mortificai was floored at the chance to meet a brownrider and see a dragon choose kills; he was stunned completely from the depth of his misery. He watched brown Hath in fascination until the adults finished talking, and B'ron came near.

"How would you like to come to the Weyr, Mortificai? Hath says you could be a dragonrider someday."

Surprise made him speak tactlessly. "Me? A dragonrider?" Mortificai looked at his father, but Morlecol wasn't looking at him, instead gazing down the slight hill to where Sulee's body lay interred. "I don't know how a dragon could choose me, if he had another choice..."

B'ron smiled, and his blind eyes were striking. "Dragons know best. Hath and I have Searched for Turns now, and he's usually right."

It was settled in short order, though there was some confusion when the new cotholder Keerik arrived. Morlecol took his son aside for a moment and spoke to him plainly, man to man, for the first time in his life. "Mortificai, you have the look of your mother, and I... I can't stand to be reminded of her day after day. This is the only way I'll keep my sanity, do you see? You have to go, to the Weyr, or elsewhere. I just need time..." Morti's heart ached, but he understood. Only the resilience of his youth, and the hope he held on to for his future, had kept him going. So he packed a few things immediately, and prepared mentally for whatever his new life might bring him.

After a few months at the Weyr, M'cai Impressed a bronze of Yokaith's first clutch.

Sometimes at night, Mortificai has terrifying dreams that make him restless, or even noisy with fright. His mother taught him to disregard them on waking, even when the furs were clammy with sweat and bunched around his body. As a result of those lessons, he never can remember exactly what had him so worked up. Sleepwalking is also an unfortunate side effect that will make him wake up in strange places; the strangest was in a feed trough in the herdbeast pen.