Various Mostly Pern Character Sheets - Sam

[align=center]FREYA[/align]

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• Name: Freya.
  
• Turn of birth: Day 15, Month 5, Turn 341 of the 8th Interval.
  
• Gender: Female.
  
• Rank: Headwoman.
  
• Face Claim: Rene Russo.
  

[align=center]Appearance[/align]
Standing at five foot six in height, Freya is a woman who appears taller purely by the manner in which she stands. Her bearing is one with a certain manner of regality to it, and yet even as others may attempt to copy it do they fail in doing so, for the air of it is something unstudied. To the point even, where it seems almost natural, entirely without affectedness or pretension. This is a woman who knows who she is and what she is despite the disappointments around us that so often weigh down our shoulders and duck down our chins in life. This is a woman who may bend and bend metaphorically, but to break her entirely is a task gargantuan for a very, very select few and impossible for the majority.

Freya is one of those who has grown somehow beautiful with age. Pretty enough in her youth, but not what one would heartbreakingly beautiful. Even now it is not a beauty one would deem as something classically desired despite the thick blonde hair she is still infuriatingly lucky enough to possess this far in life, and yet she is striking nonetheless, and has grown more so in a way inexplicable with the passing of the Turns. Perhaps it is that way in which she carries herself. Perhaps it is something striking in her countenance. Perhaps it is something in her eyes. One cannot entirely put their finger on it and likely won't without Turns of observing the woman...though there is certainly something about the eyes that cannot be lied about. Great and piercing and a shifting, wintry grey in colour, they take up a large portion of her proudly featured face, and there is something knowing to them, emotion of some kind even when the rest of her is impassive, that can make her as approachable and comforting as the eye of the storm on some days and as bone-chilling as the tempest outside on others.

It is not to say, though, that the woman is gifted with perfection. She has aged well, yes. Very well, like fine wine. But there are still things, little things. Things one may catch if they find her in a weaker moment, a quiet time at the end of the day, a passing five minutes where her shoulders may round and her eyes grow weary, her hair just that little bit lanker and the lines not borne of a smile deepen with the weight of many a Turn into skin just that little bit ruddy-cheeked and otherwise pale. Far too pale, it seems, for Ista, and yet she manages to cope for the most part; she was born there, after all. It's just a little difficult during the high heat of summer, that's all, and old bones do sometimes ache in the wettest part of the winter.

[align=center]Personality[/align]

[align=center]"That is more than likely the reason you are still alive, my worrying for you!"[/align]

A warrior spirit is not the lot of men alone. Nor is one necessarily deemed a warrior spirit purely on the basis of ardour and strength and heroics and brash courage alone. In fact, more often than not, the real warrior spirit is the spirit which is stoic in the face of adversity, the spirit willing to sacrifice what would not otherwise be willingly sacrificed, the spirit who often must meet failure time and time again and does so, and yet keeps on keeping on through life. More often than not, one may possess a warrior spirit simply because they know who they are and where they place within the world, the type of person who may stand in the background without need for fanfare, and accepts it as such, yet knows full well where it is they are equal.

Of course, whether you consider her wise or not, you're not going to find Freya waxing eloquence on anything remotely related to the above. If she must consider herself anything, then she might compare herself to the four legged equines that held and still hold a tender place in her heart. Or more, compare herself to them in the hope that she is, in some way or form, learned of their good qualities. And perhaps even their bad, for the good cannot go without the bad. The fierceness and the gentleness. The stoicism and the compassion. Even the bossiness of those in the herd who lead and yet so too the dissimulation into the group. In short, a creature bred to be both proud and humble, strong when needed and tender on other occasions -- essentially a being comfortable in it's own skin, in whatever form it might take.

Between the natural predisposition for elegance and the determined air borne of Turns of cultivation, Freya has more or less got the look of it down pat. A woman of few enough words so as to consider such fanciful notions as warrior spirits discomfiting to the point of pretentious, and yet a woman who chooses what words she does use well, Freya is direct and the point in how she interacts with people. Never a liar or a clod, she doesn't ask because she assumes she'll be followed, she asks because she expects it. She's done her Turns in more than their fair share, she knows what she's doing, she's where she's at for a reason. Frankly, her way of going about it is that she's giving you a great deal of courtesy in asking something of you in the first place, and the proper thing to do would be to repay that respect in kind.

That's not to say that the woman won't prove her mettle, though. Freya's will is a law unto itself in her domain, and it is a law that is final and fiercely maintained. The lower half of the Weyr is hers to run with a stern hand, and though she may hardly ever raise her voice, there is a certain quality to it, a low, ringing burr, that ensures it carries through the frequent noise and chaos of her daily life, and beyond it if need be. Asking you will become telling you very quickly if you choose to defy her, shirk her or otherwise play the dirt card, and while she isn't one for outward bossiness or temper outbursts, nor is she afraid to stand her ground and confront the matter outright. And if she thinks she is the correct one, that undercurrent of fierceness makes itself known, often to the point of stubbornness that not even Turns of life has quite managed to quell. It's not a bad trait to have, that stubborn streak, especially in a position where she's often forced into quick decisions that will never please everyone. At the same time though, it only goes so far before it becomes pigheadedness, and while Freya's taken long Turns of observation to correct that, it still does occasionally rear it's head if any particular topic comes up. Basically, if she decides she's right, then she's right, and unless you're particularly familiar with which buttons to push, you'll have a long, cold battle ahead of you before you bring her around to your point of view.

Which brings us to her temper, of which she does indeed have one. A temper of the most wintry, frosty, flowers and springtime killing kind. And while it's not a fire and brimstone and ferocious fury, it is the kind of glacial cold and icy disappointment that leaves one set to shrivel up on the inside. Freya is a woman slow to anger, as you might have guessed, but when you do bring her to a temper, she is slower again to let it fade and to forget. A woman slow to hold grudges but very capable of holding onto them once they've been aroused, she does not forgive or forget easily once truly wronged. And even then she is unlikely to do the latter, even if she does the former in due course. She doesn't like it either when you point it out, or more, you point out her faults freely -- partly because she's aware of them already and doesn't need your input, thank you kindly, and partly because she is just proud enough of a woman to in fact not tolerate criticism well unless it is very well-founded. As opposed to needless. Which she quite frankly considers most of it to be.

That is not to say though that the woman is without her compassion. She must often be ruthless to be fair, and her abject refusal to lay it on you easily can often have her percieved as completely the opposite to the oversensitive and the immature, or just plain in general for anyone having a bad day. But in fact it is this very same abject refusal to bend and break that is borne of her compassionate nature; she expects you to do something because she's pretty damn sure you can do it, and there's no if's or but's or 'too precious' about it. Freya has lived quite a long life already, after all, and you can probably guarantee that at some point or another, she's entertained the same notions that might be going through your head at any moment, and has had to thus push past them. With compassion comes empathy after all, but so too with empathy comes the wisdom of such things...or you certainly like to hope that it does. If nothing else, it is that sense of ruthless empathy (if it can't be called anything else) that has enabled her to do what she must in the job she's needed to do over the Turns in the Weyr; it is what makes her a loyal friend and an honest ally, a devoted foster mother and a proud mother, and of course, as doting as a grandmother in her place can possibly be. In fact, one might even say she's a little too doting at times to all of the above, as while she may not be entirely blind to all of their faults (especially those of her blood sons), she tends to indulge them with a little more humour and a little less tasking than is needed.

In equal measure to go with the above, she is also something of a worrier. Not quite what you'd call naggy or fussy (it would kind of make the look of ruthless empathy null and void) but if she feels she can do something better or wants it done quickly, she can hover about quite a bit until it gets done. Or do it herself when she should be delegating it to others, thus giving herself far more stress than is needed, which isn't healthy for anyone at any age, let alone hers. Even as she seems calm, she's likely to be worried about something she's heard or knows of or even senses; it'll usually come out eventually just what it is, but whether or not it's a bit too late or a trivial thing or not is another thing entirely, and you usually have to know which buttons to push -- or you know, just ask/demand it of her outright -- to get it out of her past thinned lips and a distasteful/disapproving/concerned/panicked glint in those great grey eyes. It seems to be something of a mother's prerogative to do such things and worry in such ways, and Freya definitely fits the bill of Mother in the Weyr to a tee.

That is not to say though that Freya does not know how to relax. Actually, she's very good at it once all is said and the day is done. As aforementioned, she is a loyal friend and a staunch ally, for a start. She has been a loving mate and companion in the past and would likely still be so in the present, as while a little quiet, she's definitely never been shy like some claim to be. In fact, it would probably be an error entirely to call her as such -- she is dignified and aware of herself, not demure and aware of herself, as the latter for her actually inspires rather a notion of lacking in confidence. Really, the woman has been riding runners in place of dragons since she was a young girl, and she still does ride them -- though whether that breaks the notion entirely of dignified in such a woman is entirely up to you. It probably wouldn't make a difference either way what you thought -- it's the unfortunate case with most equine mad females in that respect. She is less surprisingly what you would call a real listener -- someone content to actually sit there and listen if you get her at the right time. And then, more surprisingly, she is possessed of a surprisingly playful sense of humour when provoked -- as privvy to subtle jokes and not-so-gentle teasing as any, if not more so, and no stranger to secretive smiles and the twinkling eyes of the young woman she once was as much as she is prone to furrows of worry and concern, of grief and sorrow. Of life lived, really.

[align=center]History[/align]
Day 15, Month 5, Turn 341 of the 8th Interval. Freya is born at Ista Weyr, the daughter of Journeyman Beastcrafter Ferendil and Alreya, a Weyrbred lass and the daughter of the then Headwoman. There is some joking as to the appearance of her hair -- pale gold that will grow into thick golden curls, as opposed to her dark haired parents. Being a Weyr, there may be some unfortunate truth in fiction, but as there is blonde within Alreya's known family and Ferendil already dotes upon the inquisitive little babe, he is content to overlook it.

Month 2, Turn 343 of the 8th Interval. Though quite a well-behaved baby, Freya's discovery of her legs and her mobility makes something of a headache for both her parents and her foster mother. In fact, it is worsened by the fact that she is so quiet, as one doesn't often hear her leaving to investigate or suss out whatever it is that has struck her fancy. On one particular occasion, all hellacious panic breaks loose when the toddler cannot be found anywhere -- until Ferendil combs over the Weyr stables a second time, and finds his daughter oblivious to the panic she has caused...fast asleep under the belly of his recently purchased draft stallion. Ferendil believes until the day he dies that that horse was protecting his infant daughter, a story often retold at her embarrassment...though it is one that to this very day, warms the innermost recesses of Freya's heart. If nothing else, everyone checks the stables first from here on in when she goes missing.

Month 10, Turn 343 of the 8th Interval. After spending the majority of her short lifespan in the saddle in front of her father, Freya is put on a runner by herself for the first time. It is this newfound independence, this learning to ride on her own, from here on in that blossoms her already burgeoning love for the beasts into what will be a lifelong obsession.

Day 1, Month 1, Turn 349 of the 8th Interval. Freya's half brother and only known sibling is born, the result of a green flight encounter between their mother and a blue rider. Alreya calls him Tomneyan, Freya calls him Tom, though Turns will prove she considers him more friend and sometime annoyance than actual sibling, due to both age gap and the fact that they are two very different people.

Month 2, Turn 351 of the 8th Interval. Purely by accident, Freya stumbles across -- literally -- the boy that will become a staunch friend for many Turns to come. While she and assumedly Ashvellein are in fact a little wary of each other -- amusingly enough, due to similar dispositions -- they bond over their shared passion for runners. Freya takes to calling him "Ash" whether he likes it or not, and both lets him ride her own runner and for that short time, happily finds every which pay possible that lets him work as much about the stables as is possible. He is, admittedly, her first crush. An innocent crush considering her age and admittedly, partly because she has not actually had an understanding, close-of-sorts friend before, but a crush nonetheless.

Month 8, Turn 351 of the 8th Interval. "Ash", as she has ever so calmly refused to stop calling him, Impresses to bronze Kigath. It is a moment of bittersweet joy, as while Freya is young enough to still believe in the ideals of a friendship, she is old enough to also understand that things will maybe, possibly, likely change. Though that part of her that is neither young nor old in soul believes with a kind of hope that it will never change. Not really. Still, she proves her mettle never better before than she does in this moment, doing her best to accept it for what it is (completely ignoring the night spent crying into her pillow), doing her best to accept with child-like aplomb that what will be will be.

Month 4, Turn 357 of the 8th Interval.Fostered to the Headwoman as she was for some Turns, Freya begins showing an interest in the dynamics that make the Weyr run. However, part of her hesitates in becoming too involved due to the possibility, however slim, of Impression, and before she can do much else when her mother dies -- something which does grieve the girl, as while closer to her father, she was fond of her mother's warm, rambunctious company. Somewhat less grievous -- bittersweetness again, really -- is the day in which Kigath boldly outflies all to catch Nadeluth. However, when a clutch finally is laid and hatches in the Turn, Freya does not Impress, for there is no queen egg for the girls to Stand for and the prejudice against Impressing greens is so strong that is just not possible, no matter who you are. Gutted, she takes a couple of days, then simply takes her whole attention and her spare time to her runners once more, something which does a great deal in healing her sore heart. In that way that the pitying might call self-sacrificing, she makes an attempt to rekindle more of the friendship she had with Ash'lein in the role as the Headwoman's current daughter, for despite being young, she has learnt quickly and is knowledgeable enough to be a kindness to her old friend.

Turn 358 of the 8th Interval. Tomneyan Impresses brown Ferruth, much to Freya's bewilderment (and just a little bit of pride, but mostly bewilderment, as it flies in the face of supposed logic). She feels no guilt that it is a brown of bronze Reth's ilk, despite his outflying Kigath -- in a way, this proves to be a balm to her, as it means she has moved on entirely from the childish crush of her youth. She also takes a more active role in the breeding of the runnerbeasts in the Weyr, and not long after the Hatching, her own mare births a sprightly little runner colt the image of his Ruathan-born sire -- the first of a line of good beasts to be found in Ista.

Turn 360 of the 8th Interval. At eighteen, Freya falls pregnant. Possibly to a flight moth, and possibly to what was a discreet occasional fling with one of the young Beastcrafters in the Weyr -- whatever it was, Freya keeps very mum about it, and as it is a Weyr, none but the cruelest and most bored of gossips are liable to care. Any clue as to the child's actual parentage is difficult to decipher too, for Freya gives birth with little difficulty to a boy as golden-haired and as grey-eyed as herself. Calling him Theordyn, she cares for him herself for his first Turn before placing him in the Creche, and even then it is not uncommon to see the young woman with a little bundle of golden curls strapped to her back as she goes about her duties, both within the Caverns and self-imposed in the stables.

Month 7, Turn 362 of the 8th Interval. Another clutch passes by, and though it sires three bronzes, any chance of those of the female persuasion proves to be ill-fated once more, and the reality is that even if it did come to pass, Freya is now too old to Impress. Though saddened -- as any young weyrbred lad or lass would be -- Freya takes stock and accepts the reality of what is simply not meant to be. She delegates most of her half of the runner management to her Beastcrafter friends and turns back to her attention back to her former -- and now beginning to age -- foster mother once more, and though it merely starts out as assistance not unlike what she gave to the woman in her younger days, her learning and knowledge of the Weyr's dynamics rears its head once more. She soon becomes the Headwoman's Assistant, and it becomes clear within the Turn that if either of them have their way, then Freya will be appointed the next Headwoman when the time comes.

Month 10, Turn 362 of the 8th Interval. Much to her initial consternation, Freya finds herself being somewhat more ardently pursued by O'leyn of bronze Ashrinath. Though an old friend and playmate of sorts in their youth, she is still leery after the encounter that resulted in her first son. Freya does not feel she returns his feelings as ardently and dares not seek too deeply into herself to see if she does either, feeling it will interfere with her duty and her ambition in regards to the Weyr. If she will never ride a dragon, then she will be the next best thing in keeping her home on the right path, and she feels quite ruthlessly that romance will derail that. Poor O'leyn is turned aside, quite repeatedly, though he never seems quite set on giving up even when he backs away.

Month 4, Turn 366 of the 8th Interval. The old Headwoman, Sailien, suffers a severe stroke that by some shock, does not kill her immediately. She is however more or less incapacitated, and by the time she dies a fortnight later, Freya has more or less assumed the full responsibilities of her role. She is Ista Weyr's Headwoman from this Turn on, and begins promptly planning how best to get what is needed for the Weyr long term, and how best to ration what they have.

Turn 368 of the 8th Interval. Freya is caught unawares when Nadeluth flies again, and much to her horror, ends up in bed with another. It turns out to be a perverse blessing in disguise though, as it forces her to acknowledge her deeper self -- and how she's denied it for many a Turn -- and the reality of what she feels for O'leyn. She values his friendship even when he is annoying, or perhaps more so because of it, and has come to rely on his companionship in lonelier moments. In short, she loves him even despite her desires to be practical. And yet even then, she is now Headwoman, and there is thus a distinct lack of excuses for turning the poor man aside once more. She can now finally, almost relax. Thus, Freya and O'leyn become weyrmates.

Turn 369 of the 8th Interval. The result of the encounter that cemented Freya and O'leyn as weyrmates ends tragically in miscarriage, and Freya only likely copes with the blow to her confidence and...well, everything, due to the fosterlings she already had under her care. In a small show of cruel kindness, the fates have her fall pregnant a couple of months later, and this time, she carries the pregnancy to the end with her usual aplomb. Another son for the Weyr is born, whom she names Othreyan.

Turn 372 of the 8th Pass. Freya gives birth to her third child borne of her blood and flesh. The little boy nearly dies during the long labour, and for the first time, Freya is bedridden from the experience. It is because of this ordeal that she perhaps will dote most of all on this particular child, whom she names Loreodyn.

Month 6, Turn 373 of the 8th Interval. Theordyn Impresses to bronze Siglith. It is all Freya can do to not throw her hands up in rebellion to the fates and celebrate the first real joy she has had in some Turns, though she does admittedly get a little more tipsy than a Headwoman ought at the following Feast. It was her firstborn, after all. And on bronze at that.

Month 6, Turn 374 of the 8th Interval. Always boisterous and charming, T'ryn makes his mother the young grandmother of a little boy, Tezemin. Freya is exasperated, though she's also ironically surprised her firstborn didn't make her one of those sooner, all things considering.

Turn 375 of the 8th Interval. Ash'lein is wounded, almost mortally, by watch whers. Though she has been a little distant in recent Turns with her old friend, Freya is no less panicked when she learns of the news, and oversees the bronze rider's care personally if she cannot attend to him herself. While late in life, it is this which starts what was indifference to watch whers into full blown loathing. It is also this event that leads her to make better attempts to be Ash'lein's closer friend once more...but which also puts the first real cracks -- if there were ever any before -- into her relationship with O'leyn. For while he trusts her, O'leyn does not enjoy the implications behind Freya's frantic fastidiousness towards his fellow bronzer -- she may be good at playing stoic, but he has known her too long to not see more to her than what is being shown. Freya takes this as a sign of betrayal despite his claim to trust her still, and for the first time in Turns, the pair take time apart as much as is possible within a Weyr. Freya does not make Ash'lein aware of this, however, though she has a horrible feeling that he may sense something has gone wrong.

Month 3, Turn 377 of the 8th Interval. Despite their rift, the time apart proves to do O'leyn and Freya well. They resume their relationship, and Freya's fifth child and only daughter, Freylin, is born later. Much to her amusement at both O'leyn's bewilderment and at the result in general, Freylin is born with strawberry blonde hair. Well aware she's been a faithful weyrmate and there are very few others within the Weyr with hair that colour, Freya can only attribute it somehow to her own blonde locks; she may not know much of human genetics, but she knows runners, and it does sometimes happen. In a complete turn of irony, Freya also becomes grandmother to another child -- this time, a little girl.

Turn 380 of the 8th Interval. Already a veteran foster mother, Freya agrees to foster the daughter of an old 'rider friend -- Aylin. Though she remembers the faces of all those she has considered her 'children' at some point or another, she takes immediately to Aylin's incredibly sweet nature, and it seems Aylin takes to her foster mother's softer side just as well. Freya is admittedly too busy to take on full responsibility of the girl, but she is there regardless, and often dotes on her almost as fondly as she does Loreodyn.

Month 6, Turn 381 of the 8th Interval. Othreyn Impresses to green Shyrrith, becoming Oth'rey. He is the youngest to Impress of that clutch, and with two sons now dragonriders, Freya could not be prouder. Or just a little bit smug, either, partly for that reason and partly because she won that bet with her mate -- believing their affectionate, spirited eldest would Impress green without a thought, while O'leyn in his bronzer pride was adamant he'd be on brown at the least. Thankfully, it doesn't erupt into anything more than a playful quarrel, as O'leyn is simply proud the boy has Impressed. What Freya does not appreciate, however, is his newfound expectation and the stress inherent that his other children must Impress, and her equally newfound, fiercer desire to protect Loreodyn makes less playful quarrels more frequent between the mated pair.

Turn 382 of the 8th Interval. A bad winter comes to pass this Turn, and Freya is stuck between the threat of chaos that comes with the Hold's refusal to tithe, as she is the figure of importance in the Weyr after her Weyrleaders, and O'leyn's illness. The former is solved by the woman who has become steady and well-respected friend over the Turns, Nadeluth's rider, and when the tithes begin to arrive, Freya can turn to her other problem. O'leyn does thankfully recover from his illness, but it takes his toll on him, and he begins to weary down. Freya herself falls ill with a harsh cold during the winter, suffering a miscarriage to a pregnancy she did not even know she had partly due to her age, the stress the altercation with the Holds involved, and her own illness. Aggrieved, she takes pains to not fall pregnant again, though she will never so naturally regardless.

Month 5, Turn 389 of the 8th Interval. Loreodyn finally Impresses, an Impression Freya is so overjoyed by that not even the prospect of another queen overshadows it, nor the fact that Freylin also stood for the Queen and failed to Impress. In a way entirely reminiscent of her mother, however, Freylin demands she uptake her interest/talent in Weaving to a greater level, and eventually departs for the Weavercrafthall. Both Oth'ren and T'rey make a grandmother of their poor mother again three months later, with two sons respectively. In that odd quirk of hers, Freya takes to keeping tabs on all of her family that she can, though with T'ney for a half-brother, it's understandably difficult.

Turn 390 of the 8th Interval. Freya is incredibly amused to discover that Ash'lein has taken to playing 'teacher', though she claims herself too busy to attend any of his lessons despite claiming just as well to be entirely tempted to sit in the back and heckle him...purely for the sake of old times, of course. Eventually though, she finds herself dragged along by two of the people in the world she never expected to be intrigued by such things -- her half-brother, and her eldest son, though she has a feeling that T'ney was more or less bullied and blackmailed ruthlessly into attendance. After this, she takes more of an obvious interest despite her covertly playful, ulterior motives, though it is still an occasional thing due to her duties.

Turn 393 of the 8th Interval. O'leyn dies. While almost expecting it due to his failing health following that harsh winter, Freya falls deeply into grief. Quarrels or not, he was her weyrmate and the father of all bar one of her children, the almost constant and supportive companion of over twenty-five Turns, which is more than most of those she considers close to her can boast of. Though those who do love her within the Weyr help her to keep on keeping on, it is an ache that takes a good turn to become bearable, and even then, will never quite fade away.

Turn 394 of the 8th Interval. The ascension of a new Senior Queen proves to be much of a help in giving the woman a reason to find her feet again. Though with the Weyr's best interests at heart, Freya makes it very clear and very honestly so from the outset that she expects to be respected, and refuses to give the same in kind lest this is heeded. She is nobody's toy or lackey or thing to be stepped upon, and certainly not that of a woman who is, frankly, a child in comparison. Shockingly enough, the results turn out far better than expected, and Freya willingly takes to accommodating Livna as she once did Nadeluth's rider, proving herself once more to be a staunch driving force and ally within Ista.

Turn 395 of the 8th Interval. When Ash'lein begins his old lessons once more, Freya attends without complaint or cajoling, though the presence of her sons certainly gives her an excuse on those occasional nights she has free. She finds herself thoroughly enjoying the discussion and dissection, even getting involved several lessons in with her own input and theorism. She finds it not all that different to the chess game that is being Headwoman coordinating a Weyr and it's immediate outside, as well as another means to exercise her brain that she is surprisingly adept at. And more than once, wistfully regretting her own missed chance to Impress all those Turns ago.

Turn 396 of the 8th Interval. Freya learns that not only has Freylin made a Journeywoman of herself, she is also set to espouse a fellow Journeyman -- albeit a Smith -- in the coming month. Freya is determined to attend the wedding and does so with her sons, and she leaves the Weyr in the hands of her Assistant Headwoman for the first time in...well, ever. Not that it stops her fretting. She frets terribly during the entire three nights she is gone, trusting the Weyr to keep itself intact and yet in that way of mothers, thoroughly expecting it to be mayhem and chaos when she returns. Thankfully, it's not, though it doesn't stop her practically kissing the ground in relief when she does set foot within it's Bowl again. In the same Turn, she is playfully consternated to learn that T'rey intends to make a grandmother of her again, though she cannot help doting on the little boy that is born despite the tragedy of his mother dying in the birth. He is the absolute image of his grandmother, and though now older, Freya immediately decides on a whim to foster him. Unfortunately, she is too busy to have full custody of the little lad, and thus shares the weight with another woman in the Weyr.

Turn 397 of the 8th Interval. Freylin gifts her mother with, of all things, two more grandchildren in one fell swoop and survives it -- both rambunctious little boys. It is a Turn marked with some sorrow though, as while Freya preferred not to know the details (a failing as a friend, she knows), she had a pretty concrete idea of what the old Archivist was to Ash'lein. Armed more than a little unwillingly with the own memories of her grief and the loss of her own mate, Freya nonetheless takes to spending more time where it is possible for both with the man who was once a boy that simply shared her runner passion, even if it is more often than not in the later watches of night with a mug of klah or leftover stew between them. She doesn't need to be told, whether he likes it or not at first, that nobody else will be doing much for him save Kigath, and in a way, this quiet companionship helps her heal her own wounds that little bit more.

Turn 399 of the 8th Interval. The sudden appearance of strange and unknown dragonriders causes quite a bit of mayhem and chaos. And then they are just as quickly done and gone, though Freya is fortunate enough to have bespoken at least one of them (one with firelizards at that, which awakens an odd yearning she finds only slightly less than her passion for equines) before their queen had them disappear. Though quite a bit insulted at this apparent spurning of what would have been willing help in the long run, she is mostly bewildered at why they would do such a thing with so little to gain, and cannot help but wonder at the foolishness of whoever it is that leads the Weyr with the Red Star so obvious in the sky...if Benden can still be called that. She makes her own quiet plans to assist them should the time come, though finds these both anticipated and forestalled by the plans of her Weyrleaders before she can bring them to light...and not in a way that pleases her at all.

[align=center]Companions
Remove if inapplicable[/align]

• Name: Sa'luka.
  
• Type/Color: Runner/Liver Chestnut.
  
• Description:
  
  
  
  Sa'luka, or Luke as he's affectionately called, is a magnificent boy -- there is no if's or but's about it. Freya definitely got her mark's worth for him in looks (and she intends to make her money's worth from him), for while she has always had a runner or three nearby that she can manage, it is clear this one has indeed put her marks to good use. Almost a mid-life crisis on her part if you're brave enough to tease her about it, but thankfully, a mid-life crisis that has turned out well so far -- as much in temperament as in his strong conformation. Though strong of bearing and proud in miens, he is surprisingly kind-tempered for a stallion, enough so that Freya will trust those younger around him and those with experience to tend him when she is unable to. His manners may, admittedly, be due to her own firm will and experienced thoroughness, and he is currently her preferred mount both due to his durable willingness and his apparent fondness for her, and also as she is still new enough that she is still getting a feel for him. She is yet to stand him up for breeding, though she intends to. Just not yet...much to his frustration, no doubt, when there are mares about.
  

• Name: Siyeha.
  
• Type/Color: Runner/Fleabitten grey.
  
• Description:
  
  
  
  Light-boned and dish-faced, lady-like Siyeha is a descendant of the bloodlines kept precious and pure by the Middle Eastern colonists of hundreds of Turns past, and kept as pure as possible by those of the Igen desert since then. Her slender frame deceives and hides a formidable strength, as Freya has used her for pulling things in harness and in events of endurance and will power in the past. While older now -- much like her mistress -- the mare is entirely unconvinced that she's meant for retirement yet, and Freya still uses her for longer travels and when the fancy to take a longer, harder ride strikes her.
  

[align=center]J'REM[/align]

[align=center][/align]

• Name: J'rem.
  
• Turn of birth: Day 25, Month 12, Turn 164 of the 9th Interval.
  
• Gender: Male.
  
• Rank: Former Wingsecond/Weyr Harper.
  
• Face Claim: Eric Bana.
  

[align=center]Appearance[/align]
There's really no if's or but's or protests about it - J'rem, or Jemmy, is freaking huge. Standing at a very healthy six foot seven inches, he is broad of frame the whole way down, thinning only slightly where stomach drifts towards pelvic bone, with equally prominent, sharp angles and ridges to connect his upper torso to his lower. As a rider, especially one found amidst the hardier Westerners, he is unsurprisingly muscular to go with the active lifestyle, though in the case of J'rem, his size and a hefty dose of genetics makes for muscle tone that is broader again, from shoulders to arms and down to legs that are obviously made to compensate holding the weight of such a tall, heavy looking build. He is clearly not designed for swift agility, less so as middle age begins to descend and make sharp turns and pivots motions that risk a good crack of bone moving to of fast. However, as he's far from stupid, he's learnt to compensate, taking advantage from a young age of his rather long legs as a means of covering distance over ground with long strides even at a slower pace, using the strength in them to push off strongly and the strength in the rest of his body as his defense should he ever need it.

He is, as the above suggests, not one you'd fancy getting in the way of. With how he's compensated with his large form, J'rem would be best described as something like a battering ram - no, he's not agile or quick on his feet, but the manner in which he pushes off the ground as he moves and the way he would use his strength behind it makes for nothing short of a flattening if one is unlucky enough to be caught in his path once he makes up ground. All of this, combined with his swarthy features and the trace of scar here and there, make for a man that is, quite understandably, nothing short of daunting the first one or two times one interacts with him. He is scarred here and there as expected of a veteran dragonrider, the result of a wide variety of activities over a well-lived life.

If one grows familiar with him and gets to know him after those first one or two occasions, though, they will find that his appearance is really something of a smoke in the glass thing. Yes, he's still very much the monstrosity he's initially described as in size, and he is swarthy in looks in the way only those of Igenese descent can be - dusty olive of skin tone and always appearing tanned even in the colder months, but that is as far as the intimidating appearance really goes.

His facial features are certainly as angular as the rest of his body, almost aristocratic in a somewhat less refined manner with the high-bridged, though dented (from a past break) nose and the strong jawline, which is often stubbly around and up to his prominent cheekbones. The stubble seems permanently stripped though, over the groove of his chin and a little ways up his right cheekbone where an old scar rests. His genetics are unusual in that aspect, as the majority of Pernese men boast lesser body hair about the face with adulthood due to the genetic drift of their colonist ancestors, some enough so that shaving isn't a daily occurence. However, poor 'Jemmy' has to shave every day if he desires to keep his face cleanshaven, though he'll grow it and trim it to keep it maintained in a small beard in the colder months.

However, this is all, again, a lot of smoke in the mirror once you grow familiar with him. He's not someone to be tangled with the wrong way, of course, but up close, he is almost entirely devoid of any harsh or intimidating sentiments. His lips are thin and a darker tan to the rest of his face, however, though solemn, the tilt to them is quite...gentle. His hair, while a dark brunette bordering on black and cut to just below the nape of his neck, is a thick tangle of curls neither incredibly tight to the head or loose enough to hang in ringlets, merely falling amongst one another and framing most of his face from the ears up - a rather soft, if contradictory foil to the rest of his facial features, stubble included.

Cliche as it sounds, J'rem's eyes are his defining feature, and the feature too that drives away any lingering feelings of unease once familiar with him. Lest he is actually brought to true anger or insult, in which case they are as black as coals in a cold cooking hearth, they are otherwise a surprisingly warm brown, set in a leaf shape and eyelashes tending towards long on a male, and often appear to have whiskey, or honey-coloured flecks throughout the brown that tend to brighten when J'rem is in good humour, or at least content and calm, which he is the majority of the time. Though age and wisdom for J'rem has given them a calmer stillness, they still appear, for the most part, frank and honest, and seem to radiate a sense of gentleness and placid thoughtfulness that, ultimately, seals away any sense of doubt about the big, burly brown rider. However, if one looks at the right time, they may glimpse a gleam of shrewdness, a sort of observant perception, amidst the gentle honey-brown, as though J'rem is just that little bit more than he may let on beyond the appearance of big, quiet, gentle giant.

[align=center]Personality[/align]
Regardless of age, J'rem comes across as a man who is very reserved in his dealings with the majority of the world in general. Some would even dismiss him as shy, which is accurate in some aspects of his nature. Others might call him secretive, or wonder if he has something to hide, and they're fully entitled to their opinions. After all, even as he enters his forty-first Turn, he still keeps a quiet countenance, and while he isn't without a circle, if a small circle, made up of a few good friends and trusted wingmates, he still seems to keep a great deal of himself as a person stored away, and is often known to quickly divert the subject to more general matters, or those regarding duty and dragons, if the conversation starts to become a little too focused towards himself personally. Ultimately, he seems to mind the idea of loneliness very little, and appears very much content with what he has. Which, of course, mainly consists of Garreth. Unsurprisingly, the vast majority of his social interactions also revolve around duties and what is required for the Weyr to function, something he is quite dedicated towards assuring that it all runs smoothly. Or in the case of a Wingsecond, assisting in making it all run smoothly.

It's not to say that he's a rude or antisocial man, though. In fact, he does his best to be attentive and courteous towards others, and is very mindful of his surrounding environment, though this might just be due to his size; he really would prefer not to step on anyone, or otherwise maim them if he moves carelessly. Unsurprisingly, he's a man of few words, he tends to get a tad fidgety if he senses an expectation that he needs to talk more than he feels is necessary. He is, and always has been, a man for whom actions speak louder than words, and if something has to be said that is of relevance, then he'll say it. But he'll still put more store into actions...after all, body language is better indiction of a person's intentions, and is harder to lie with than speech is. Not surprisingly, it makes him, if not an expert at it, then at least perceptive of how others react around him, which makes him a rather useful tool of sorts for whichever bronze rider he is Wingsecond to...provided they've got his trust enough for him to divulge what they wish to hear.

There can be irony found in the fact that, while he doesn't like talking about personal matters regarding himself, or really, talking in general, he will be more than content to lend an ear and listen if someone needs it. Then he will listen, and only listen lest his opinion is asked after. It doesn't matter to him either if he's required to listen for hours; he's a very patient man, and could probably wait Turns for something he wants to come to him, or to occur. Further irony can be found in discovering that he really is the epitome of not being everything one seems. He's so big and quiet that one may assume him to b slow of mind...which is a presumption foolishly made. J'rem is far from malicious, but his mind is keen and thoughtful, his memory both long and vivid in storing details, and he is more than capable of devising and executing a strategy, though he is more likely to put this towards the Weyr or Fall than towards another person's machinations. In Fall itself, he is calm and responsible, constantly watchful of his wingmates and their status, though like any rider, his clarity of mind can be dimmed by the connection to a fierce, blood-eager dragon. His greatest strength though is the fact that he can often perceive with a clearer mind some things that others may not, as he lacks the goggles that may come with riding a higher colour and ultimately, holding a higher rank.

Obviously, his reticent nature means that he is, ultimately, an introvert. He tends to respond to most scenarios calmly and with little in the way of emotional flashes, often to the point where he appears completely passive in response to a situation. Open, public displays of emotion make him quite uncomfortable, and tears from anyone that isn't a child will be greeted with disconcertment. He has rarely cried himself in his life, even as a child, and could probably only count two occasions where he remembers shedding tears - when he Impressed Garreth, and when his half-sister died. His temper too, is hard to provoke and even harder to torment to breaking point. He learnt a long time ago that losing his temper was nothing short of dangerous, and the one occasion where he was provoked into a blind rage is something he regrets to this very day. He will do everything to avoid a repeat occurence, though if his prospective tormenter hounded him enough and in the right ways for a long period of time, then there is always the possibility of a repeat of before. A very real possibility -- the temper is always there, simmering quiet and dangerous, something he fears if he fears nothing else. For the most part, though, he is more likely to come across as disappointed, or coldly contemptuous if the situation has been erred that badly, and though little may give his ire away bar the darkening of his eyes and the tightening of his jaw, the chilling softness of his voice he still has something of a knack for leaving the feeling one might feel as a trundlebug about to be trodden on.

Despite this introversive nature, though, 'Jemmy' is not without feeling or warmth. In fact, if one manages to slip under his calm, passive facade, they will find a man that is surprisingly warm, down-to-earth. Completely devoid of arrogance, he seems perfectly content with the simple, natural pleasures in life. He loves the friends he has and what he does, provided he's not forced into the kind of formal situations that would turn him into a block of wood. His smile is devastating when he uses it, and he has a surprisingly dry, even wicked sense of humour, more likely to find humour as opposed to offense from the foibles of life. If they can stick with him, one will find him to be a friend quick to protect and quicker to provide a back against your own, always willing to give others a chance. He is slower to lower his defence to a lover or a prospective mate, though when he finally does, one will find him to be a considerate, gentle and thoughtful weyrmate. Even if he is not particularly demonstrative, the affection is still there amidst the sturdy quiet of his presence. Genuine, abiding love though is something else; he's only let it get it's claws into him once, and unfortunately, it ended up ripping him to shreds. He is surprisingly easy to hurt if one manages to get so close only to betray him, hence his elusiveness on the matter, yet on the other side of the coin, he is the type of man who, if love was given, it would be give in it's entirety. Nothing, not Fall, Fog nor Fire, could cause his devotion to waver lest the recipient themselves tramples upon it...which is probably why it's easy to hurt him so badly.

[align=center]History[/align]

Day 25, Month 12, Turn 164 of the 9th Interval. Jeremi is born at Igen Weyr, the result of a flight moth between J'nel of brown Chiscoth and Journeywoman Harper Serami. As it is with most weyrbrats, he barely knows of his father past the man's name. His mother, however, proves to be quite doting, visiting her home Weyr often even when her posting ends and leaving him in the care of her half-sister, Sakera. It is from her that he inherits both his particular talents for and his love of music.

Month 2, Turn 167 of the 9th Interval. Jalyssa is born. Jeremi dotes upon his little sister, and between they and their elder half brother, Jeremsin, they form a trio of sorts that is both childish sibling rivalry and the oddly greater steadfastness that is friendship.

Month 1, Turn 173 of the 9th Interval. Despite his painfully shy nature and his almost chronic fear of injuring people with limbs and height already far bigger than his age should logically be, Serami believes it best to take the boy to the Harper Hall with her. Jeremi is terribly homesick for some weeks as a result, missing in particular his siblings. However, his his generally sweet nature and almost to a fault tendency towards helpfulness gains him friends, and he soon settles in with a great deal more contentment into the routines of the Harper Hall.

Day 12, Month 7, Turn 180 of the 9th Interval. As a weyrbred boy, Jeremi has the right to return to the Weyr to Stand for Impression. He has had the chance to do so for some Turns but has admittedly put off doing so until he feels he can leave his studies in a good place, and at sixteen, he Impresses brown Garreth. His brother Impresses brown Coth at the same Hatching, becoming J'sin to his J'rem.

Month 9, Turn 182 of the 9th Interval. A call for riders willing to transfer between the Weyrs goes up, and a recently graduated J'rem volunteers. At the age of eighteen, he is transferred to Benden. He Impresses bronze Scooter in the same Turn.

Month 2, Turn 183 of the 9th Interval. J'sin is exiled to the West for his part in the manslaughter, if not actual murder, of another dragonrider at Igen Weyr. As he was not present at Igen Weyr at the time, J'rem is unable to believe in his brother's innocence -- knowing of his often rash temper -- even as he wishes it were not so, remembering the boy and weyrling mate that was, if hot-headed, not ever intentionally cruel. He becomes estranged from his brother, hearing of him only through messages sent by their little sister.

Month 7, Turn 188 of the 9th Interval. Despite the stigma of what has happened, J'rem is recognised for his abilities and is romoted to Wingsecond at the age of twenty-four. He also learns his sister, now a recently promoted Journeywoman Dragonhealer, has requested and been granted posting at Benden Weyr. They are together once more, though there is a significant gap where J'sin used to be. He gains a small joy in acquiring a second firelizard, green Sassafras, or Sassy as she is called.

Month 9, Turn 193 of the 9th Interval. As it is an Interval and there is a significant desire in Benden Weyr to rotate the Wingseconds around so they may gain experience, J'rem is given leave to continue his prior studies as a Harper. Though a little late, he finally walks the tables to Journeyman at age twenty-eight. This elevation in his old Craft proves to be a blessing coinciding with the retirement of the old Benden Weyr Harper not several months later, and when given the choice, J'rem gives up his active role as a Wingsecond for what becomes his true calling -- Weyr Harper.

Month 9, Turn 191, 9th Interval. Several Turns after meeting her, he becomes Journeywoman Dragonhealer Riza's -- the protege of his sister -- on/off lover after Scooter catches her gold Maurlin. Though they do care for one another deeply, they are not in love, preferring the easier camaraderie already gained as teacher/student of sorts about the Weyr.

Month 1, Turn 193, 9th Interval. J'rem discovers a recent message delivered in Riza's belongings and confronts her on it's contents. He learns she is from the West and she in turn learns that J'sin, her first mentor, is in fact her current teacher's older brother of some Turns. Though reluctant due to the immense risk of doing so, the ever growing presence of the Red Star helps convince him to act as a communicator of sorts between his brother and the West, and the mainland.

Month 5, Turn 193, 9th Interval. The result is stone cold silence, and J'rem is ultimately betrayed by an unknown party for his act of goodwill. Though not banished, J'rem is shunned enough for this apparent act of transgression. He is stripped of his position as the Weyr Harper and even as a Wingsecond in the Weyr, and while there is no point regretting what he has done, the punishment figuratively, cuts him all but in two -- something he will never quite recover from emotionally, and he cannot bring himself to speak to Riza for a very long time afterwards.

Month 4, Turn 194, 9th Interval. Though not lovers anymore by this point by mutual decision, a queenflight encounter results in more than aforementioned counter. However, the news of Riza's pregnancy forms a tenuous bridge in which they become friends once more. Riza later gives birth to Jarlrizen, their son, a small joy turned immense in the life of a man that has become infinitely more difficult to bear. He visits and plays with the boy often while Riza is working for her Craft Mastery, delighting in the discovery that Jarlrizen boasts the same enjoyment for music that he does.

Month 3, Turn 197, 9th Interval. Jalyssa dies in childbirth. The baby is born breech and does not survive her first week of life either. Shattered by yet another grievance visited upon his life, if not worse than the one before, J'rem is ignorant of Riza's discovery of those Candidates that are in fact smuggled in and Western born. Nor does he have any particular desire to know either, as he feels there is little he can do any longer in the position he is in. He does, however, Impress Nymphadora, or Nym, on a trip to the beach, naming her such for how she reminds him of his bird-like, nymph-mischievous sister, without the naming hitting too close to home.

Month 9, Turn 197, 9th Interval. A surprise message from J'sin's firelizard does ultimately arm him with this knowledge, though the clutch on the Sands hatches not several days later. For reasons he cannot fathom aside from a fault-filled sense of loyalty and a bleeding heart he accurses repeatedly, he assists with his firelizards in sending messages to those others who have Impressed elsewhere. He is more or less a man who believes, if only in his own heart, that he has very little to lose apart from Garreth and what friendships he still has left.

Turn 198, 9th Interval. It is this disillusionment that finally leads to his own removal to the West, reuniting him with the only sibling he has left in a family group that was always surprisingly tight knit. Before the jump is announced, he puts himself to use heavy-lifting and the like during the day, and joining those who would teach the Duty songs and stories to the children and those who seek to know them, as well as some of those that are newer and have yet to reach to Western Continent.

Turn 199, 9th Interval. When the timing venture is announced, he is a neutral party, seeing the perverse logic in it even as he see's it as a maddening risk. Ultimately though, it is this or a shunned existence in a home that is no longer home. However, he tries to go back for his young son under cover of darkness before the jump occurs. This and his location near Benden Weyr causes him to very nearly miss the jump itself, and it is only the quick thinking of one of the few friends he has made and their dragon that sends him between with the others.

During the time jump, he loses trace of his faithful, though unfortunately older bronze firelizard, Scoot, though greens Nym and Sassy remain.

Month 2, Turn 399, 8th Interval. Hollow with the grief of what has happened before and since jumping ahead, J'rem nonetheless takes to the hard work as a means of distraction and because frankly, there is little else for him to do and to be trite on his own merits, he is ironically not made for despair. He has but his dragon now, his brother and those few friends. He has not even a rank anymore, but he has his experience and his wiles, and amusingly enough, his old weyr high up on the Rim once more. The Red Star looming in the sky is also a small point of dreaded anticipation, and yet it is something to live for, that he has been trained for, and it is what ultimately leads him to quietly resume those lessons he once undertook as a Weyr Harper for those who seek them.

[align=center]Companions
[/align]

• Name: Sassafras/Sassy.
  
• Type/Color: Firelizard/Green.
  
• Description:
  As dainty as her human is broad, she is the quintessential little lady in appearance. Delicate of bone and slender of wing, she is indisputably a darling little beauty by draconic standards, and her almost too large eyes and rounded, high cheek bones emphasise this.
  
  Her colouration is somewhat less perfect, though depending on the viewer, may simply enhance her appearance. For the most part, she is a dark forest green reminiscent of leaves in the midst of summer. However, her front legs, muzzle and the underbelly from girth to base of tail is a lighter moss-green in colour.
  
  Personality wise, she is fairly typical in most ways regarding the nature of greens. She is eager and willing to please, and while not the brightest tool in the shed, so imbued with these traits that J'rem has taught her to take messages and other small things to people through sheer persistance, though taking things too far and getting them to the right place is still something of a challenge!
  
  For the most part, she is friendly, if a little cheeky. She is the type of female who, if she could speak, would always be quick with a playful quip, especially if it tends towards the male gender. Her life being mostly male-dominated by her human and his dragon makes her more relaxed in the company of males, even human males, though she needs the time to be acquainted with them first, or she's likely to disappear like a shot the minute they so much as look like they're going to make a grab for her.
  
  Females are regarded a tad more mistrustfully, though given time, she would likely warm to them too. It all depends on her first impressions of them, really, though any attempts made to crack on J'rem seriously in her presence will be met with a full-on orchestra of hisses, spits, snarls, growls and, if she's enraged enough, swiping talons. She is unduly possessive of him, and self-righteously protective, and does not take kindly to what she ascertains as any attempt to usurp her of her perch on his shoulder and her place in his life.
  

• Name:Nymphadora/Nym.
  
• Type/Color: Firelizard/Green.
  
• Description:
  This lovely green is a buxom lass if ever there was one. While not pudgy (don't you dare call her fat), she boasts lovely, womanly curves, being slightly heavier across the chest and in her flanks. Combine that with the sensuous length of her body and you end up with a rather sizable green flit. Not fat, mind you, but... solid. Yes, we'll go with solid. Even so, she is a graceful creature, deliberately so, each step or wing stroke a lesson in careless, natural beauty, a flirtatious saunter designed to draw the eye to her. Her hide is a pretty shade of medium leaf green that pales into Siamese-like markings of lighter green at her nose, the tip of her tail, all four feet, and even the tips of her wings, an overall pleasant and lovely effect.
  
  If your every attention is not on her, then you're doing something wrong. To say she is an attention whore wouldn't be far off of the mark at all, for there's nothing she loves more than to have an adoring crowd of worshipers at her beck and call. Especially if they're telling her just how lovely and beautiful she is. This green is a vain, conceited little creature; all of Pern must revolve around her. She's also an endless flirt, adoring the attentions of big, strong, handsome males, and not just other firelizards. She'll accept compliments from male dragons gladly, and has a distinct preference for human men over women, as well. It's not that she flat-out dislikes other females, it's just that... well, she's sorry to break it to you, but you'll just never be as lovely as her. She's really doing you a kindness by avoiding you, so that her beauty doesn't outshine yours.
  

[align=center]Dragon
[/align]

• Name: Garreth.
  
• Color: Brown.
  
• Clutch: Former Senior Queen x Weyrleader's Bronze of Igen Weyr.
  
• Appearance:
  An almost too precise match to his rider, speed is certainly not this brown's forte, and that much is made obvious without so much as a glance at him. Oh, it's not that he can't move when he needs to; it's just that doing so uses up precious reserves of energy that would be better put to the longer burn of stamina, and/or with it, the mindset needed to remain wily enough to make up for the fact that he will never be the fastest dragon around, or even particularly agile.
  
  Not that this particularly bothers him. In fact, it bothers him about as much as the fact that he is the largest brown on Pern to date does. Which is hardly at all. Oh, he's well aware that he's a big lad, and the thought of ruffling the precious ego's of some of his smaller bronze compatriots amuses him to no end. Other than that, though, he's completely not interested in lauding to anyone the fact that he's a broad forty feet when he stretches out. Really, he's entirely practical about it all, for what purpose would he serve if he was a skinny prat with the size he's been given?
  
  And indeed, Garreth is correct on that count. Though gawky during his adolescence, maturity and hard training has helped develop and form a build entirely suited for lifting his bulk; he is wide and deep of chest and fitted with legs long but heavy with muscle, and wide, sweeping wings to balance him out.
  
  All in all, he is surprisingly well-built, though quite robust, and his tail is rather too long, though this is more cause for amusement than concern, as the constantly twitching is often a test of his patience and a target for young, mischievous dragonets. Nothing else about him, though, is dainty in the slightest, not even his head, which puts one in mind of a draught runner with it's long, broad nose tapering just so at the end, lending him quite the fierce look as even in repose, his nostrils always appear slightly flared.
  
  His colouration only adds oomph to his deceptively intimidating appearance. It is a deep, dark oak brown that makes him almost impossible to see at night lest you recognise his whirling eyes, varying little throughout his whole body save around the edges of his muzzle and the tip of his long tail. There, it lightens to a creamier tan.
  
  Save the occasional nick here and there, Garreth has remained mostly scar-free up until recently. He is yet to face Fall, and thus, face the consequences of it as such.
  
  
  
• Personality:
  Garreth is, on first glance, very much his rider in a draconic body. He tends to be quiet lest he is in the midst of Fall or the rare Flight, hardly known to utter even a bugle lest it be a particular occasion. However, further acquaintance with the brown proves him to be somewhat more forward than his rider. Not so much that he is aggressive, but he is less reticient about what he wants and saying what he wants to say outright, both traits no doubt inherited purely through the simple, brisk manner in which dragons view life.
  
  He is without any real temper, though understandably, he will grow peeved if his rider becomes agitated, and a direct threat to J'rem will be met with an enraged maw of draconic teeth - one of the few times the brown will actually move that fast. He is also not a pansy when it comes to standing up for himself if roused to do so, though lest he is directly provoked, he is more inclined to ignore the culprit outright. It's easier, and for a dragon with a surprisingly dry sense of humour, the response can be quite entertaining.
  
  Mostly, though, he is a quiet, rather unfazed dragon, content to just cruise through life and take it as it comes. He may sometimes give off an aura bordering on utter disinterest, or boredom (no doubt influenced doubly by his sense of humour), and tends to rarely speak unless spoken to, but will, on occasion, pop up with interesting little tidbits that prove that yes, he is in fact listening, so you'd best think about your words...rather like that teacher that drove you to distraction with their ability to pop up behind just when you've said something about them you probably shouldn't have.
  
  Otherwise, he lets very little get under his hide. The frivolity and mood swings inherent in the female species can baffle him quite a bit, but as he prefers to live a quiet life, he tries to keep his interaction with them courteous and considerate, gentle even on the few occasions he's caught a green.
  
  Perhaps his best trait is his patience. If he had the memory to remember things, he'd probably be entirely capable of waiting someone out for Turns if need be, but of course, his memory is as dimmed as his draconic mates, if not a little more so than average. It is this patience that perhaps allows little to truly alarm or irk him, and lets him maintain his calm detachment...though admittedly (and he'll never, ever admit it), he can be enticed to break it just that little bit when persistent little dragonets are involved.
  

[align=center]K'SAN[/align]

[align=center][/align]

• Name: K'san.
  
• Turn of birth: Day 1, Month 4, Turn 373 of the 8th Interval.
  
• Gender: Male.
  
• Rank: Wingleader (Ista Weyr).
  
• Face Claim: James Marsden.
  

[align=center]Appearance[/align]

K'san bears many of the traits one would expect of the Istan or Igen bred in the tropics, a definite result of the genetic lottery as it makes him a throwback to his granddam, who was originally Istan born. His features are, even then, still quite a bit darker than most of his other tropics-born counterparts. Even in the winter-time, his skin is a light to moderate olive, giving away a smattering of sparse freckles on his cheeks, much to his chagrin. He clearly prefers the summertime as such, when his skin will darken to a whiskey-coloured tan over most of his body. Even his scars and nicks darken, just a little.

Build-wise, K'san is among the taller riders in the Weyr, though on that note, he's probably on the shorter end of the tall guy's club too; he stands at a healthy six foot three inches, perhaps just broaching on six foot four if he stands really tall and his curly hair is sticking up on a good day. As for how he's put together; he's rangy of leg and toned of muscle, just enough for them to be visible if he's without sleeves or shirtless, but not overly compact. His shoulders are much the same - fairly broad, but not incredibly so either, as they eventually taper down to a fairly narrow set of hips, giving him an angular, triangular build that's neither too frail nor too heavy, though if he loses weight (which he does easily), he can look very gaunt and haggard...unfinished, too.

As for the rest of him; his hair appears to be primarily black, though in the summer time, lighter dark brown streaks will make themselves known. Said hair, though cut to above his collar, is a mess of thickness bordering between curly and wavy, and if longer, would likely form ringlets. He's not about to test that theory out, though; he had ringlets for a time in his childhood, and the blasted things always got in the way. Even now, they curl into his eyes frequently, annoying the bejeezus out of him and leaving him less than thrilled a lot of the time, as they do give him a more boyish air to some, as opposed to a man's. Not only that, but it's almost impossible in his opinion to make it neat for formal occasions; he's forever stuck with the windswept look. Or if you're perverted, the "I just got thoroughly molested in bed" look.

As he is frequently smiling and laughing, it's worth nothing the dimples that are present in his angular cheekbones. Even when he is thoughtful or serious, there is forever a shadow of them present, as if even at his most pensive, he's always waiting...just waiting, for a reason to let his merry laugh make a reappearance. That, or he's thinking of something particularly diabolical or wickedly playful - a thoughtful looking K'san is usually joked about by others as a K'san to steer well clear of.

K'san's eyes are what could be imagined as Mediterranean, with their wider almond shape and surprisingly long, thick eyelashes. Their colouring is their charm - a deep, intense smoky blue that is almost perpetually twinkling with thoughtfulness or mischief and is rarely ever stilled. If they are still or stony, it generally means something is very wrong; the icy blue stillness intimidating to say the least when it's staring you down, and if you've erred grievously under his watch, you're going to get a bollocking, make no mistake.

[align=center]Personality[/align]

K'san is, in few words, an individual that has managed to maintain most of his sunny, playful nature despite his rank and age. Instilled with a genuine passion for life as it is in the present, he excels as a leader in this regard due to the simple fact that his own enthusiasm and determination to do a good job and do it with good humour seems to spill from him and over to his subordinates. He enjoys interacting with others, finding the various multitude of personalities interesting and amusing in equal measure. He is, of course, fairly open to discussion and new suggestions, even if he has to occasionally make a smart quip - provided the suggester has at least an inkling of a solution, and is the sort of Wingleader who's door is always open to his wingmates if they need to have a chat.

His love of good humour and cheerful jokes also stems from a childhood spent playing games and pranks. K'san was an incorrigable mischief maker as a weyrbrat, often the diabolical tactician behind the prank, and though he's matured these days, there is forever that air of mischief about his smile. He's also somewhat of a stirrer; he isn't shy of poking playfully at someone, be it subtle or obvious, though the more obvious teasing is for people he knows won't get into a raging tantrum over it. With his friends, though, he's had an object hurled in his direction more than once. Unfortunately, it only seems to make him laugh harder. So too does it draw us to the fact that he's definitely got a smart mouth on him -- nothing at all, and one repeats, nothing seems to shut him up for long. He seems almost incapable of shutting up when he should, and though age and experience has done him some good, he still cannot resist needling his particular favorites on occasion. As an example, he still refers to his current Weyrleader as "Lord Stumpy" on occasion, a nickname he coined as a youth and seems perfectly discinlined to grow out of. This is perhaps an extension of his sense of humour -- a mischievously unrepetetent streak and to go with it, a deadpan kind of amused dourness to his commentary that somehow, someway manages to fit into the rest of his character, weaving it's way like trickling water through the contours.

Naturally, he is a flirt. He's a bronze rider, and a handsome one, so of course he knows his way around women...for the most part. It's just who he is - sociable and engaging. Charming, certainly, and the confidence he has about him in his interactions displays it as such. He knows it, so why should he hide it? He doesn't want to appear arrogant, but so far as he's concerned, if someone has a problem, it's usually the other person and not him. What he won't admit is that the aforementioned casual flirtation with women is actually something that is half purposefully cultivated; he actually had a bad habit in his youth of the kind where he pined uselessly after women he couldn't have, often pathetically and much to his poor younger self's mortification and heartache. Admittedly, he's often at war with himself a little too; he's kind of progressive in that he's not stupid enough to think women are pretty little objects who shouldn't be fighting, but it's at loggerheads with what his upbringing has more or less told him to believe, even Weyrbred. Thus, he's determined to fix that as best as he can. Right now, it just seems a heck of a lot easier to devote his moogly-eyed love to that wonderful, gigantic bronze arse taking up shared residence in his weyr...abuse and all.

It's not to say he's a pushover, though. A lot more squishy on the inside than he prefers to be, but as a bronzer and only a bronzer, he has his merits. K'san Impressed Inuyath for a reason; he's learnt when to be forceful and when not to be, and so on. The fact he was an impulsive child now turned to a man capable of keeping a cool head and working through problems in due course, lest he is terribly shaken up by a situation, is a mark of his ability to behave in a disciplined manner when the need calls...usually when it's particularly dire.

And if that fails, he has Inuyath to pull him up. Most days.

To call him sly too isn't too far from the truth, either. K'san is quite content to let some of his equals (if not some of his betters) dismiss him as a pretty boy or a child at heart; it means they're unlikely to ever suspect him as a threat, despite his partnership with what is justifiably one of the largest bronzes on Pern in the current timeline. They're obviously not too bright if they're dismissing him anyway, because one usually doesn't make Wingleader, or a good one either, if they're a complete dimglow. Certainly not under the jurisdiction of a man like the one currently Weyrleader of Ista. But it serves him fine, because at the end of the day, he is a surprisingly intelligent man, more surprisingly still a good hand at strategy (hey, how do you think he got out of trouble so often as a kid?), and always, always pondering better ways of solving a problem or ensuring his Wing is up to full fitness. He's not unambitious, either; he never intended to be anything but a Wingleader, and though he's not going to cry buckets if he is never Weyrleader, it's not something off the cards. At present though, and to his credit, he's more focused on his Wing; if Thread is indeed about to return, he's going to ensure his Wing is the Wing that suffers the least amount of losses possible. But again, he Impressed Inuyath for a reason, and if nobody else does, the bronze most definitely encourages his rider's ambitious streak.

That aside, though, he is still naturally, and always will be, his cheerful, enthusiastic self. His dedication to his Wing proves him to be a protective sort, loyal to a fault, if a little to the detriment of his own health and sanity at times. For his true friends, he is ever the one in the group who is playful and forever trying to disperse any negativity or tension, yet in his own way, he's caring and will listen willingly if need be, before offering up a joke or a comment designed to make you smile. As a lover or a weyrmate, he is thorough and considerate, if a bit of a tease at times. He can be genuinely sweet, too - loving and tenderly trusting...it's just sticking to him long enough to actually get under his skin and make him notice you seriously. Like, really notice.

[align=center]History[/align]
Day 1, Month 4, Turn 373 of the 8th Interval.

Kenessan is born late in the evening to Kelassa, a Lower Caverns woman. Like many children, he is the result of the fairly common occurence of a flight moth encounter, though his dam is fairly certain his sire is the blue rider K'nel. Apparently determined to do things on his own terms, he is several days overdue, though this does not detract from his health in the slightest. He proves to be a robust, cheerful baby and an equally robust, cheerful toddler...almost too much so at times.

Month 6, Turn 377 of the 8th Interval.

Almost too much so at times in that he gets bored. Very easily. The moment Kenessan can walk proves to be a promise of Turns of mischief and many a thrown pots and pans, for while the little lad proves to be very intelligent early on, loving and affectionate even, he also proves to be utterly unruly even when distracted from whatever he was doing at the time of the mischief-making persuasion. Pranks are his domain and thus where his bright mind turns it's attention towards the most often, laughter is a sound more than worth the yelling and the wooden spoonings, and above all, the popularity of the other children spurs him on the most.

Month 5, Turn 382 of the 8th Interval.

His foster mother does finally find something that intrigues the boy and keeps him out of mischief and boredom -- baking, of all things. When she can, she begins to bring him more permanently into the kitchens with her, putting him to work with the dough and the sweets. In it's way, it teaches the boy to put his mind to somewhat patience and a steady hand -- of course, being around the sweets helps -- something he swears in later Turns gave him that little bit more guidance needed to become a good Wingleader. Well, except for the fighting bit. That was just extra energy exerted that maybe made him a little less inclined to pull his mischief, getting into fights with the boys who teased him for doing 'girl things'.

Month 5, Turn 385 of the 8th Interval.

Kenessan gets his first crush at this tender age, on the then Weyrwoman. She made the mistake of petting him on the head when she learnt of his hand in helping his foster mother make the dessert for dinner that one evening. It takes him a Turn to get over it, and much to his mother's amusement, he pledges to swear off women forever when the Senior Queen Rises and he see's the Weyrwoman with her then weyrmate of the moment.

Month 11, Turn 385 of the 8th Interval.

The first Hatching Kenessan witnesses that he remembers turns out to be the most traumatic event of his life up to this point. The dragonets fascinate him -- don't they fascinate all? -- and the entire atmosphere has him on the edge of his seat...until his eldest half brother is mauled by one of the blues. The gold egg of the clutch also fails to hatch, a bad omen whispered in the Caverns for weeks, and the elder boy, Keladrin, later dies of the wounds. Kennessan will have nightmares for weeks afterwards, even flinching occasionally if he see's dragon talons too close to him. Oddly enough in that way of children, it's only the talons extended that frighten him, though it's enough to put him a little at war with that and his own ambitions, the age old weyrbrat desire to Impress and Impress well.

Turn 387 -- 389 of the 8th Interval.

Kenessan discovers the wonder and intrigue that is sex and the female body through one of the older girls picked originally to stand for Gold, whenever the next clutch is sired...whenever that will be. Typically enough, he developed quite a crush on her for quite a while, but it was soon eclipsed by the reality for him -- that he was getting older, that he was growing up, and that people found him attractive. While not quite making a name for himself at that age, he certainly learns a lot during that time between his loss of virgininty and Impression, and it is possible that one or two dark-haired children born in the Turns hence were sired by him. Being a Weyr though, it matters significantly less so long as they are healthy, and none of the children that he knows of born then have his blue eyes.

Month 5, Turn 389 of the 8th Interval.

At age sixteen, Kenessan stands for his first Hatching, also the first to have occurred since he was old enough to Impress. There's a distinct division as to what exactly the boy might Impress if he does at all -- green? blue? could be anything -- but that is a division bowled over in short order. And quite literally, for bronze Inuyath proves barely five minutes old that he is a bronze that knows what he wants very quickly, intends to get what he wants very quickly, and will do just about anything to get what he wants very quickly. Kennessan, or K'san, is actually injured by the large, gangling creature's running into him as he so decidedly does, as is the blue dragonet in the way at the time -- though neither badly, the poor little blue mostly just with a sore head, and Kenessan with bruises and a cut up thigh. Just a bit. He learns quckly not to bitch about it around his bronze, believe it, and he learns later that the gold did this time hatch, and Impress to Livna.

Turns 389 -- 392 of the 8th Interval.

The Turns of weyrlinghood are Turns interesting for the boy. On one hand, his life is perfect. Grounded, even, when it once wasn't, with the presence of Inuyath. On the other, it's kind of a perfect torture; he gets into trouble quite a bit in his early days for what mischief he tries to cause and for his distracted laziness in class...and the latter he gets into trouble over from Inuyath, of all the sharding things in the world! The boy gets a terrible shock though when one of his childhood friends, a lad turned green rider who Impressed alongside him, is killed in a training accident, and it is this that bucks up the young bronze rider into something that might be worthwhile. He still enjoys his jokes and the occasional smartassery, but finally, he sits his arse the hell down and begins to prove his mettle well and truly as the intelligent creature he is and not just a pretty face, making leaps and strides with his young bronze in an inordinate amount of time between then and graduation. During this time, Inuyath ambitiously attempts to fly Tuelarenth -- failing, of course, for even great size cannot make up entirely for lack of experience and immaturity. He does, however, fly his first green -- two in fact, though he doesn't seem inclined to make too much of a habit of it. Once he's old enough for it to be possible, K'san does more than enough in keeping them both content anyway.

Turn 394 of the 8th Interval.

K'san's remaining known sibling, Kalia, dies frighteningly young of what is later suspected to be a heart attack borne of an unknown heart condition -- the same thing that their dam died of some Turns back. K'san himself is suspected of sharing the same problem, and though he'd prefer not to, his grief for the girl who was more close friend and playmate then merely half sister spawn leads him to reluctantly acquiese to being checked upon regularly. His first examination seems to bode well for his health, but still, he is made to report regularly to the Healers. Despite pulling up healthy, this puts a great dent in his optimism, as he believes it threatens, if not entirely eradicates, his ambitions to become Wingleader.

Turn 395 of the 8th Interval.

A friend and occasional lover of the bronze rider and his late sister gives birth to a little girl, undeniably his with startling blue eyes. K'san takes a more active interest in the progress of his offspring for once, and the little one is called Kiala -- a variant on the name of beloved older sister and friend.

Month 7, Turn 397 of the 8th Interval.

Despite the loss of hope some Turns back due to the possibility of risky health, K'san and Inuyath somehow, through a miracle (and a lot of hard work, a lot of it) rise to the rank of Wingleader, making them the youngest at the time in the Weyr. How it happened, he still doesn't know, considering his love/hate relationship with the now Weyrleader of the Weyr. Love, because he kind of actually does have a lot of respect for Ash'lein, even heeds the man's advice and the like on occasion. Hate, because old habits die hard, and he cannot for the life of him stop entirely needling the man his younger self has ever so affectionately nicknamed 'Milord Stumpy', even if it's just occasional. Love/hate and old habits die hard indeed.

Turn 399 of the 8th Interval.

Mysterious dragons appear over Ista Weyr, before just as promptly disappearing for what is revealed to be Benden Weyr later on. Being of the younger generation, K'san is more than a little intrigued by the sight of and rumours of female riders and female Craftmasters, partly because it suddenly opens up quite a realm of interesting possibilities. The other part of him though wars with the idea, as he's still been brought up to believe women have certain places in life, and the only ones he's ever known to both fear and respect in power are those such as the Headwoman, or the Weyrwoman. He also finds it both disheartening and not a little insulting, and mind-boggling, that the apparent leader of the lot of them prefers to disappear and more apparently still cut off contact with them. He quite frankly thinks it's moronic, actually -- yes, Ash'lein's a stump and Livna is...well, you know, Livna -- because really, with the Red Star so near and their replies and numbers so clearly depleted, pride and stubborn autonomy have no place in their current situation. Though there is too the small part of him, just the smallest part, that chews on the rumour of there being no set Weyrleader at Benden...something to chew on indeed.


[align=center]Dragon[/align]

• Name: Inuyath.
  
• Color: Bronze.
  
• Clutch: Gold Nadeluth and Bronze Reth of Ista Weyr, Turn 389.
  
• Appearance:
  
  Inuyath is indisputably one of the largest bronzes on Pern, and that's not being egotistical of him either. Roughly the size of a small Queen, and potentially a shade taller than the daintier ones, he's got proof positive of it without the need to stand up tall, though he's thankfully forgotten the shame of being held back from the wings in his weyrlinghood, and K'san is careful not to think on it too much to spare the proud bronze the damage to his confidence, or his ego.
  To go with his large size is musculature, of course, of which Inuyath is laden with over the joints of his body and ripple healthily over a hide that is a rather exceedingly dark shade of bronze, a darker tan again under his girth and mottling over is muzzle. The only area in which it is remotely light is over his oversized wings - the bronze taking on the more stereotypical greenish tone when the sails are spread in flight, though on particularly bright days, he seems to have stolen the barest hints of what could be gold hue from his dam amidst the bronze and green. His eyes appear to be rimmed in a lighter shade, too, not that you'd be game enough to get too close to actually see it.
  
  Bar a tail that is long enough to be almost whip-lash in appearance, he appears slightly blockish in shape when he stands square on all four feet, with hindquarters and shoulders both wide in their set and a deep, rather flat chest to go with it. This does make moving over land in particular a bit easier for him, though, as the wider set of his proportions takes the bulk of his size and muscle tone and spreads it out slightly. Understandably, though, and despite having his oversized wings to compensate a little, speed is somewhat sacrificed on most occasions, though it's made up for in enormous amounts of stamina. With a wide chest allowing for more room for his heart and lungs and wings to catch the drafts to their fullest, Inuyath will go for hours if told to, provided he - and K'san, or others familiar with him - keeps a close monitor on his condition and ensures nothing too acrobatic is attempted. So obviously, he's not about to go showing off or attempting any high jinks; he prefers to not deal with the pain in the ass that strained joints are. He tends to avoid chasing greens, too, as while he's wily enough to watch and wait and last it out, greens tend to either be too twisty or completely unnappreciative of his patient trickery.
  
  
  
• Personality:
  
  Inuyath is not a personality prone to childish tantrums or insecurities; he's got his pride. Oh, and pride he does have; it radiates off him with every movement. He has every right to believe in his own worth, and to go with it is a blunt honesty; he sees no reason to not be confident in his strength, his place as a bronze in this world, or his intelligence. He's thoroughly capable of being arrogant, but he seems to save the brunt of his smugness for when he's thorougly out to peeve someone off. He doesn't take kindly to unneccessary criticism or patronization, either, and though maturity and K'san's more blaise character has imbued him with self discipline enough not to howl at the offender or, Faranth forbid, leap upon them for a sound thrashing, gouges will be left wherever he was perched and teeth will flash to go with the soft, menacing growling.
  
  He's also rather snarky for a dragon, much to his rider's equal parts amusement and consternation. Wry-humoured, droll, morbid, darkly amused, ironic...whatever you want to name it, he's a dark quip for every situation and every person that comes before him, even if he only comments to K'san. Not that anyone should be too worried; he seems to save the majority of his 'dazzling' wit for K'san, much to his amusement and consternation, taking a rather fiendish delight in ruthlessly jabbing at his rider's ego at the most inopportune moments, and is known to start squabbles with his rider for the sheer fun of it.
  
  One would ponder how exactly they came to be Impressed, then, with a dragon so intractably wicked as "Inu" is. But he's definitely not without his good traits. He is blessed with a wily mind, and what he can't understand, he'll do his sharding hardest to try and understand, picking K'san's brain dry if he has to. If that fails, he has been known, rarely, to question others until they explain it to him. He is extremely patient too when K'san is not, scarily so at times. His wiliness is too his trump card in the air, and combined with that dedicated patience, he's not one you want to dismiss too quickly.
  
  He is surprisingly serious on occasion, too, sensible and no - nonsense; he won't tolerate utter idiocy or unneccessary high jinks for long, and is aware of the responsibility he feels (no doubt influenced by K'san) to those lower on the heirachy, feeling that as both bronze and a leader, it is his due to ensure they do not come to harm if it can be prevented. In fact, if they can get past his intimidating appearance and the sharp tongue, they'll find he doesn't mind a chat or a discussion with any of the browns, blues or greens if they approach him. In fact, he has the highest respect for his rider's Wingsecond's brown dragon, and will listen intently if the other has legitimately useful advice to offer. Hilariously, females actually make him a little wary; he isn't a natural flirt, so the flighty spontaneity of the greens boggles his mind, and he's yet to meet a Queen that isn't snotty or make his own issues with his pride look muted and humble. Mind, after spending Turns in K'san's mind, he's fully appreciative of the feminine wiliness...which probably just makes him warier again.
  
  And of course, at the end of the day, he is K'san's staunchest supporter. Even on days where he appears to want to do nothing more than irk the man's sensibilities, he is still always, always at K'san's back, whether it's a strong presence to steady his rider's mind, or literally behind him, head lowered and nose barely a breath against the bronze rider's back. Even as he teases K'san will he permit no one else to insult him as such, and if his rider is so much as angered or left broken in the heart, would be a spitting, snarling, hissing ball of bronze. K'san is his and his alone, and only he is permitted to take the liberty of insulting him.
  

character name: W'lian.
character age: 32/thirty-two.
gender: Male.
sexuality: Heterosexual.
rank: Wingleader.
play by: Shin Koyamada.
craft: N/A.

appearance: W'lian, or rather, W'lian's family line, is what we could call a direct genetic throwback to the original Asian colonists - most likely those of Chinese or Malayan descent - though of course, nobody on Pern who is alive today would call it or know it as such.

W'lian breezes in at a trim six foot even in height - tall enough, but not overbearingly or uncomfortably tall. Skin the colour of polished cedarwood plays over a build that is hard with the life of a dragonrider of some Turns, and a certain meticulousness in maintaining a high level of fitness and a meditative nature passed down from his sire with the same subtelty as long, rangy limbs - from hands to feet - keeps him fit and swift of movement, lending the man a sort of grace to his movements that, combined with a sort of lean hungriness to his frame, can only be termed as cat-like.

Eyes that never miss a thing are set in a high-cheekboned, angular face, and only add to this sense of feline grace. The emphatic fold of his eyelids give Li's eyes a rather distinct, narrowed shape, though still wider than his original ancestors of Turns long past. Their most distinctive trait, though, is their colour - a dark hue that is literally black, so much so that unless one comes up extremely close to the bronze rider, even the pupil itself appears completely invisible, swallowed up by the rather unsettling, intractable obisidian depths, apparently entirely fathomless unless one of a perceptive nature looks closer. Then, and only then, might they see the spark amidst the black, the light in the dark that hints at a personality that is a great deal more than his reserved nature might give off.

If anything about his appearance breaks the mold of controlled and meditative, it is his hair. Though he does keep it tied back rather severely most days, one would find that when Li lets his hair down, so to speak, it is actually surprisingly long. Rook-black and straight, it falls with a sort of casual deliberateness to his shoulderblades, framing his face and parting sort of rakishly to one side of the centre of his forehead in an overly long fringe that he will, on occasion, peer out from under when he is in a particular mood, or moods. The scar slashing a thin, greyish line down the bone of his left cheek also gives a raffish air to the man's otherwise contained looks.

personality: On a more superficial, one-word sort of scale, W'lian is best described as this - mysterious. Mind, calling him that aloud would garner an interesting reaction --it's a pick between embarrassed incredulity and incredulous disgust -- dependent entirely on who's calling him out on it, too. Professionally, he is an open book - perhaps a trifle intimidating to the unknowing, but to his Wing, at least, completely willing to share with them and be spoken to about any number of matters in turn. His expectations of them are clear, and though high, his standards are no less than what he himself is capable as an efficient, well-trained, militaristic force to be reckoned with. He will readily go in to bat for any of his wingmates/subordinates if they in turn do well by him, and appears almost protective of them. This is mimicked in his ways of leadership and fighting; he is calm and quick-thinking, slow to anger (though rather quickly irritated by what he thinks is the deliberately foolish or the pretentious), and while he's not unreasonable, it's difficult to make him yield in the decisions he makes once they're made, whether it's in the air or on the ground.

Otherwise, though, the man is a closed book. The apparent epitome of tall, dark and mysterious, he is stubbornly unyielding when it comes to divulging his deepest thoughts and feelings, preferring to keep his own council on personal matters and plans. He is the dark shadow in the room, quiet and soft-spoken, the apparent wall-flower that might say very little, but see a great deal more than people might like anyone to see. He is entirely unforgiving of foolishness or pretentious arrogance, as while he himself is not without his own hauteur, he is not blinded by any sense of his own importance. Shrewd and calculative is what he is too, and  at his worst, W'lian is almost predatory in his ability to recognise talents and failings, and he's had long enough to put a honing edge to that. So too is he scarily patient; he could hold onto a notion or a grudge or a thought for Turns before he finds the moment to use it against his betrayer, and with age, he's cultivated the distinct ruthlessness needed to do so. Ruthlessness is also the word to describe his attitude when it comes to the Weyr -- a ruthlessness borne of love, but ruthlessness none the lest. He's got goals, and the ambition to do them, if only he be given a reason, an opportunity, to break from reticience in a way that won't absolutely sabotage what he's already worked for, and those around him that he cares for. But the Weyr...it's the place of his birth, the place of his entire life as he knows it, really, and he's been forced to watch it slide downhill for far too long.

In short, he's a man you'd probably prefer on your side.

And yet, to call him absolutely cold-hearted or cruel is...well, it's just not true. And you'll know it, when you know him, or you so happen to catch him in the right kind of situation. It is necessary, after all, especially in the world everyone now lives in, and especially in the position one finds themselves in as a bronze rider, to cultivate a certain watchfulness, a sense of ruthlessness and a perceptiveness. For W'lian of bronze Xieth to be successful and safe and master of himself, W'lian of bronze Xieth has to be all of the above things. But even as he is all of those things are those things only one layer among many, as it is with everyone.

W'lian himself is, not surprisingly watchful and guarded with his innermost feelings, more likely to attribute butterflies to indigestion and giddiness to a lack of nourishment, but he is hardly without them. He knows love and kindness, honour and loyalty, and it shows in the way he looks after his wingmates, those he cares for. Gentleness, too, is a trait one will find in the man. Not gentleness in the literal sense of the word, or in the sense of pure softness -- but it's most certainly there, again in the way he treats those under his care, and the way in which he might do something as simple as hold open a door for a woman, or give his chair up for a pregnant lass, or in the way he will give someone overladen with any number of things a hand without complaint, or even, and most amusingly, in the way he will humour small children if they come too close. Even young weyrlings and candidates aren't entirely exempt from that, if they approach him -- perhaps a touch more reticience if you were an infant, but not much more.

One might say too, and be most amused by this, that W'lian is shy. Which he was, as a child, and still is, in some ways; he's considerate and kind, yes, and more likely to attribute any sort of emotion pertaining to attraction or attachment as a physical malady, but were he to ever feel such things, or Faranth forbid, flirt with more intent than merely seeking a bed partner (or fall in love, not that he'll tell you that), he'd probably backpedal mentally quicker than a herdbeast with a dragon on it's tail, possibly even tripping over his words before he just decides to dive back into his shell and clam the hec up again entirely. His gentleness is, obviously, something he's tried to put more of a stamp on as he's gotten older, and has obviously managed to do so with age and experience. Inherited from his dam, though, it is still very much a part of who he is underneath. Less so is the uncertainty he once carried with youth, and though he still prefers to stay quiet and observe, gouge a situation out before he leaps in too fast, and is forever soft-spoken in tone, he is no longer afflicted with that indecision of youth. Unless he did happen to get involved emotionally...then it would most definitely rear it's ugly head once more. It's not something he can control quite so methodically, after all, and in a kind of pitiful way, it actually distresses him a little. Because there's a distinct directionlessness to it.

All that aside, W'lian's greatest traits, when narrowed down, are his sense of loyalty,  and his dry humour. The latter makes him forever ready with a droll observation or a murmured wry quip, even if he keeps it only to Xieth, or his Wingsecond, or the man next to him in a meeting. His last and best prominent trait, of course, is his loyalty. If it isn't obvious already, W'lian's sense of loyalty permeates his entire personality; he will do anything and everything if others do right by him, and it shows, from the way he treats his wingmates to his is rather noticeably dedicated attentiveness to his young daughter, despite weyrbreeding, and of course, his devotion to Xieth. However, he is completely unforgiving if he is slighted or betrayed. In fact, it's probably also a weakness; it means once betrayed or manipulated and knowledgeable of it, he is borderline impossible to convince in the face of giving a second chance or another option.


history:  

Day 10, Month 5, Turn 1225. Wulian is born the son of W'fei of bronze Shenloth and Sallian of green Weicith. The birth follows several miscarriages between Wulian's birth and that of his elder sister, and is long and exhausting for mother and son, but both survive.

Day 12, Month 1, Turn 1233. Wulian, or Li as he is affectionately called, passes his childhood in the Weyr as most do -- he is fostered, though his mother is doting whenever she visits, and he grows to love her dearly. He is a quiet boy, but not unkind -- meaning that while he is a fair friend when he makes them, he has some difficulty in doing so, and often takes to copying the more outgoing and less stupid of his agemates in an attempt to learn better, taking note of their behaviours and emulating and discarding those behaviours as he see's fit. This shyness does make him the target for bullies, but he ultimately makes a couple of close friends to enjoy the company of, and for the added protection where ignoring the tormentors would fail. Nonetheless, the bullying of the slender little lad is just enough to set in him the lingering resolve quite young -- to show the little bastards.

Day 8, Month 1, Turn 1236. Li is allowed to visit Ista Hold with his mother. It is here that he has a less than warm encounter with another boy, and learns for the first time just what the attitude is becoming towards the Weyrs of Pern. It is this encounter that starts a genuine dislike for a large majority of the Holder sort.

Month 2, Turn 1242. Sallian is struck down with illness during the last phase of the cold season, and it ultimately kills her. Wulian feels the loss deeply, enough so that he is set to refuse the opportunity he has to Stand now that he is old enough.

Month 5, Turn 1242. Thankfully, he is convinced otherwise, and it proves to be both in good time and an absolute blessing for the boy. For without fail or error does he Impress, and Impress to the only bronze hatched of the clutch of Turn 1242 -- bronze Xieth.

Turn 1242 -- Turn 1244. While the Impression does him well and was made well, the pair  are not without their hiccups in the beginning. Li, now W'lian, still hurt over the loss of his mother, and while devoted to him and given the opportunity, matched well, Xieth's personality makes it difficult for the bronze to simply understand the sadness of it and, quite frankly, why they can still not just get on with it. It affects the pair enough that they are ultimately brought to the Weyrlingmaster's attention, if they weren't there already as the only bronze of the group. With between training to follow none too soon, the man spends time (and not a little bit of rough love) with them relentlessly until the kinks are ironed out, and the pair become completely open with one another. The effect in the sevendays following is gradual, but ultimately something to behold, and by the end of their training, Xieth and W'lian are a unit to take note of, with all the makings of the force to be reckoned with that they will become.

Turn 1247. Though still young and as yet unpromoted in the ranks, the pair attempt to fly Evinith. They ultimately fail, and Li is left frustrated and aggrieved by both the failure and the reality he is now subject to -- the decline of the Weyr, and the subservience to the Lord Holder of Ista. However, the pair is given some consolation, as their hard work pays off and they are promoted to Wingleader in the same Turn -- one of the younger pairs in some time.

Turn 1249. Evinith Rises again. However, the pair are unable to join the chase, as Li comes down with, of all things, a stomach virus, and while Xieth could still have flown, it is a sign of how far they have come as a bonded pair that the dragon has no wish to do so while his rider is ill. However, Xieth catches the green dragon bonded to a rider Li has been friends with for some time, bonding over reading and researching in the Records Room. Surprisingly to some, especially as the other rider is a man, Li develops a comfortable relationship with him, one that will last several Turns and even the course of those Flights where Xieth does not catch Neith.

Turn 1252. Despite a comfortable relationship of some Turns, Li's relationship with his green weyrmate begins to cool and peter out, partly due to time elapsed, but also due to several other factors -- particularly Li's almost constant time spent away with his own Wing (now one of only three left), and the attempts to catch Evinith. Most of all though is it the differing beliefs between them -- W'lian believes Thread will fall and that the increasing clutches are proof of this and what needs to be done that isn't being done, whereas L'ven is skeptical, regardless of his own frustrations with the Weyr's decline and subservience. Li does his best to salvage the relationship, but when Neith is caught by another twice in a row and L'ven shows little of the distress he used to, the bronze rider is forced to conceed that the relationship is sadly over.

Turn 1253. Xieth flies to chase Evinith again, but is unsuccessful once more, partly due to Li's lack of enthusiasm in that particular Turn. It is a Turn of tumultuous emotion for them -- W'fei dies, and Shulian is born, the result of a fling with one of the girls in the Lower Caverns. Though not particularly close to the former, W'lian held him in good stead, and though he knows he shouldn't grow particularly close to the latter, W'lian cannot help but be enchanted by the stubborn, cuddly little thing that looks a great deal like himself.

Turn 1256. Though unsuccessful once more in breaking the apparent bond between Evinith and Worseth, this clutch yields a new queen -- further proof, in Li's eyes, that Thread is coming. He is not completely indifferent, tempting as it initially is, and keeps something of a surreptious eye on the new gold and her rider. If nothing else, he is amused at the vindication of the situation when he learns that Illisa is Seothir's eldest daughter, though he can't help but admire the young lass's methodical nature, either.

Turn 1257. Xieth does not chase Evinith this Turn, though the disappointment of this is fast forgotten in the wake of the old Weyrwoman's sudden death, a shock dampened only by the clutching of another queen egg before Evinith goes between. Li is among those most vocal for the Candidate age to be expanded, as at the present and under the control they are currently under, the Weyr really has very little to lose. He hears too of the growing appearance of the little firelizards, and though he allows his own wing members to seek them on occasion and tolerates amiably his daughter's enthusiasm for them, he himself does not actively seek them out.


adoptable family:
Safeia of green Lenorth -- Wingrider -- Impressed Turn 1242.

Shulian -- Weyrbrat -- age 5 (will NPC until someone takes interest in her!)



dragon: Xieth.
dragon age: 15/fifteen.
dragon colour: Bronze.
hex codes: 330000

dragon appearance: While certainly not the largest by means of sheer height or musculature, Xieth is, without a doubt, one of the swiftest of the current batch of bronzes in the Weyr.  Everything about him is stream-lined and sleek, designed entirely for speed and dexterity, from the long legs to the limber, long head, to the hard, wiry muscle layering a limber bone structure.

That is not to say, though, that he is a physical pushover. While narrow, his chest is deep, and his nostrils large and concave, both attributes that tell an experienced eye immediately that this dragon is more than capable of taking in what is needed to keep himself going for long periods of time, and the lean, wiry structure hides a formidable, equally wiry strength. And of course, his wings, which even to the unexperienced eye, are large (almost overly so, for such a frame, and often the bane of his existence as a gawky hatchling). Combined with an exceptionally long, whippy tail, he is certainly capable of greater endurance than his smaller frame would otherwise give the impression of, and not afraid to use it however he needs to.

Even devoid of his limber frame and haughty bearing, Xieth would be distinguishable purely by the shades inherent in his scales.  If he's not the swiftest of them all, he's certainly the darkest in the Weyr for the present. An artistic imaginative type might refer to him as 'the calm before the storm', which is, to be fair, an accurate enough description, for Xieth's hide is indeed a mixture of heavy, ominous dark, more deep copper and gritty bracken casting shadows in the dark, broken only by the shades of pearly-greenish sheen (mostly on his wings and his tail) reminiscent of the lining about the clouds with every attempt the sun has made to break through before the coming storm before it completely swallows it up.

Mention should also be made, or rather, furthered upon, of the way Xieth carries himself. In Flight, he is predictably swift and dexterous, quick to act and react, and faster than most of his larger brothers to indulge in acrobatics to get himself out of a spot, though certainly not as fast as the majority of his chromatic siblings. On the ground, however, it shows clearly that despite the oddness of it, his long, almost gangly limbs give him an advantage, in that he is capable, so long as he goes no faster than a slow trot, of walking with only a little of the awkward hop-skip dragons are known for. It also serves to add credence to his bearing in general, in particular, the natural hauteur he gives off, be it in the deliberate way he cocks his head, or the way he sets his feet on the ground.


dragon personality: Like his rider, Xieth does, on first impression, fit the description of 'dark and mysterious', though perhaps not to much the 'tall' bit, obviously. Quiet and seemingly somber on occasion, he is surprisingly private for a dragon, preferring to keep his own council lest he is in battle and even less inclined to share gossip. In fact, he almost appears to disdain gossip, despite the fact that for the most part, dragons appear to enjoy nothing more than a good gas-bag amongst themselves. Though he may listen, he rarely speaks unless spoken to, or giving out a directive, an order, or relaying a message at W'lian's behest, and for the most part, appears rather docile, even apathetic at times, to the ignorant or unknowing eye.

Or he would appear docile, at any rate, if there wasn't a particular air about him that portrays this particular bronze as anything but. If one takes the time to admire the dragon beyond a fleeting glance, they will not only find the dark colouration of his hide striking (if a tad unnerving), but so too the calculated grace in his movements, the glitter in narrowed eyes. On a lighter note, it could be called watchful, observant, both traits Xieth certainly possesses; he has picked up W'lian's habit of observing body language (or as best as a dragon can do so), a habit that serves him very well in his position as a Wingleader's dragon.

On a darker note, Xieth could be termed predatory. Not that he goes about hiding in dark corners and attacking unsuspecting victims, but there is certainly no other way of describing his machinations as the very same word used to describe felines on the hunt. Perhaps not surprisingly, there is a certain ruthlessness to his nature that his rider otherwise lacks with his gentler disposition, though in turn has Xieth needed to draw upon his rider's own cleverness, as like with most dragons, Xieth's intelligence, no matter how well regarded, still clings somewhat to practicality and structure. But it is this that has matched them well, and this entirely, that has helped carry his rider to the position he is now, for Xieth is harsh where W'lian may be less so, and certainly more than willing to tread on what and where he needs to to achieve an end when roused. At the same time, though, this ruthlessness is something of a character flaw; it makes Xieth rather prone to forgetting the basic empathy that may be needed to deal with others, particularly the sensitive, and coupled with blindingly brutal honesty, it is certainly possible that Xieth can and will offend SOMEONE'S sensibilities at some point during a sevenday. Unfortunately, he tends to simply not care enough to be bothered by it, though thankfully, he is not so arrogant that he might pull rank to shut a complainer or an injured party up. He'll simply ignore them. This is perhaps his other problem; he may ignore a problem purely because it annoys the living jeebers out of him, rather than fix it.

clutch details: Turn 1242 -- Gold Evinith and Bronze Worseth.


type: Firelizard.
name: Nǚshì
age: Hatchling.
colour: Green.
hex code: #355315

appearance:



This little lady is small and delicate. She is a lovely shade of green with darker stripes running across her hide. Soft to touch and with a subtle cinnamon scent she is a lovely little thing to have nearby.

Size when grown:
Length 14 inches
Height 12 inches
Clutch Sizes 3 to 6 eggs

personality: Very much a lady. Loves to be made a fuss of, loves food and is often caught stealing. This little lady has a fixation with anything shiny. Not the most honest of flits and will be a terror to stop from stealing.

what would you like to have happen to this character if you must leave? If it's only for a stint of time, hopefully nothing. But if I am absolutely leaving, then it's cool to put him as inactive if he's not too involved in things. If he is, I'm happy to work with the Admin for a viable solution. :3

character name: Sefa. (originally Sefaedra)
character age: 27/Twenty-seven.
gender: Female.
sexuality: Heteroflexible.
rank: Creche Worker [s]former dragonrider[/s].
craft: Runnercraft (former).
playby: Kathryn Morris.

appearance:  This woman was beautiful, once. And she still is, in a way. The people who still cared for her, even somewhat, made sure even in her darkest days that she wasn't utterly neglected -- washing her hair, dressing her wounds, cleansing the marks from skin and clothes, making sure she survived, regardless of whether others believed it to be a cruelty or not. And it's likely some still think it to be a cruelty, when they look at her properly. For even now, though she still lives, there's something there, that mars her appearance despite the Harper's tales of beautiful tragedies and haunting sorrows -- in the palour of an already pale face, in the shadows sunken deep and dark under her eyes, and above all, in the look in her eyes. No matter what she does, or you do, that hint of something in that wide-eyed gaze is always, always there. Sometimes, there's even a yearning -- a terrible yearning, if you catch a glimpse of it for a moment. And it's tragic. And haunting. And sorrowful. It's all of those words.

But not beautiful, not in that sense of the word in the slightest. She was that, once. Striking even, considering her colouring. But not so much anymore, if you really look. Not in the sense of brightness, like beauty is so often made out to be -- that left Sefa long ago, and it's unlikely that such a spark will ever make a return. She's been given enough direction to her life once more that she doesn't need to be told to look after herself, so her hair is well to do enough -- a soft pale blonde framing an oval face and high cheekbones, straight as hair can possibly be and falling just past her shoulders. She doesn't really do anything with it otherwise, though -- if it needs to be put up, then it's done purely in the sense of it being essential for her to work; it's a perfunctory thing, and nothing more. Because she's not much out to impress anyone, really. Who is there left to impress, really, that she feels enough for the opinion of? Nobody's going to really make the effort, so far as she's concerned. Unless they're feeling sorry for her, perhaps.

As to the rest of her -- it fits to the pale blonde hair, if nothing else. Big, light blue eyes that are framed by pale lashes, and a pair of incredibly soulful eyes at that. Something which they still are, given the opportunity or the right environment for her to react to, but they're more likely to be guarded than not these days, and on occasion, you'll catch them empty...almost unstaring and unfocused into the distance. As if in her quiet moments, Sefa's seeking something only she can hear...or not hear, more's the case.

Oddly enough, it might be her skin tone that tells you the most about what she's been through, as much as her eyes and the rest of her -- it was always pale, but now, there's an eerie kind of pallor to it, a sense of constant tiredness even when she's having a good day. On her bad days, it almost seems unhealthily transluscent, as if it's been leeched of all it's colour and from everywhere that there should be colour. Failing that, the scars will definitely give you a hint or two -- long healed and well tended at their worst, but they're still a sickly shiny, greyish colour against the skin. And more or less visible, as Sefa doesn't seem particularly inclined towards false modesty with them -- found starting where jaw meets neck on her right side, and meandering their grotesque way down her neck to her shoulder, before they disappear under her clothes to end halfway down her arm, and some way down her side -- enough so on her chest that the burns actually wounded the breast there just enough that even with binding does it forever seem a little more askew than her good side.

personality:  Sefa was never what you'd call outspoken or loud, and for many, it was a surprise when she Impressed a green dragon. Probably more so even than the fact that females on fighting dragons was still something somewhat marveled at. But Impress a green she did -- her beautiful, shy, eager Tyminth -- and once you got to know her, you actually understood why she Impressed like she did. And would understand now, even, if you were given the opportunity to see again what she used to be like, and still is like if the right provocation arises, and you can look past the immense sadness, the sense that sometimes, you've only got half a person you're dealing with.

Sefa is, admittedly, something of an introvert on principle. She doesn't much like talking about herself -- not through any sense of false modesty; it genuinely seems to fluster her if you focus on her for too long. What she doesn't mind, though, is listening to you. She doesn't -- didn't -- ever actively seek company, and if you encroach upon her personal space a little too quickly or brashly, she does tend to shrink away. Solitude is something she's always been able to enjoy as much as being around others; it's when she can gather her energy back together, take a moment to herself, and then...then she can rejoin company. She's not actually what you'd call shy, not in the literal sense of the word -- she does, as aforementioned, actually quite enjoy company when she chooses to seek it.

For the most part, she never honestly struggled like some do with awkwardness around others despite her keeping most of herself to herself; she's one of those types who was always happy to just sit there, quietly and smiling a little and just...you know, listening in. Taking what she needed of her fill of companionship in the animation and the atmosphere of those around her, and yes, chiming in and joining the conversation when she felt like it.

It's not to say that she was ever a doormat, though. This girl was on green for a reason, and a big part of it is the determination to her. It's an innate kind of thing, a survivalist instinct if you could call it that, and it made sure you knew that Sefa would stand up to you if she needed to, and made it very, very clear that she wasn't a quitter. If she needed to retreat from an argument for a bit, it was never for long, not if she believed it was unfinished. She even has a temper on occasion, though it was the kind that took time to flare. That being said, it was also the kind of temper that took a long time to forget, too -- the icy heat and unforgiving sort, especially if you really wronged her. But that's the other thing you would notice about her, and perhaps deduce as another reason for why she's still surviving, why she's even doing what she does now -- sense. Sefa learnt young to screw her head on right and play it fairly steady, to not get flustered overtly, and with a green on her hands that was somehow one part shy and yet another part eager and eager to be liked, that steadfastness had to blossom quite fast with maturity, for both their sakes.

It's probably that steadfastness that's helped her too, but it's not foolproof either. Far from it, in fact, on her bad days. There's a reason the dragonless are often left to end their own lives in most cases, and while Sefa's not gone completely mad, while she's still alive, she's still deeply traumatised by that loss, regardless. It's an empty, endless hole inside that she could never describe to you unless you experienced it yourself, and sometimes, it swallows her up. She's only just in recent times been able to talk to 'riders again about their dragons, and for a long time when Tyminth died, she didn't speak at all. Even now, she's kind of soft-spoken and cracked in tone, husky and hoarse even when she's in a happier mood, and more likely to cow where she once never did if you pick at her too much. In fact, cowing isn't quite the word for it -- she absolutely shuts down if the above happens, or if she's losing an argument, and very rarely will she go back to it like she once did. It usually takes something that's very much a big deal for her to do so, and even then, it seems to leave her exhausted.

Sometimes, you'll catch her staring emptily into the distance even as she's meant to be carrying out a task, unfocused, as if she's trying to find something, or recall it. Just kind of standing there, or sitting rigidly. And on the really bad days, when she doesn't find what it was she was looking for, or if she recalls something she shouldn't have, it's a guarantee that you'll find her curled up somewhere in absolute anguish. On the really bad days, you might even get a strangled, horrible kind of crying from her, though those tend to be more reserved for the nightmares. Sometimes, she may not get out of bed, but that tends to be very rare and only on days you'll realise soon enough are days that are specific to her. The sound of fire erupting from a draconic maw is something else that will set her shaking violently, dropping whatever she's holding, and if she knows the Wings are going to be out in the Weyrbowl doing firestone drills, she tends to more or less hide herself in the most soundproof rooms of the Creche. Failing that, she'll flee to the darker passageways within the the Weyr, and very, very few people are capable of making her come out until she's absolute certain it's over. The weyrling barracks are something else she avoids entirely, though she seems to cope strangely okay with the Hatching Grounds.

history:  
Turn 1230. Sefaedra is born the youngest daughter and second youngest child to the Lord Holder of Lemos. However, as with many unfortunates, she is illegitimate, the result of a fling with one of the Journeywoman Weavers posted to the Hold.

Turn 1231. Kafaeia's posting to the Hold ends, and she bids it adieu with some relief. Though the going is a little slow with her young daughter, she travels back to the Weavercraft Hall.

Turn 1235. Kafaeia is fortunate enough to find a man happy to espouse her and accept her daughter too -- an old friend from their Apprentice days who had harboured feelings for her anyway. Thankfully, Sened is a man and a familiar enough presence by now that the quiet little Sefaedra takes to having him around more permanently quite well. He often calls her Sefa, and the girl actually takes to it, to the point where she often refuses to respond to her wordier (and in her opinion with age, dafter) full name unless she's in big trouble.

Turn 1239. As with most craftbred children, Sefa is given the option to apprentice to a craft in her ninth Turn. Much to her mother's dismay (and her stepfather's amusement), she shows little to no proficiency in weaving...being quite clumsy, in fact, and often stabbing herself with the needle before she's so much as threaded it. She proves to be less clumsy on her actual feet, though, and apprentices to the runnercraft.

Turn 1247. During one of her visits home, Search Riders from Ista come seeking Candidates. Sefaedra goes with, surprisingly enough, the blessing of her parents -- figuring even if she doesn't Impress, she can still come back to her Craft, and make herself useful at the Weyr if nothing else. Sened actually turns up for the Hatching itself, and would bring joyful tidings back to their family at the Weavercraft Hall, for Sefa Impresses little green Tyminth.

Turn 1248. Though mostly prepared for Tyminth's maiden Flight, Sefa struggles in the aftermath with seperating her dragon's feelings from that of her feelings for the rider of the blue who caught her green. The poor thing ends up nursing a broken heart for some time, though she eventually bucks up and gets on with it.

Turn 1251. The Turns fall into a comfortable pattern for the most part -- wingwork, drills, avoiding and enjoying the company of wingmates, visiting her old Crafthall on occasion, and Sefaedra takes to it well with Tyminth, though the whispers of Thread soon to fall again unsettle her, as she wants to believe but doesn't want to, either.

Turn 1254. Sefaedra finds herself somewhat shocked during the course of this particular Turn -- not because of the fact that one of her oldest friends from weyrlinghood and his brown Valkonith have flown Tyminth, but because she discovers, much to her consternation, that she's never noticed that S'vien had feelings for her. Not sure just what she feels though and unsure if she wants to risk the friendship more than it's already been risked, she lets him down as gently as she possibly can. Hoping that it will be enough, until whatever happens...well, happens.

Turn 1255. Whether it is enough is something she never discovers, though, for it is this Turn that proves to be the Turn where her life as she knows it more or less ends. Sefaedra and Tyminth are involved in a training accident, one which leaves Sefaedra burned and sends Tyminth between from both injury and due to her rider's unconscious state. When Sefaedra awakens, she is beyond inconsolable, barely able to function, refusing to speak, and even attempting to take her life at one point -- barely stopped by S'vien, of all people, when she tries.

Turn 1256. Though he stopped her initial attempt to take her life, S'vien does ultimately offer to take her between. It's an offer seriously considered despite Sefa -- she now adamantly refuses to be called Sefaedra, cutting off her name as a link to her life with Tyminth and clinging instead to Sefa, a nickname with better, but more neutral connotations -- and yet somehow, for reasons even she will never explain, she doesn't take the offer up. She gradually begins, with a great deal of effort, to at least survive a little more, finding some solace in adopting the young girl who saw to her and has attached to her, ultimately becoming Chrinna's foster mother. She eventually finds a place that's even quite safe in the Creche, and finds that little bit more solace in looking after the little ones.

Turn 1257. The death of Evinith and her rider nearly sets Sefa on the backfoot again, and after it happens, she spends just over a sevenday in her rooms before she comes back out again, and takes some days after that to actually talk to anyone again that isn't just murmuring to the little ones in the Creche. The discovery of re-Impressed firelizards is also something of a source of pain for her, more so because much as she hates it, they are a source of intrigue and yearning for her. Which is worsened still by the fact that she wants one, but struggles even with that, afraid that it would be a replacement for Tyminth regardless of what others might say. For the time being, she simply goes on with her life as best as she always has -- taking comfort in the safety and routine of what she does every day...even if it's Tyminth-less.

adoptable family:
Chrinna -- foster daughter -- Candidate -- age 14.





Name: Serenity
Age: Under a month.
Appearance: Small, coltish, lithe, not very muscular
Personality: Jealous, affectionate, protective, over bearing, sensitive to Sefa[/align]

character name: C'tra.
character age: Twenty-three.
gender: Male.
sexuality: Homosexual.
rank: Wingrider.
play by: Mitch Hewer.
craft: Healercraft (Apprentice).

appearance: Physical maturity has done little to change C'tra, though that'll probably be a blessing in disguise when he's older. At the same time, though, if a person knows him or has gotten to know him well, they'll find that he's changed just enough to be that much different to what he was as an adolescent.

To start with, his height. He's never been particularly tall, and he's certainly not ranking amongst the tallest men in the Weyr; in fact, he's probably one of the shortest ones, standing at a shade between five foot eight and five foot nine. His build does little to give the appearance of height and breadth either; he's the equivalent of a race sprinter, but with a fair bit less muscle - all slender shoulders and and long legs and fine, clean limbs, the sort that looks as though he might crack a few verterbra if you clap him too hard on the back. It's something of a deception, though, as despite such slenderness of build for a male, one will find surprisingly hard, if wiry, muscle underneath skin that is rather at odds with the rest of his colour - light olive, almost tanned, though speckled with freckles over his cheeks and his shoulders.

Skin tone aside, the rest of C'tra does little to change the first impression of almost fragility, though on the other side of the coin, one might consider it in a humourous light and find that his appearance fits in well with the warmer clime. Hair almost a white-blonde in hue is cut long enough to frame his wide cheek bones and pointed chin, brushing just past the collar of his jacket and falling over his forehead. And into his eyes, too - C'tra can and does attempt to brush it back, but it takes little for the bangs to drift forward, more over the left than the right side due to the rather pronounced cow-lick amidst it. It's not all bad, really, though he's not really aware of the pro's of his wayward forelock bar using it as a bit of a shield...but on occasion, when he graces you with a genuine smile, the strands hanging in his eyes and the way he might shyly peek through them add an endearing sweetness that can often be used to devastating effect.

C'tra has tried, failed and now doesn’t even attempt to grow...well, not a beard, because it’s not a beard. It’s sodding fluff. It infuriates the crap out of him in that way of pet hates, the fineness of his hair; he would not mind, just occasionally, not looking like he’s fresh out of apprenticehood. Unfortunately, his face in particular likes to spite him. It's a boyish face - wide cheek bones and pointed chin and freckles and soft-shaped lips framed by that one dimple, ever prominent even when he frowns. And of course, eyes. Large, soft, oval eyes the colour of cornflower sky-blue, framed by pretty, pale eyelashes. Definitely not the stereotypical, rugged dragonrider, and it would cause him a great deal more chagrin if he was a little more vain. Which he isn't, thankfully, but still, on occasion, a situation will arise where it’ll annoy him like nothing else.

personality: As a child (and for most of his adolescence), C'tra was shy. And we're not just talking shy as in 'needs a little time to get used to a group', either. We're talking painfully, socially debilitating shyness. He'd take ages upon ages just to muster up the courage to speak up, and when he did, it was often with a stutter, as if the poor little lad was terrified of being noticed too much at best, and at worst, being ridiculed for it. The taboo outside of the Weyr against homosexuality never helped matters much, either; it took him Turns, really, and Harlenth, to get past his absolute social ineptness.

Which was a shame, really, because C'tra was and is a good kid...adult...person. Of course, it's more obvious these days; he's still very quiet, of course, and he much prefers a quiet life in the background to being on anyone's proverbial radar. He's still prone to terrible blushes if he's embarrassed, too, but these days, he's a bit more capable of laughing at himself, even if it is a joke levelled at him. He can even muster up a bit of mischief on occasion these days, though it’s somewhat and well nursed and well hidden – you might get a tantalising little glimpse, a lopsided little hitch of his lips up one side of his face, if you’re quick enough to notice. Note, though, that it doesn’t make him completely immune to his old bashfulness...if it gets too overwhelming for him, he's prone to crawling right back into his shell if you don’t catch him quick enough.

Which does bring us to one of his other traits, which could be interpreted as both a good thing and as a flaw - C'tra likes to be liked. It's not that he's prone to doing stupid things or any such, not all; he's a head full of sense when he isn't made so flustered that he struggles to concentrate, and he shares Harlenth's unfailing sensitivity towards what is around him. No, it's just...he struggled so hard as a child, and still does, sometimes, to fit in, purely because of his shyness and lack of true self-esteem, and as a result, the concept of people actually liking him and not laughing at him or dismissing him as a lost cause...it's a bit of a jolt, really. Though a delightful one, and one that he obviously revels in. Unfortunately, it also means that he'll cut the people he likes or who treat him well an awful lot of slack where they might not deserve it, or would be better off being pulled up when they're about to do something a mite unsavoury. An observant nature does not make one immune to gullibility, after all, and C’tra’s a good example of that. Never mind he’s something of a ‘fixer’, and they’re the worst when it comes to being manipulated.

Not that it makes him a complete sucker. Of course, he’s got buttons to push, and if you push them right, you’ll have him exactly where you want him. He’s a chronic worrier, for one, which to date is probably the best way to get to him. Figure out what will set him off, and you’ll have a flailing greenrider right in the palm of your hand on most occasions. That being said, he can and will display a rather deep-rooted stubborn streak when roused, though it’s something of a dire thing…that, or Harlenth’s proddy, so he’s cranky and not willing to work with the world in general. Literally, it’s deep-rooted - one can probably almost see his heels digging into the turf, the way his jaw will set, even as he himself might remain soft and polite in speech. It does a person some favours, though, even if they find it infuriating...it hints at the mental strength the young man possesses that would otherwise be hitherto unknown, the fact that there is more to the lad than gentle eyes and a polite look might give off.

This doesn't mean that he's possessed of a hidden temper or anything. Far from it, in fact; he's certainly not one of those types who is 'sweet until threatened. He’s a worrier, and he hates conflict, so he’s not about to go getting involved in it if he can avoid it. And he’ll avoid it like the plague if he can. He'll still back off if he feels cornered or caged in the heat of the moment, and if he suffers any resentment or any other negative emotion, he'll keep it hidden even at the expense of his own peace of mind.


history:  
Turn 2134. Born in the scorching heat of the dry season in Igen, little Catberan was on something of a backfoot from his infancy. Not because of any particular physical degenerity; he was borne as healthy as can be, if a little small, by his beloved mother, Sumatra, and if a little quiet and clingy, he passed all of his babyhood milestones with fair normalcy. It wasn't even being born the youngest in a family that otherwise had nine daughters that had him as a bit of a strugglebug -- much as they'd embarrass and coddle and fuss and tease and bully him over the Turns, as siblings do, they were never cruel to him. Cruel to each other on occasion, maybe, as can only be expected of girls. But never to little baby Catberan.

No, it was his father that was the issue.

Turn 2136. Caelrenus wasn't a bad man. Not in the way one might think when laying blame. In fact, he was a good man in his own way; he did his job well as the then Steward of Igen Hold, he ensured his family was provided for, daughters and all, and he loved faithfully his wife, regardless of how often they bickered and squabbled. He was just...set in his opinions, was all. Unfortunately, he was a little too set -- some would even call him hidebound. The man was nothing if not a traditionalist, if slightly hypocritical at times, and many of the things his son would become were not things he would agree with. Healer. Green rider. Soft-hearted. Mother's boy, something proven quickly before Catberan was even two Turns of age. He was in fact incredibly proud -- and not a little relieved -- when the boy was born, and ensured the whole world knew of it. It was the following Turns that would bring disappointment to colour his rose-tinted vision, for as Catberan grew up, he showed absolutely no disposition for what his somewhat overbearing father would deem the more masculine pursuits.

Turn 2139. In fact, he downright hated it, and it wasn't uncommon for the boy to flee pointblank the minute he knew his father was coming, often for the safety of his mother wherever she might be in her capacity as the Hold's then primary Healer, Senior Journeywoman that she was at the time. It was here too that the little lad found some small solace, albeit indirectly, in his mother's Craft -- something that would ultimately shape the decisions he'd make in the future. But so too was it those Turns in which his stutter grew worse, worsened still by the often heard demand at the supper table to 'spit it out, boy!' -- a comment that started all too many arguments between Sumatra and her spouse, as the woman had been protective -- overprotective, as Caelrenus would say -- of the lad from birth. the only son she had borne.

Turn 2140.And thus, it came as no small blessing when it got to the point -- and the time came -- where Sumatra packed up...not to leave her spouse, argumentative or not, but to travel back to the Healer Hall and pursue her own rise to Mastery. Of course, Caelrenus wasn't the most pleased about it, but he conceeded defeat on that score. No, what drove him to lividity--
--was that she was taking Catberan with her.
What a spectacular argument that decision started.

Turn 2141 -- 2148. It was apparently an argument his mother won, though, for not several weeks later, the then eight Turn old found himself in the Hall that had fostered and nursed Sumatra's skills from the very age he was now. Being drafted as a Healer apprentice was a small source of joy for the boy, though it was absolutely not an easy ride either. There were the usual bullies, of course, but at first, the painfully shy boy struggled purely on the basis of his social awkwardness. He was a sweet lad, but he could barely get two words out if you confronted him. Sumatra had also admittedly coddled him a little too much, so he wasn't all that used to standing on his own two feet to defend himself, and more than once he contemplated throwing in the proverbial towel, even if it meant returning home. Home, which wasn't all that bad a thought if he stayed with one of his married sisters -- maybe.
Some small seed of determination prevailed, though. Small, but enough for him to stick it out. Perhaps it was the feeling of finally being both good at something and enjoying it, but the boy stayed. Stayed, and worked his rear off. He even found a way, in time, to work around his stutter -- still 'ever a struggle, but with practice, he found that if he thought before he spoke, if he took the time to think of a different word when he felt himself choking up, then...he could manage. Manage enough that in time, he'd even make his way to Journeyman one day.

Turn 2149.Of course, being a teenager always had it's troubles and tribulations. Especially when you're a proverbial worrier to boot. And he definitely wasn't without them. Because even as he lived at the Hall did Catberan retain his lack of self esteem, and when the time came to finally realise upon the fact that he liked boys (liked them a hec of a lot, actually)...well. Between that, his father's accusing voice in the back of his head, and not to mention the usual stigma in Hold and Craft...he was nothing if not horrified by the whole thing. So horrified that he couldn't even go to his mother about it, though he certainly didn't want to leave her either when the time came for him to do so.
Which it did, though not in the way initially expected. For not two months after the boy turned sixteen, the dragons of Fort Weyr came on Search from none other than Igen Weyr, of all the ironic places. And for reasons he cannot fathom to this day, had him Searched out. Frankly, though, Catberan had his moment of hesitation...nay, outright fear. Never a great adventurer, the thought of another change didn't appeal to him all that much, let alone in a world completely different to what he'd known, from what he'd heard. It was an honour, of course...but he was working so hard at his Craft. Might even rise to Journeyman in a couple of Turns. And...pathetic as it, he didn't want to...well...leave his mother behind. Even for a dragon.
It was his mother who convinced him to go, though, and take the chance. And go Catberan did, which would prove a blessing in disguise for the lad's insecurities. For one, he was still put to good use in the Weyr's Infirmary, even if the Candidate chores were difficult. For another, nobody cared worth a tunnelsnake's wit about his homosexuality, both a startling and uplifting experience, as it gave him leave to finally start accepting himself somewhat more than he had. He made friends, too, even if there were the occasional bullies...and then, of course, came this moment. A moment that would last forever.

Impressing Harlenth. Impressing that gangling, awkward, man-shouldered green that was more yellow in bright light than she ought to be. And C'tra didn't care a bit.

Turn 2149 -- 2151. Of course, it wasn't all rainbow gems and dazzling skies. It never is, and C'tra faced all the trials and tribulations of weyrlinghood. Harlenth's first Flight was something of a rude shock for the lad, not because he was an innocent (he wasn't by that point, funnily enough), but because even the most stringent preparation couldn't quite prepare the timid lad for the utter uproar that came with being bonded to a female in heat. He got through it, though (in no small part thanks to the growing up required as a weyrling, especially with Harlenth onside), and thankfully for him was the rider of the winning blue a good friend made back in his Candidacy days, so it wasn't half as traumatic as it might have been.

Turn 2151 -- 2156. The few Turns that passed from his graduation from weyrlinghood were otherwise quiet Turns for C'tra. He found his little niche in the Weyr as most would, and it ran essentially like clockwork...drill, Harlenth, Harlenth, working in the Infirmary when he could, Harlenth, drill, and even the occasional little romantic dalliance, though he never quite managed to settle enough in himself to call himself a weyrmate to any. Partly because his romantic heart wouldn't let it just be anyone, partly because he was happy more or less with Harlenth, and partly because his self esteem wouldn't actually let him believe that someone would put up with him enough to actually fall in love with him. Friend, certainly, but not weyrmate, whether he was a romantic or not. So too in that time did he even reconnect with his family, with his sisters where he could, though sadly, he was less successful with his sire -- Caelronius not quite able to reconcile the fact that his only son had...not so much Impressed, but Impressed what he had. And of course, his mother.

Turn 2157. Only to discover, much to his heartache and grief, that she was...no, not dead, though he feared the depression she'd fallen into would kill her. And it ate him up with guilt to boot, not knowing she'd fallen to disease -- a sight degenerating kind of disease, where nothing could be fixed and the end result would ultimately be pure blindness -- even as it was entirely impossible for him to have known, considering she had never told him during those Turns he'd been busy -- didn't want him to ruin his little niche for his old mother, you see. Not that it made a whit of different -- if he couldn't help find a cure, C'tra could certainly do something, even if the thought of change still made him cringe. And thus, he took it upon himself to mimic one of his other green weyrlingmates of eld, and began putting things in order so that he might transfer to Ista Weyr. So that he might be closer to his mother, living back in Igen as she now was. And partly, admittedly, to see if his skills might be needed, even furthered, in the wake of the earthquake. In particular, furthered -- he's never given up nursing his silent desire to be a proper Healer, even if it seems half impossible for a 'rider. But he's determined to find a way, somehow, because he's nothing if not a little fighter.



adoptable family: N/A. He's got nine sisters and his mother still living, if anyone's interested, but I'll just PM the details there rather than try and list them and their sundry families out here.



dragon: Harlenth.
dragon age: 7/Seven Turns.
dragon colour: Green.
hex codes: yellowgreen

dragon appearance:

To date, Harlenth holds the (to her) rather overdone honour of being one of the largest of her colour on Pern. Standing at a height just bordering on 26.5 metres, she is well into the blue end of the equation, outstripping quite impressively a number of her brothers, and at full extension, certainly making herself a match for her larger brothers...though nowhere near the upper echleon. Not unless she's stretching her head up to touch them.

Of course, she's still markedly swifter than her larger brothers. However, understandably, she's quite a bit slower than her fellow greens, and has had to, from her weyrling days, concentrate more on maintaining endurance at the cost of sacrificing speed and acrobatics. Her musculature adds to this, as to compensate for a larger frame, she's had to develop a solid, harder set of muscles. Combine that with a deeper chest, wide hindquarters and a large, rather thicker wing bones than usual, and you have a sturdy dragoness, though she has to sacrifice feminine vanity and swiftness as a result.

Not that she minds sacrificing the acrobatics; her disposition never makes her prone towards theatrics and air aerobics, anyway, and she feels far more confident in herself knowing she can last in the sky when she's most needed, rather than risk tiring soon and being forced to switch out. The lack of true femininity used to concern her as a dragonet, too, but practicality has long since given way in her thought processes. In fact, she's made a challenge of it, really, compensating for the lack of daintiness, and it shows in the way that she moves - slower than other Greens, yes, and certainly nowhere close to as pretty or as quick-moving...but she's made work what she does have. And she works it well - she'd be the draconic equivalent of a voluptuous, big-boned woman, right down to the deliberate, measured movements. From head tilt to wing shuffle to where she places her leg, there is a understated elegance to Harlenth that she's adopted and refined, and made utterly 'female' in it's own way.

Colour-wise, she's a rather intriguing light green. Honestly, it’s not all that pretty if you prefer the more genuine shade of green; she’s rather more or less the colour of cut grass, or leaves ageing but still attached to the trees in the autumn-time, a dry greenish hue that looks yellow in some areas in bright light.


dragon personality:
If Harlenth was a human, she would be a Healer. Or a teacher. Both require that blend of firmness and understanding, that touch of gentleness when it's warranted, for one to be successful in their respective field, and Harlenth finds that balance very well for a dragon. She is assertive, bold even, without being argumentative. She won't hide her opinion behind a layer of excuses, and if she feels a matter needs to be brought to attention, there's no one better to play the part of speaker and be heard.

Yet, she's not fierce about it or in anyone's face. Nay, Harlenth's manner of conversation, down to the low, even soft, but clear tones of speech, is a mental paradigm of the grace she physically carries herself with - polite to the point of elegance, almost refined. Babbling or overexcitement is not in Harlenth's disposition, which ever makes her a surprisingly clear head amidst her colour; she is diplomatic and just enough aware of her place in the heirachy to know when to back down, or realise that sometimes, a lost cause amidst the higher ranks is a lost cause. Really, one might think some days that she's better suited to the role of a queen than a fighting female. Not that she would ever agree to that; she is, like her rider, almost far too modest for her own good, and would probably grow quite flustered if you said such a thing to her.

She is, not surprisingly, a tad reticient. It comes hand in hand really, with that diplomatic, soft spoken manner, and it's not unusual for her to trail off or nudge a subject in another direction lest she feel it's becoming too personal, or too emotionally charged. She's a peace keeper in that way, though it's not always a good thing, as it means others often forget, like they do with her rider, that quiet calm does not always mean everything is well. Simply, she is the one that people forget to ask as to how she is, and if something is bothering her, just what it is. It means things can be bottled up and hidden away, which, as most people are aware, is not a healthy thing for any beast or being to suffer.

As aforementioned, though, Harlenth is far from fierce even as she will willingly say what needs to be said, albeit a trifle cautiously. In fact, even though she could be described as reticient, it's not the sort of reticient one might interpret it as - that being the word that brings to mind things like 'cool' and 'aloof'. Because Harlenth is neither. She is possessed of a surprisingly sweet nature, and her gentleness stems from not only her dislike of conflict outside of fighting Fall, but from a genuine sensitivity towards other's emotions. She is extremely empathetic, making her a stellar Search dragon, and if there's anything she's proud of thus far, it will be the fact that of all the younglings she's Searched, not one of them has been left Standing yet.

Rather fittingly, and certainly because of that gentle firmness, Harlenth is one of the best for coaxing someone of a shyer disposition from their shell. She has a knack for knowing when to push and when to pull back, to slowly bring them out and show them that it's okay, or that it'll be okay, and that the world's not such a scary place to be in just because you struggle that little bit more to be noticed, or fear the repurcussions that might arise if you talk too much. It's okay to be a little different, you know, which she understands fairly well considering her size. You can be as you are, and only the people who really care for you matter. Because they don't judge you for that. Or try to trample you down. She's not exactly the loudest green about, or the fastest, or any such, but she does okay just being her, see? She's that little (or not) pillar of strength, mentally strong as well as physically, that small presence in the back of one's mind, waiting there until she's needed, and is rarely ever truly angered (in fact, C'tra can only name one occasion to date in which she's been furious outside of justification -- Flight and Fall don't count). Seemingly always at peace is Harlenth, and when she does get riled, one can assume that something is genuinely wrong.

clutch details: gold rennyth x bronze tutuarth -- Fort Weyr.

character name: N'tien.
character age: 38/Thirty-eight.
gender: Male.
sexuality: Heterosexual (flight flexible).
rank: Weyrlingmaster's Assistant.
play by: Sean Bean.
craft: Smithcraft.

appearance: N'tien is one of those men who is attractive not by the merit of his looks, but by the effusion of his character. He is a man who has carved a striking look for himself not through any good luck in the genetic lottery pool of what is pretty and jaw-dropping (seriously, his favorite cousin used to playfully call him Ugly One to tease, do you think he's drop-dead gorgeous?), but by the quirk of his mouth, the expression in his eyes, the long lines of sorrow and joy carved into skin, the crooked swiftness of a wide smile. Everything that makes N'tien interesting and not non-descript goes back almost entirely to character.

Standing at a nothing to sneeze at six foot, N'tien's bluff of looking big for a man comes more from how solid he is in stature. He's never not been all but made for his Craft, and while dragonriding has surprisingly leaned and toned him out rather than continued to bulk him up, he is still all broad shoulders and deep, barrel chest, the only real thinness to him the somewhat narrower, flatter contours of stomach and hips. Even then, it really only looks thinner in comparison to his upper half, and the rest of him below is much the same -- muscular, slightly bandy legs, not overtly long...just more suited and in touch with the reality of his actual build. Basically, he's never been slender or skinny and sharding well will probably never be so -- haven't you heard of the curse of the wherry legs when you do that?

That aside, the man is more or less what you might consider swarthy. To a degree, anyway -- his skin tone stops it from being completely that, for while he tans fairly well in Ista come the end of the hot season, N'tien is otherwise very fair in hue. Dark coppery hair that is greying just slightly at the temples and is shot through with rustic red lights in the height of summer brushes past his collar, and facial hair kept well-trimmed so as to avoid looking truly scruffy is a darker colour again, lending just a little more masculinity to what is, high cheekbones and age-creases aside, a round chin and a rather boyish look. Large brown eyes are deep set and broken only in their shadow by the whiskey-coloured lights in them...or more, the good humour, the expressiveness in them.

personality: N'tien is, more or less, what you might consider to be the epitome of your typical brown rider. A man both merrily sweet and sweetly solemn of face, a mixture of all that is both calm and warm, serious and yet wonderfully down-to-earth about...well, just about most things in life. He has long since learnt to accept things in life for what they are and work with them the best that a man can rather than sleep on them embittered, is a believer in there always being a calm after the storm as much as there is before the storm, and would rather concentrate on getting the bigger picture the right way up and in hand before worrying over the trivial little details.

That is not to say though, that the man is a fool. Maybe a little less observant than others, a little more faithful when it comes to Life than he should be, and he probably lets the kids (or to you and I, the Weyrlings) get away with a bit more than his colleagues (but you know, Good Cop, Bad Cop), but he's not an idiot. He's been there, and he's done that. All of it. Whatever you're plotting, he's probably a step ahead, because we've all been young once. In fact, the small details are the things that intrigue him after the bigger picture looks taken care of -- he wouldn't be a very good Weyrlingmaster's Assistant now, would he, if he wore blinders? Unless you consider that belief in working with what a man has as a set of blinders -- it's a bit of a hopeful notion, really, hoping for some kind of honour and integrity to be found in anyone and everyone, and that sheer acceptance of what is going on has cost him his heart and precious time at least once or twice in his lifetime. But that is, simply, what N'tien is gifted with -- he's a human being, a mortal, who believes in the good of others even...or perhaps especially when, they can't always see it in themselves. He has, like all of us, made mistakes...but unlike many of us, he tries not to dwell too much on them. Try to rectify them, maybe, even reflect upon them in future, but if he can't, then he'll just have to do what a man can with them -- it's a lesson he tries his best to pass onto his young charges.

Mind you, the man is not all light-hearted. Actually, when you first meet him, you might consider him to be the exact opposite. He's not what you'd call shy, but he doesn't go out of his way to lay his cards all out on the table either. He's a hec of a lot smarter than that, both in gut and in mind (particularly in the former), more or less good at playing the second-type and lingering nondescript and even in the background -- kind of like a big, solid shadow. He's warm-hearted but he's warm without acting impulsively if he can avoid it, and one might even call him rather cautious at times. Some may even find that first impression of calm off-putting -- nobody much likes it when a man isn't reacting to your digs or your jabs the way you think he ought, and what makes it more discomfiting still is that for all of that even, withering gaze, there is still a distinct something there that glitters amidst the steely look -- there is something there just that little bit more dangerous to deal with, and you're not getting it. Or maybe you do want to get to it, but you've rather got the impression that doing so is a pretty bad idea.

Which brings us back to that little tidbit before about him checking his impulsion if he can avoid it. N'tien is a man rather like frozen snow and the subsequent avalanche when it comes to his temper -- patient enough on good days, but push it long enough, yell loud enough, and you'll get what you came for. An avalanche. Like the cracking snow in the place of his birth is N'tien very wary of his temper, because it's brutal and entirely unforgiving. He's taken pains over all of his Turns to contain his temper to some effect, though the unfortunate side effect to that is that it will, eventually, probably be driven to cracking through it's veneer, and to devastating effect. He won't quite say he's gone so far as to kill a man, but his younger self definitely hurt at least one fellow man when he lost it, and even now, he's still got the sheer power in that stocky frame to lift you clean off your feet and hold you by the neck-scruff against the wall if you so happen to actually get that far in your negotiations with him. And even as it's quick to act are the effects slow to burn away -- once provoked, N'tien's grudge with you is in it for the long haul. It's not something he's proud of in the slightest, but it's a cruel reality.

This does, perhaps surprisingly enough, tap into one of his better qualities. Or perhaps it's not so surprising, considering the quickest in-road to N'tien's temper is even contemplating putting a hand on those he loves or in the least, considers under his care and jurisdiction. He is extremely protective of his own -- a considerate friend and a loyal wingmate (and wingman, amusingly enough), and a very devoted mate and lover. Some might say it's due to his Hold and Craft breeding, but the fact is is that if a dragonman could be the equivalent of the family man, then N'tien is it. He loves without reserve when he chooses to love and he does so deeply, in a way that might indeed last somewhere along with forever if you believe in those things, lest you break your bond with him yourself. You might think he'd be more careful with his heart with a disposition like that...and he kind of, maybe is. Or it may just be that unwavering loyalty that works in his favour there -- he's not going to go gallivanting off and giving his heart and mind away to you when he's in things for the long haul, and with a rather direct attention span to match, you're not likely to divert his attention away from what he already has/already wants unless you're really, really good. It's an interesting foil of sorts, almost an unconscious contradiction (hypocritical, even); he's all for the philosophy of just keeping on keeping on with life, but the reality is that if something made enough of an impression on him, it lingers. Even if it lingers only in the back of his mind.

Though it embarrasses him, N'tien is a terrible romantic -- the kind that believes in love having a say always at the end of the day, the boy who probably would have given you flowers and grass stains to boot when he picked them from the wild patches on the cliffs rather than bought them in the market (and probably a cut or seven you're going to need to dress for him) and the man who keeps old things he considers special to him, and not even thirty-eight Turns of life on the planet have changed that, nor is anything likely to ever change it. Somehow, by miracles we can only guess at, he has maintained that...well, not optimism, as he's not a fool and he has lived those thirty-eight Turns. It's more...an acceptance. That same acceptance that lets him get by with mistakes, and with working with what he has. Life is simply as it is, love is what it will be, neither of those things ask why, and rather than fight it, it's just kinder to go along with it and accept it as it comes, even if it hurts you.

history:  

Turn 1219. Neltien is born at the height of winter in the High Reaches, the second son of the Lord Holder and the first child to the young woman the man was dallying with at the time -- who just so happened to be the daughter of one of the Mastersmiths on Pern, and the niece of the local Journeyman Smith. Perhaps for this reason, or the own man's good will (or good sense, with a son before him), the High Reaches Lord Holder validates the boy's legitimacy...on the condition that he spends most of his childhood with his mother.

Turn 1220. The mother, Lanelli, brooks no issue with this -- a sensible enough woman to simply cut her losses and be happy enough that she even has what she got. Thus, the moment the snows break in the passes, she bundles her young son to her back and returns to her sire at the Smithcraft Hall, and little Neltien is treated to his first adventure through the sparkling melt of snow and the appearance of spring green -- a kind of environment he will develop a lifelong fondness for.

Turn 1225. Though childhood innocence has a way of accepting things for what they are, Neltien proves fairly early on in his life to be a level-headed, accepting kind of boy. That is not to say though that he is without his temper, and on the occasions it does flare up into a tantrum, it is something spectacular -- usually when he is feeling threatened by others or caged into something he doesn't want to do, or when he notices all too readily the attention his mother might receive off of adult men. Being a first-time mother, though, and a doting one, Lanelli doesn't quite know what it'll take to actually balance the good and the bad in the child, though the little lad certainly seems to pay mind to his grandfather on such occasions.

Turn 1226. Lanelli eventually marries, and to say little Neltien is pleased is about as bald faced a lie as you can get. He views the  encroachment of his new step-father as an invasion of sorts, as children sometimes do, perceiving it as a threat to his beloved little family more than he does the idea of an actual father. Thankfully, Uman is mindful enough not to foist his authority on the boy, and an uneasy truce develops for both their sakes and the sake of Lanelli.

Turn 1227. The uneasy truce steadily becomes something more like a friendship when Uman starts putting his step-son to work with him, taking note of the actual positives of the boy's strong stature and Neltien's intrigue with the hammer, though it takes him some time to teach the lad that it's a bit more than just bashing metal together. Once successful, though, Serelned finds a whole new world of intrigue and fun opened to him that he wasn't even aware he had, particularly in the art his step-father is proficient in -- engraving. Uman's interest and apparent (if admittedly affected) appreciation of the boy's help ultimately taps into little Ned's better nature, and by the time Uman has finished assisting the boy in making his mother a birthing day present on his own merits, they are firm friends, and Serelned even heeds the older man's words, enough so that he goes out of his way more to quell the nastier aspect of his temperament.

Turn 1228 -- 1230. Neltien's little half-sister, Ulaynel, is born. Ned immediately takes to her, a mark of how well his disposition has improved compared to the days in which he did not wish to share his mother at all. He is there every opportunity he can be, even if it involves changing the baby's soiled cloth or bathing her, and proves to be a more than adequate babysitter and boredom killer when the need calls. It is in the same Turn too that he calls Uman "Dad" for the first time -- something done completely by accident, but which ends up sticking, much to the poor man's joy. Neltien also officially becomes an Apprentice of the Smithcraft and moves into the Apprentice quarters a Turn later, though he is fortunate in that his family is not far away and he is able to still see his sister. Both sisters, actually, for in the same Turn does his mother give birth to Seleni.

Turn 1231. Lanelli gives birth to her final child and only blood son to Uman, Urellir. Neltien is fortunate enough to spend a couple of months with his new brother, but then the call comes through -- his father wishes him a fosterling at High Reaches Hold. Selrened has very little desire to go, and he does so only at the encouragement of his step-father and the promise that the Smiths stationed up in the High Reaches will continue his training. However, it is admittedly a move greeted with rancour regardless, as Ned finds out not a sevenday after arriving that dragons had been Searching at Telgar, and had already been through the High Reaches. Thus, he is on less than warm terms with his actual blood father than he might have been, as he's adamant he could be doing better things than loitering in the Hold.

Turn 1232. Despite his less than warm reception with his father, Neltien takes to his brother and the actual heir of the Hold surprisingly well. Farius is as good-natured as he, if quite a bit less cured of his spoilt streak, and when it becomes clear that his half-brother has very little interest in playing the part of threat to the heirdom -- as opposed to others -- the pair become quick friends and rouseabouting playmates, as boys tend to do. Ned also makes a good friend of one of the local boys, Caymino, and through Caymino's family, gets to know his siblings -- a sister he stubbornly, playfully refuses to call anything but her nickname, Cat, another sister, and another boy. Subsequently, they don't get on all that well at first -- both being young and various kinds of stubborn. But still, when he is not studying his Craft, Caymino's family becomes a balm of sorts against the sort of homesickness that may have otherwise plagued him.

Turns 1234 -- 1236 Neltien returns to finish his apprentice training and sit his exams. He returns in his seventeenth Turn to the High Reaches. And of all the things, falls in love with Cat  over the months. Unknowingly, the feeling has become mutual -- until Neltien breaks his leg, and is left to recuperate with Caymino's family, and Cat is one of his carers. During the time period, mutual confessions are made and they make love for the first time, despite the Holdbred expectation of waiting, though they manage to keep their new understanding discreet. Neltien genuinely does love her and promises he will marry her when the time is right, and he feels sure he can support her as he deserves once he has been in his position as Journeyman that little bit longer.

Turn 1237. During a travelling expedition to Nerat, Neltien and his old Master stop at Ista -- partly for a break, partly because his Master's eldest son has been Searched, and the man wishes to see his boy Impress. Subsequently, they attend the Hatching at Ista Weyr...and the boy does indeed Impress to a blue...but so does Neltien. The chubby brown dragonet refuses to have no other after sitting the entire Hatching out in a corner, and when he does figure it out and work out where the stairs are, he's perfectly willing to climb over soft human bodies and do himself a concussion to get to his rider. And as it is always, Impression cannot be denied or forgotten -- Neltien becomes N'tien, of brown Reoth.


Turn 1237 -- 1238. Now a weyrling, if an unintended one, Neltien is unable to return home directly. With what little time he has though, he writes messages and has them sent -- to his family, to his half-brother, and above all, to his promised lover. He learns his biological sire is less than pleased, but there is nothing to be done about it -- if N'tien was ever a prospect for inheriting Lordship of High Reaches Hold, it's far gone. He receives a response from the last, Cat, and they exchange letters here and there...but in a very limited fashion, due to the distance and...well, everything that has happened, as out of their hands as it was. Eventually, the letters peter out entirely, and while he knows he should know better, he continues to hope. But otherwise, he can only focus on his training.

Turn 1239. Reoth surprises everyone and catches his first green quite young, one of their fellow ex-weyrling mates. Poor N'tien is somewhat traumatised, honestly, as Craft morals do still linger a little despite a couple of Turns in the Weyr. It takes him some time to come around, but he gets over it eventually with his usual easy going aplomb.

Turn 1240. When they graduate, N'tien gains leave to visit first his family at the Smithcraft Hall, then the High Reaches. Their sire has since died in the recent months, so his brother is now Lord Holder. He visits his father's grave, but it is more out of respect than any abiding attachment. Then he learns that his lover has since in the two Turns not only married one of his other agemates who had his eye on her, but has also had a little baby, who is now just over two Turns old. Despite himself, and despite understanding the reality of it all, N'tien cannot bring himself to face her any longer, and he practically flee's the High Reaches to disguise his heartbreak. The Weyr, and his real life now.  

Turn 1240. When Reoth catches a green with a male rider a second time, N'tien is more accepting. And just lonely enough that the offer of additional companionship is too much to pass up. His relationship with the green's rider lasts a Turn and a half beyond the initial Flight, and while his heart still aches, it allows him to move on from his past. The relationship itself, when it fizzles out, remains surprisingly cordial.

Turn 1241.  Reoth and N'tien are victorious in one of the events held to keep rider skills up, and are promoted to Wingsecond at the end of the same Turn. Also in the same Turn is N'tien's firstborn child and son born.


Turn 1243. N'tien is left with burn scars down his right arm/shoulder/some of his neck when a hot pot of boiling numbweed is knocked over, though not before it landed on him. The burns end up infected and it is only through his own fit health and the work of the Healers on him that he likely survives, though the scars and the ruined skin will always remain. He is out for several months, though he spends several of those months looking into something else that has always been of interest -- looking after the younglings, or the weyrlings.

Turn 1244. After growing accustomed to her during his invalidation, N'tien enters a relationship with one of the women who helped the Healers nurse him back to health. This time though, he grows to genuinely adore the woman, allowing himself that small joy of loving another again. During the later months of the Turn, he transfers from his position as Wingsecond to Weyrlingmaster's Assistant.

Turn 1245. N'tien's daughter with his current lover, Serenio, is born. N'tien is absolutely smitten with her, and the feeling is mutual. He spends every spare moment he possibly can with her, even taking her with him despite the (mostly) good natured teasing when he is tending to Reoth/working on anything of the theoretical aspect in his job. Seroys Stands for his first clutch in the same Turn, but is unfortunately unsuccessful.

Turn 1254. N'tien receives news that his mother has died -- something he will forever regret, as not only is he unable to get to the funeral, he was not able to get there when she was ailing. It breaks his heart, and the subsequent grieving process begins to put cracks in his relationship with Serenio's mother.

Turn 1256. Reoth catches two greens within the Turn, and though this is only a niggling thing in the Weyr,  N'tien and Renna are more prone to arguing now when together than anything else, so the pair sadly call the relationship quits when Renna is called back to the Healercraft Hall. N'tien still remains close to Serenio, though, who has grown into a rambunctious, intelligent little girl -- the apple of her sire's eye even as Sanerys is the gem, and Reoth his soul.

Turn 1257. Now a Senior Journeyman Smith, Uman posts to the local area. N'tien is able to finally visit his mother's grave when Uman returns there himself early in the Turn, and is finally able to mourn properly for her. In the same Turn, Serenio becomes old enough to Stand at her first clutch and Sanerys Stands once more. In the subsequent earthquake that destroys the Hatching Caverns, both thankfully survive. As does N'tien, though his arm is broken during the chaotic event. But he is luckier than some -- some of the new weyrlings are proof of that, including one of his own young brown brothers, and he is immensely thankful for that.

adoptable family:

Sanerys -- 17 -- Candidate -- Ista Weyr -- son. (Would not have Impressed in the Emotional Clutch.)

[s]Serenio -- 12 -- Weyrbrat/Candidate -- Ista Weyr -- daughter. (Impression in the Emotional Clutch is up to the adopter.)[/s]



dragon: Reoth.
dragon age: 20.
dragon colour: Brown.
hex codes: chocolate

dragon appearance: Reoth is almost to a tee the stereotype of the fat kid grown into himself with maturity. That being said, he's still pretty darn chubby; he's always going to have that pudge to his gut, that soft roundness to parts of him that puts one in mind of a squishy biscuit, or maybe even that jolly old grandpa with a booming laugh and a dozen presents every Turnover. Or...you know, you could keep thinking of him as fat. Ned certainly does, in the absolute most affectionate way possible (most days).

Not that it's really all that bad -- yes, he's far from a dreamboat on wings, the scoundrel of every lady dragon's dreams. No, he can't balance himself out like some of his weyrmates have the fortune of doing -- if he is anything, he is going to be all sturdiness and endurance, slow-burning and moving along surely, not speedily. Actually, he can't balance it out at all -- he's slow as beetles trawling through the sands of Southern. Everything he does is done slowly, partly out of a sense of self-preservation, and partly because he doesn't have much of a choice; he's likely to break a bone, or knock himself out, if he tries any of that crazy shite some of his blue brothers do. But even as his limbs are short are they broad and hardy, his shoulders stocky, roped in hard-earned and very sternly maintained muscle to offset the roundness. In essence, you might say he's the draconic equivalent of a teddy bear, or just a bear -- soft and furry and round looking, but that layer of hibernation fat? It's hiding something, and it's something pretty darn alright. Useful, actually.

Otherwise, there's not much else you can really say about this particular big guy, be it for better or for worse. Well, you might say something about his colouring if you're, you know, a bit poetic...or like sweet things. Sweet foods, because even Reoth's colour seems to play to the brown dragon's round, squishy kind of look -- he's the colour of those creamy chocolate biscuits we all guiltily love to indulge in (kind of like how to this day, he still tries to fool Ned and indulge in a bit more of dinner on the sly), a smooshy warm blend of medium to dark brown all over, and throughout the very same, that lighter, almost white-ish creamy colour brown at it's absolute lightest is.

dragon personality: Here's the first thing you'll notice about Reoth -- he's everyone's friend, more or less. What N'tien might be if he were just a little less reticient, and more of what N'tien is once you get to know him...to an extent. Even then, once you've made that distinction, Reoth still poses more or less as the fuzzy-wuzzy angel of this particular pairing.

He's kind of like the warm blanket to go with the hot, creamy klah on a cold night -- never goes cold regardless of environment, whereas the klah kind of does. Some of you might like him more than others, some of you might like him less than the rest, but unless you're a particular breed of nasty jerkass, it's very hard to actively hate this particular dragon. Mostly because he's...so inclusive, for lack of a better term. To be judgmental is something that never really seems to cross his mind, and he'll be downright confused, offended even, if you accuse him of it. Again, because it quite literally never crosses his mind. Not consciously, anyway. Not ever, so far as he's concerned. He doesn't have a bad bone in his body, and that's not even exaggerating -- as if the bewilderment when you accuse him of nasty things didn't tell you enough.

As with most dragons, though, he's got his sore point -- N'tien. Upset the man, and you'll get the dragon, and unlike the man, the dragon see's no need to contain his temper when it's aroused. It's not quite what you'd call destructive, but if's a searing burn of a thing -- like hot klah spilling on your skin -- if you actually manage to rouse it. And there's another minor one -- giving his little weyrlings a hard time. He might scold them and chide them if only slightly less than his colleagues in the game of raising young dragonriders, but outside of that sphere? You're not allowed to. He'll defend them even if he was scolding one of them moments before, and be out to kick your arse to the best of his ability. Which...isn't all that terrifying, because he's not good at being nasty...but in this sense, it's probably more the shock of it that gets it by, because he's usually such an easy-going dragon.

One thing you can't fault Reoth on though is this -- his courage. It's not the brash, outgoing type, honestly. Nor is it the kind that'll have him go in all guns blazing to stand up for something right there and then; it's like N'tien as a whole, really, and might be the real reason the brown Impressed his rider so determinedly that day. It's the courage to endure, to quietly go on without cease, even when things go bad and even when one has been trodden down.

clutch details: Gold Evinith and Bronze Eryth --  Turn 1237

character name: W'lian.
character age: 32/thirty-two.
gender: Male.
sexuality: Heterosexual.
rank: Wingleader.
play by: Shin Koyamada.
craft: N/A.

appearance: W'lian, or rather, W'lian's family line, is what we could call a direct genetic throwback to the original Asian colonists - most likely those of Chinese or Malayan descent - though of course, nobody on Pern who is alive today would call it or know it as such.

W'lian breezes in at a trim six foot even in height - tall enough, but not overbearingly or uncomfortably tall. Skin the colour of polished cedarwood plays over a build that is hard with the life of a dragonrider of some Turns, and a certain meticulousness in maintaining a high level of fitness and a meditative nature passed down from his sire with the same subtelty as long, rangy limbs - from hands to feet - keeps him fit and swift of movement, lending the man a sort of grace to his movements that, combined with a sort of lean hungriness to his frame, can only be termed as cat-like.

Eyes that never miss a thing are set in a high-cheekboned, angular face, and only add to this sense of feline grace. The emphatic fold of his eyelids give Li's eyes a rather distinct, narrowed shape, though still wider than his original ancestors of Turns long past. Their most distinctive trait, though, is their colour - a dark hue that is literally black, so much so that unless one comes up extremely close to the bronze rider, even the pupil itself appears completely invisible, swallowed up by the rather unsettling, intractable obisidian depths, apparently entirely fathomless unless one of a perceptive nature looks closer. Then, and only then, might they see the spark amidst the black, the light in the dark that hints at a personality that is a great deal more than his reserved nature might give off.

If anything about his appearance breaks the mold of controlled and meditative, it is his hair. Though he does keep it tied back rather severely most days, one would find that when Li lets his hair down, so to speak, it is actually surprisingly long. Rook-black and straight, it falls with a sort of casual deliberateness to his shoulderblades, framing his face and parting sort of rakishly to one side of the centre of his forehead in an overly long fringe that he will, on occasion, peer out from under when he is in a particular mood, or moods. The scar slashing a thin, greyish line down the bone of his left cheek also gives a raffish air to the man's otherwise contained looks.

personality: On a more superficial, one-word sort of scale, W'lian is best described as this - mysterious. Mind, calling him that aloud would garner an interesting reaction --it's a pick between embarrassed incredulity and incredulous disgust -- dependent entirely on who's calling him out on it, too. Professionally, he is an open book - perhaps a trifle intimidating to the unknowing, but to his Wing, at least, completely willing to share with them and be spoken to about any number of matters in turn. His expectations of them are clear, and though high, his standards are no less than what he himself is capable as an efficient, well-trained, militaristic force to be reckoned with. He will readily go in to bat for any of his wingmates/subordinates if they in turn do well by him, and appears almost protective of them. This is mimicked in his ways of leadership and fighting; he is calm and quick-thinking, slow to anger (though rather quickly irritated by what he thinks is the deliberately foolish or the pretentious), and while he's not unreasonable, it's difficult to make him yield in the decisions he makes once they're made, whether it's in the air or on the ground.

Otherwise, though, the man is a closed book. The apparent epitome of tall, dark and mysterious, he is stubbornly unyielding when it comes to divulging his deepest thoughts and feelings, preferring to keep his own council on personal matters and plans. He is the dark shadow in the room, quiet and soft-spoken, the apparent wall-flower that might say very little, but see a great deal more than people might like anyone to see. He is entirely unforgiving of foolishness or pretentious arrogance, as while he himself is not without his own hauteur, he is not blinded by any sense of his own importance. Shrewd and calculative is what he is too, and  at his worst, W'lian is almost predatory in his ability to recognise talents and failings, and he's had long enough to put a honing edge to that. So too is he scarily patient; he could hold onto a notion or a grudge or a thought for Turns before he finds the moment to use it against his betrayer, and with age, he's cultivated the distinct ruthlessness needed to do so. Ruthlessness is also the word to describe his attitude when it comes to the Weyr -- a ruthlessness borne of love, but ruthlessness none the lest. He's got goals, and the ambition to do them, if only he be given a reason, an opportunity, to break from reticience in a way that won't absolutely sabotage what he's already worked for, and those around him that he cares for. But the Weyr...it's the place of his birth, the place of his entire life as he knows it, really, and he's been forced to watch it slide downhill for far too long.

In short, he's a man you'd probably prefer on your side.

And yet, to call him absolutely cold-hearted or cruel is...well, it's just not true. And you'll know it, when you know him, or you so happen to catch him in the right kind of situation. It is necessary, after all, especially in the world everyone now lives in, and especially in the position one finds themselves in as a bronze rider, to cultivate a certain watchfulness, a sense of ruthlessness and a perceptiveness. For W'lian of bronze Xieth to be successful and safe and master of himself, W'lian of bronze Xieth has to be all of the above things. But even as he is all of those things are those things only one layer among many, as it is with everyone.

W'lian himself is, not surprisingly watchful and guarded with his innermost feelings, more likely to attribute butterflies to indigestion and giddiness to a lack of nourishment, but he is hardly without them. He knows love and kindness, honour and loyalty, and it shows in the way he looks after his wingmates, those he cares for. Gentleness, too, is a trait one will find in the man. Not gentleness in the literal sense of the word, or in the sense of pure softness -- but it's most certainly there, again in the way he treats those under his care, and the way in which he might do something as simple as hold open a door for a woman, or give his chair up for a pregnant lass, or in the way he will give someone overladen with any number of things a hand without complaint, or even, and most amusingly, in the way he will humour small children if they come too close. Even young weyrlings and candidates aren't entirely exempt from that, if they approach him -- perhaps a touch more reticience if you were an infant, but not much more.

One might say too, and be most amused by this, that W'lian is shy. Which he was, as a child, and still is, in some ways; he's considerate and kind, yes, and more likely to attribute any sort of emotion pertaining to attraction or attachment as a physical malady, but were he to ever feel such things, or Faranth forbid, flirt with more intent than merely seeking a bed partner (or fall in love, not that he'll tell you that), he'd probably backpedal mentally quicker than a herdbeast with a dragon on it's tail, possibly even tripping over his words before he just decides to dive back into his shell and clam the hec up again entirely. His gentleness is, obviously, something he's tried to put more of a stamp on as he's gotten older, and has obviously managed to do so with age and experience. Inherited from his dam, though, it is still very much a part of who he is underneath. Less so is the uncertainty he once carried with youth, and though he still prefers to stay quiet and observe, gouge a situation out before he leaps in too fast, and is forever soft-spoken in tone, he is no longer afflicted with that indecision of youth. Unless he did happen to get involved emotionally...then it would most definitely rear it's ugly head once more. It's not something he can control quite so methodically, after all, and in a kind of pitiful way, it actually distresses him a little. Because there's a distinct directionlessness to it.

All that aside, W'lian's greatest traits, when narrowed down, are his sense of loyalty,  and his dry humour. The latter makes him forever ready with a droll observation or a murmured wry quip, even if he keeps it only to Xieth, or his Wingsecond, or the man next to him in a meeting. His last and best prominent trait, of course, is his loyalty. If it isn't obvious already, W'lian's sense of loyalty permeates his entire personality; he will do anything and everything if others do right by him, and it shows, from the way he treats his wingmates to his is rather noticeably dedicated attentiveness to his young daughter, despite weyrbreeding, and of course, his devotion to Xieth. However, he is completely unforgiving if he is slighted or betrayed. In fact, it's probably also a weakness; it means once betrayed or manipulated and knowledgeable of it, he is borderline impossible to convince in the face of giving a second chance or another option.


history:  

Day 10, Month 5, Turn 1225. Wulian is born the son of W'fei of bronze Shenloth and Sallian of green Weicith. The birth follows several miscarriages between Wulian's birth and that of his elder sister, and is long and exhausting for mother and son, but both survive.

Day 12, Month 1, Turn 1233. Wulian, or Li as he is affectionately called, passes his childhood in the Weyr as most do -- he is fostered, though his mother is doting whenever she visits, and he grows to love her dearly. He is a quiet boy, but not unkind -- meaning that while he is a fair friend when he makes them, he has some difficulty in doing so, and often takes to copying the more outgoing and less stupid of his agemates in an attempt to learn better, taking note of their behaviours and emulating and discarding those behaviours as he see's fit. This shyness does make him the target for bullies, but he ultimately makes a couple of close friends to enjoy the company of, and for the added protection where ignoring the tormentors would fail. Nonetheless, the bullying of the slender little lad is just enough to set in him the lingering resolve quite young -- to show the little bastards.

Day 8, Month 1, Turn 1236. Li is allowed to visit Ista Hold with his mother. It is here that he has a less than warm encounter with another boy, and learns for the first time just what the attitude is becoming towards the Weyrs of Pern. It is this encounter that starts a genuine dislike for a large majority of the Holder sort.

Month 2, Turn 1242. Sallian is struck down with illness during the last phase of the cold season, and it ultimately kills her. Wulian feels the loss deeply, enough so that he is set to refuse the opportunity he has to Stand now that he is old enough.

Month 5, Turn 1242. Thankfully, he is convinced otherwise, and it proves to be both in good time and an absolute blessing for the boy. For without fail or error does he Impress, and Impress to the only bronze hatched of the clutch of Turn 1242 -- bronze Xieth.

Turn 1242 -- Turn 1244. While the Impression does him well and was made well, the pair  are not without their hiccups in the beginning. Li, now W'lian, still hurt over the loss of his mother, and while devoted to him and given the opportunity, matched well, Xieth's personality makes it difficult for the bronze to simply understand the sadness of it and, quite frankly, why they can still not just get on with it. It affects the pair enough that they are ultimately brought to the Weyrlingmaster's attention, if they weren't there already as the only bronze of the group. With between training to follow none too soon, the man spends time (and not a little bit of rough love) with them relentlessly until the kinks are ironed out, and the pair become completely open with one another. The effect in the sevendays following is gradual, but ultimately something to behold, and by the end of their training, Xieth and W'lian are a unit to take note of, with all the makings of the force to be reckoned with that they will become.

Turn 1247. Though still young and as yet unpromoted in the ranks, the pair attempt to fly Evinith. They ultimately fail, and Li is left frustrated and aggrieved by both the failure and the reality he is now subject to -- the decline of the Weyr, and the subservience to the Lord Holder of Ista. However, the pair is given some consolation, as their hard work pays off and they are promoted to Wingleader in the same Turn -- one of the younger pairs in some time.

Turn 1249. Evinith Rises again. However, the pair are unable to join the chase, as Li comes down with, of all things, a stomach virus, and while Xieth could still have flown, it is a sign of how far they have come as a bonded pair that the dragon has no wish to do so while his rider is ill. However, Xieth catches the green dragon bonded to a rider Li has been friends with for some time, bonding over reading and researching in the Records Room. Surprisingly to some, especially as the other rider is a man, Li develops a comfortable relationship with him, one that will last several Turns and even the course of those Flights where Xieth does not catch Neith.

Turn 1252. Despite a comfortable relationship of some Turns, Li's relationship with his green weyrmate begins to cool and peter out, partly due to time elapsed, but also due to several other factors -- particularly Li's almost constant time spent away with his own Wing (now one of only three left), and the attempts to catch Evinith. Most of all though is it the differing beliefs between them -- W'lian believes Thread will fall and that the increasing clutches are proof of this and what needs to be done that isn't being done, whereas L'ven is skeptical, regardless of his own frustrations with the Weyr's decline and subservience. Li does his best to salvage the relationship, but when Neith is caught by another twice in a row and L'ven shows little of the distress he used to, the bronze rider is forced to conceed that the relationship is sadly over.

Turn 1253. Xieth flies to chase Evinith again, but is unsuccessful once more, partly due to Li's lack of enthusiasm in that particular Turn. It is a Turn of tumultuous emotion for them -- W'fei dies, and Shulian is born, the result of a fling with one of the girls in the Lower Caverns. Though not particularly close to the former, W'lian held him in good stead, and though he knows he shouldn't grow particularly close to the latter, W'lian cannot help but be enchanted by the stubborn, cuddly little thing that looks a great deal like himself.

Turn 1256. Though unsuccessful once more in breaking the apparent bond between Evinith and Worseth, this clutch yields a new queen -- further proof, in Li's eyes, that Thread is coming. He is not completely indifferent, tempting as it initially is, and keeps something of a surreptious eye on the new gold and her rider. If nothing else, he is amused at the vindication of the situation when he learns that Illisa is Seothir's eldest daughter, though he can't help but admire the young lass's methodical nature, either.

Turn 1257. Xieth does not chase Evinith this Turn, though the disappointment of this is fast forgotten in the wake of the old Weyrwoman's sudden death, a shock dampened only by the clutching of another queen egg before Evinith goes between. Li is among those most vocal for the Candidate age to be expanded, as at the present and under the control they are currently under, the Weyr really has very little to lose. He hears too of the growing appearance of the little firelizards, and though he allows his own wing members to seek them on occasion and tolerates amiably his daughter's enthusiasm for them, he himself does not actively seek them out.


adoptable family:
Safeia of green Lenorth -- Wingrider -- Impressed Turn 1242.

Shulian -- Weyrbrat -- age 5 (will NPC until someone takes interest in her!)



dragon: Xieth.
dragon age: 15/fifteen.
dragon colour: Bronze.
hex codes: 330000

dragon appearance: While certainly not the largest by means of sheer height or musculature, Xieth is, without a doubt, one of the swiftest of the current batch of bronzes in the Weyr.  Everything about him is stream-lined and sleek, designed entirely for speed and dexterity, from the long legs to the limber, long head, to the hard, wiry muscle layering a limber bone structure.

That is not to say, though, that he is a physical pushover. While narrow, his chest is deep, and his nostrils large and concave, both attributes that tell an experienced eye immediately that this dragon is more than capable of taking in what is needed to keep himself going for long periods of time, and the lean, wiry structure hides a formidable, equally wiry strength. And of course, his wings, which even to the unexperienced eye, are large (almost overly so, for such a frame, and often the bane of his existence as a gawky hatchling). Combined with an exceptionally long, whippy tail, he is certainly capable of greater endurance than his smaller frame would otherwise give the impression of, and not afraid to use it however he needs to.

Even devoid of his limber frame and haughty bearing, Xieth would be distinguishable purely by the shades inherent in his scales.  If he's not the swiftest of them all, he's certainly the darkest in the Weyr for the present. An artistic imaginative type might refer to him as 'the calm before the storm', which is, to be fair, an accurate enough description, for Xieth's hide is indeed a mixture of heavy, ominous dark, more deep copper and gritty bracken casting shadows in the dark, broken only by the shades of pearly-greenish sheen (mostly on his wings and his tail) reminiscent of the lining about the clouds with every attempt the sun has made to break through before the coming storm before it completely swallows it up.

Mention should also be made, or rather, furthered upon, of the way Xieth carries himself. In Flight, he is predictably swift and dexterous, quick to act and react, and faster than most of his larger brothers to indulge in acrobatics to get himself out of a spot, though certainly not as fast as the majority of his chromatic siblings. On the ground, however, it shows clearly that despite the oddness of it, his long, almost gangly limbs give him an advantage, in that he is capable, so long as he goes no faster than a slow trot, of walking with only a little of the awkward hop-skip dragons are known for. It also serves to add credence to his bearing in general, in particular, the natural hauteur he gives off, be it in the deliberate way he cocks his head, or the way he sets his feet on the ground.


dragon personality: Like his rider, Xieth does, on first impression, fit the description of 'dark and mysterious', though perhaps not to much the 'tall' bit, obviously. Quiet and seemingly somber on occasion, he is surprisingly private for a dragon, preferring to keep his own council lest he is in battle and even less inclined to share gossip. In fact, he almost appears to disdain gossip, despite the fact that for the most part, dragons appear to enjoy nothing more than a good gas-bag amongst themselves. Though he may listen, he rarely speaks unless spoken to, or giving out a directive, an order, or relaying a message at W'lian's behest, and for the most part, appears rather docile, even apathetic at times, to the ignorant or unknowing eye.

Or he would appear docile, at any rate, if there wasn't a particular air about him that portrays this particular bronze as anything but. If one takes the time to admire the dragon beyond a fleeting glance, they will not only find the dark colouration of his hide striking (if a tad unnerving), but so too the calculated grace in his movements, the glitter in narrowed eyes. On a lighter note, it could be called watchful, observant, both traits Xieth certainly possesses; he has picked up W'lian's habit of observing body language (or as best as a dragon can do so), a habit that serves him very well in his position as a Wingleader's dragon.

On a darker note, Xieth could be termed predatory. Not that he goes about hiding in dark corners and attacking unsuspecting victims, but there is certainly no other way of describing his machinations as the very same word used to describe felines on the hunt. Perhaps not surprisingly, there is a certain ruthlessness to his nature that his rider otherwise lacks with his gentler disposition, though in turn has Xieth needed to draw upon his rider's own cleverness, as like with most dragons, Xieth's intelligence, no matter how well regarded, still clings somewhat to practicality and structure. But it is this that has matched them well, and this entirely, that has helped carry his rider to the position he is now, for Xieth is harsh where W'lian may be less so, and certainly more than willing to tread on what and where he needs to to achieve an end when roused. At the same time, though, this ruthlessness is something of a character flaw; it makes Xieth rather prone to forgetting the basic empathy that may be needed to deal with others, particularly the sensitive, and coupled with blindingly brutal honesty, it is certainly possible that Xieth can and will offend SOMEONE'S sensibilities at some point during a sevenday. Unfortunately, he tends to simply not care enough to be bothered by it, though thankfully, he is not so arrogant that he might pull rank to shut a complainer or an injured party up. He'll simply ignore them. This is perhaps his other problem; he may ignore a problem purely because it annoys the living jeebers out of him, rather than fix it.

clutch details: Turn 1242 -- Gold Evinith and Bronze Worseth.


type: Firelizard.
name: Nǚshì
age: Hatchling.
colour: Green.
hex code: #355315

appearance:



This little lady is small and delicate. She is a lovely shade of green with darker stripes running across her hide. Soft to touch and with a subtle cinnamon scent she is a lovely little thing to have nearby.

Size when grown:
Length 14 inches
Height 12 inches
Clutch Sizes 3 to 6 eggs

personality: Very much a lady. Loves to be made a fuss of, loves food and is often caught stealing. This little lady has a fixation with anything shiny. Not the most honest of flits and will be a terror to stop from stealing.

what would you like to have happen to this character if you must leave? If it's only for a stint of time, hopefully nothing. But if I am absolutely leaving, then it's cool to put him as inactive if he's not too involved in things. If he is, I'm happy to work with the Admin for a viable solution. :3

character name: Rhaego.
character age: 12.
gender: Male.
sexuality: Heterosexual.
rank: Candidate/Apprentice.
craft: Beastcraft.
playby: Boo Boo Stewart.

appearance:  When it cames to Rhaego, there is absolutely no doubt in your mind as to who sired the boy. Everyone talks about looking like one parent or another, or even looking like both, but Rhaego quite literally is what his father might have once been at the same age, from colouring to sizing to build and right down to the manner in which he might cock his head this way, or lean on one foot more than the other another way.

Already tall for his age at five foot three, though still small enough to get up into high nooks and crannies when he's out adventuring, he's already showing signs of a frame that is naturally muscular, though it's more athletic than it is actual bulk -- partly because yes, he's still young, and also because he more or less runs here, there and everywhere given the opportunity. It's an interesting combination made when you really look at it -- signs of muscularity, which he holds quite well, but still just a bit skinny and a bit long legged. Not so much like a canine puppy as a young runner yearling, really, though maturity might help him grow into that a bit, just as it does with aforementioned runners.

Despite his birth heritage being that of Fort Weyr, Rhaego is naturally olive of skin, a colouring which has steadily darkened to a burnished mahogany over the Turn he's spent in Ista Weyr. Straight black hair kept long enough to fall into his eyes and over his cheeks be brushed away just as irritably are matched in darkness by the shape and hue of his eyes -- dark enough so that they appear the colour of flinty coal and pitch, but large and oval and thus giving the appearance of innocence, save the bright gleam of mischief, of a wicked intelligence never quite able to be hidden away.

If there's anything that is entirely Rhaego's own (or perhaps some of the mother he never really knew, but mostly his own), it's his smile. The darkness of his looks does lend something of a solemnity to him at times, a kind of forbidding air when there's a glower or a frown creasing his brow...but it's entirely changed over when the lad smiles -- wide and bright and uninhibited and dimpled and just so purely genuine, even when he's being cheeky, that you can't help being infected by it.

personality:  Rhaego's the one in the group that you just know is going to end up one of two things, depending on how you handle him -- an absolutely devoted little liege lord and a solid ally...or a defiant nightmare and blazingly bent on being the bane of your existence, a rebel taking your metaphorical castle down bit by bit until all descends into madness and he storms his way into the keep. He's everything that's fearless despite his young age -- very little frightens him, and he'll try anything once, whether it's wading into a melee with only half an idea of what's actually going on, or taking the time to sit up on high and figure out just that, before descending on whatever's going on...it really depends on his mood on any given day. You can depend on one thing, though; he's utterly predictable when it comes to courage, and while not what you'd call reckless or stupid, he's just cocky enough, just fearless enough and not yet old enough or experienced enough to recognise impulsivity for the danger it can be. Which makes him utterly predictable in that if you make something into a dare, or a challenge (or an impugnity on his own honour or the honour of what he considers *his), he's absolutely going to take the bait.

It's not to say that such fearlessness is all a bad thing, though. Rhaego is, while suspicious of company he percieves as company robbing him of what is *his*, not shy. Not in the slightest. Never has been. And that's what makes him a good little liege in the group; he will absolutely take charge if he needs to, even if it's just in a game, and he'll do it without being consciously prodded to do so. And when he does, he does it surprisingly well, displaying a kind of thoughtfulness that he's probably picked up from his father, though it's kind of a thoughtfulness of his own -- more an ability to think outside the box than actual standard intellect, a capability for strategising that with age and maturity and a proper hand guiding him, will manifest into something to be highly valued wherever he ends up in the world. He lacks the fear of what others will think of him, and he's got his own kind of charisma to him all the way down to that cute, engaging smile of his which helps soften any sting that might be caused over him being that little bit bossy, that little bit determined for things to go his way. The problem is, of course, is that it's a bit inconsistent at the age he's currently at -- you see glimpses of it, brilliant glimpses, but it's not consistent. He's still so very young, after all, and feelings and instinct always outweigh the logic of the mind in even the most stoic of children, something which Rhaego is not. He's fearless and he's determined and he's impulsive and absolutely, utterly infuriated by the idea of being bullied, and he needs a firm hand to guide him.

The problem is, is knowing just how firm you need to be. Or rather, the right kind of firmness you need to be, because you can guarantee that if you get it wrong, he'll so utterly stonewall you that you'll never get back whatever leeway you had over him. He's the kind of personality that responds well enough to criticism if you put it to him honest and right, and constant reinforcement that'll keep him on his toes and stop him from wandering off into less stellar situations will work eventually. However, sheer bullying and force? Wishy-washying and passive-aggressive? The latter will earn you disdain and quite possibily a punch in the face, and the former will earn you absolute, pure defiance. Punishing with physical force will only make him grit his teeth all that harder, and he'll end up dropping where he stands and making himself sick before he gives in and begs for your mercy. Purely for the sake of showing you up, though if nothing else, you definitely can't fault the kid for being resilient as all sharding hell.

Defiant streak aside, Rhaego's actually not a bad lad. Actually, he's quite a lovely lad to be around, if you're not antagonising him to the point of all the aforementioned. He's actually quite a cheerful kid, affectionate and willingly so (if also extremely prone to jealousy, especially when it comes to sharing what he's possessive of...his family in particular, and his father's pride/attention, both the one thing that can get him to shrink and shiver like a whipped pup in shame when he's getting high-handed or naughty), and is generally pretty happy in demeanour -- as quick to forgive and forget as he might be to retaliate, always ready with a laugh on his lips, not prone to holding a grudge, and extremely curious about the world around him. He wants to know a little bit about everything if he can, and considering how direct he is about it when he gets bored, it's a pretty surefire guarantee that if he shows interest in what you're doing, than it's absolutely genuine and he really wants to know how it works, or what it is you're making. He'll even do "girl" things if he's intrigued enough, and it's not uncommon to actually find him sitting on a bench in the Kitchens, stirring a bowl of mix for one of the women and asking cheerfully what's in it...even guessing and turning it into a game, if he's in a particularly playful mood. Mind you, that might have something to do with the fact that it's food involved right there -- the lad is ridiculously attached to food even by the standards of a teenager, though that might have something to do with his ridiculously stupid metabolism, too -- the kid quite literally never stops moving, unless he's in the most dead of sleeps.

history:  

Turn 1245. Rhaego is born as most weyr children are, the result of a flight encounter between a brown rider and a green rider. Unlike most, though, the babe is lucky enough to have the attention of both of his parents -- his mother willing to raise him almost entirely on her own, or as best she can between her rider duties, and Dr'go, his father, taking a particular shine to the tow-haired little boy.

Turn 1246. Not more than a couple of months into Rhaego's life though does his mother and her green tragically pass, and despite his best efforts, Dr'go is forced to hand his son over to a woman of the weyrfolk. Yet he makes an endeavour to have the woman live close by in his and Ellandonth's own Weyr, so that Rhaego might still be close by.

Turn 1248. As such, the lad would grow up knowing his father from the outset, and knowing him well at that. Idolising him from an early age above all others, and with a fierce protectiveness of that heroic idolysm that would get him in to more than one scuffle. Not that this stopped young Rhaego from forming his own personality, though, and he did both that and proved to be quite the little independent from a young age -- scarpering off on chubby little legs the minute he knew how to use them, and even before then, crawling as fast as he could in whichever opposite direction he was headed. And before even that? Rolling, dragging himself around and past Ellandonth on his little butt, whatever he had to do. Even hide and seek, if he didn't want to be found -- even if it was a bit redundant to go and try hiding somewhere on your sire's own dragon.

Turn 1253. Showing an interest in the same Craft his sire once knew, Rhaego asks to and is eventually, if not with some reluctance, apprenticed to the Beastcraft Hall at age nine. The hard work is thankfully something that proves completely to be his element, as it keeps the energetic (and yes, just a little spoilt) lad genuinely interested and busy during the day, and too exhausted to get up to no good at night. Mind, it doesn't stop him finding occasions to get up to mischief, and he gets into trouble more than once for a prank here or a tree climbing there...ironically proving even then, too, that solid, rocky defiance that would have him hurt himself before he gives in to mercy.

Turn 1254. Rhaego meets Tick-tock, or Tickers, as he calls him. The battle of wills between stubborn boy and stubborn runner that follows proves to be incredibly long and drawn out, but after several occasions of being dumped flat on his bum by the clown-painted pony (which causes not a little blow or two to his pride), Rhaego learns his new runner and learns to respect him, and the partnership blossoms. Though not, of course, without it's squabbles here and there -- two very like-minded individuals, after all, but his work with Tickers is something the young boy is ridiculously and justifiably proud of, and is quick to show to his sire the next time he see's him/writes to him.

Turn 1256. When Rhaego learns that his father intends to move to Ista Weyr, he's not quite sure what to make of it at first. Not having been to Fort Weyr for several Turns now though proves it much easier for him to accept, and when he visits Dr'go during that initial move to Ista, he's pleasantly surprised by the local environment and how it's both enjoyable for him and he's well-suited to it, despite the heat. He spends a couple of months there with his father and learning his new home, before returning to the Beastcraft Hall.

Turn 1257. Said return proves to be rather pointless, though, as Rhaego returns to the Weyr early the next Turn -- eligible to Stand due to his weyrbrat status, but ironically Searched anyway by a green and her male rider on a visit to Keroon. Surprisingly, he declines going straight away, preferring to make the journey that would allow him to bring Tick-Tock with him, of whom he has become ridiculously attached. He causes some fuss when he finds the mostly empty nest of eggs during a beach exploration that hatches him the brown firelizard he calls Riddick, though once it's done, there's nothing for it but to let it be. He goes on to Stand at the next Hatching, but whether he might have Impressed or not at that particular Hatching is never discovered -- the earthquake hits, and several of the eggs are crushed. Rhaego himself is injured, though not fatally, thankfully -- a broken wrist and a concussion that initially knocks him out cold during the 'quake, but is fixable enough that he is brought around by the Healers in the aftermath, though he is watched carefully for several days after -- for once a little more solemn and dubious of demeanor than he's wont to have been previously.

adoptable family: N/A.

[s]Dr'go of brown Ellandoth -- 37 -- Rider -- Played by Loki[/s]

type: Firelizard.
name: Riddick.
age: Several months.
colour: Brown.
appearance: Long-limbed and lean even at birth, Riddick is growing into what will be one of the biggest browns you'll get, and possibly the biggest seen around the Weyr. He is well proportioned for his size though, with wide, balanced wings and a long, limber head and tail, and a deep chest...though he's admittedly a bit bandy legged, and will always walk with a kind of waddle to him -- meaning he infinitely prefers flying, or lazing across a pair of shoulders...less embarrassing that way.

His hide is a shade of dark tan, kind of sallow in hue, with the only break being the lighter colouring of his muzzle. And his eyes. Big, pale, staring eyes, kind of discomfiting when they're open...which thankfully isn't too often, considering the amount of time the big little guy sleeps whenever the opportunity arises.


personality: Riddick's kind of contrary, though not necessarily in an obnoxious way. On one hand, he makes a brilliant guard when you can rouse him -- doesn't seem to miss a thing, and is endlessly watchful when provoked into doing so, putting those over-sized eyes to good use. Thankfully (for you, if he see's you doing something bad), he doesn't seem too inclined towards being a tattler.

Which is a sharding good thing, because in all honesty, Riddick is devilishly smart. It's just...he's also kind of lazy. You know that genius bruiser, or that lazy genius we've all met at some point? That's him. He won't fight for anything unless he has to, and never goes deliberately out of his way to cause noise and chaos. He'd much rather curl up wherever's comfortable, or laze across a pair of shoulders. He's a little dense at times, which really seems to be part of his devilish common sense -- acting dense keeps you out of things, and means he can pretend with what he hears and doesn't hear. And frankly, while it takes a long time to arouse, he's sure as shards got a streak to him -- a viciously demonic streak that's slow to flare and as slow to quiet down once it's roused, especially when it concerns playing Rhaego's watcher. Which he is, of course, so you'd best sharding well keep your nose out of the boy's business, or the firelizard will make it less than worth your time.

type: Runnerbeast.
name: Tick-Tock/Tickers.
age: Fourteen.
colour: Piebald.
appearance:




personality: Tick-tock, or Tickers, actually isn't Rhaego's in the true sense of the world -- he's just the runner that was picked and Rhaego was allowed to take with him when he went back to the Weyr for a visit...who's just so happened to still be with him now that he's been Searched. He'll go back eventually, he swears. Maybe.

Maybe. Truthfully, it'd be a sad and reluctant parting if it did happen, because Tickers is a robust, gutsy, sure-footed gelding, absolutely unafraid of anything or anyone, but thankfully just old enough so as not to be stupid about things, which works well when you've got a rather hot-headed young 'un in your charge. It took a couple of dumpings square on the bum before Rhaego got the plucky, chubby runner's respect, but truth be told and now that's all sorted, you probably would be hard pressed to find a runner that Rhaego's bonded better to.

what would you like to have happen to this character if you must leave? Same old. See my other characters for that!