Character Name: Galeia
Age: 18
Sexual Orientation: Bisexual
Craft/Rank: Weyrbrat / Candidate / Apprentice Harper
History: Galeia was born in the lower caverns of Benden Weyr, the daughter of some brownrider’s tryst with a healer. She knew both parents, but their relationships were distant. She might eat with her father when she saw him, and her mother might buy her a hair bow once in a while, but usually she had as little interest in her parents as they had in her. Galeia was raised like most weyrbrats – with a kind but no-nonsense fostermother and many playmates like herself. She grew into an observant, quick-witted adolescent, and learned to enjoy the company of the teaching Harper more than her fellows. It wasn’t long before she garnered a love for music as well and set her ind to getting an instrument so the Harper could teach her to play. For the first time, she sought out her father begged one thing in place of the parenting he never gave. Whether out of guilt or simply to get the girl out of his hair, the brownrider bought her a guitar, and she took to learning it with gusto. When puberty reached her, a teenager’s spite soon followed and she began resenting her mother for giving her up so to a foster mother. Unlike her father, the woman didn’t even have a dragon as an excuse. Life went on, but when she became old enough to Stand... she didn't, choosing to focus on her craft instead and put off dragons. In her mind, it was better to pause her studies when she was older and a turn or two of delay wouldn't put her as far behind. She began Standing at seventeen, and practiced her instrument and singing diligently in her free time. Her Candidacy has delayed her learning record keeping and other vital skills, but her musical signature and skill with her instrument has matured. Perhaps because she finds her work soothing, or else because she rarely sees her parents anymore, she’s begun to lay her resentment for her mother to rest after many pronged turns of antagonism. While she thinks the woman is silly and stupid as a wherry, she’d giving hate to rest for a tired sort of lenience.
Description: Galeia inherited much of her father’s looks. Tight curls make a black froth of her hair, and she possesses high cheek bones, arched brows, and a small curved mouth. Her delicately boned frame would make her look elfin were it not coupled with her long, lanky frame, flat chest, and supple muscles. Instead, she seems more feline and prowling. Her eyes are large and dark but kept inexpressively blank. Very rarely does emotion seem to reach her eyes, and she would have an alien sort of beauty if she learned to keep her scowls and sickly grins to herself – or at least make them less unattractive. While she also garnered fashion sense from her mother, she does not often implement it, instead choosing simple clothes that don’t bind or restrict movement. In Benden’s colder climes, her distaste for excessive cloth often leaves her chilled, but she seems to prefer cold to discomfort, as if the two didn’t overlap.
Personality: A girl apart, a girl judging, a girl scheming, a girl loving but reserved. Galeia is a weyrbrat that lives in Benden’s lower caverns like a self-proclaimed, half-fledged oracle. She is usually withdrawn from her peers to practice her instrument, but she is interested in people. She likes watching them, listening to them, hearing out their complaints and fears and hopes, and playing advisor to anyone she is senior to in rank or years. Why? Because Galeia is a girl of indescribably strong will and confidence, and she is, of course, more mature and sensible than most people. She’s absorbed her foster mother’s no-nonsense attitude and is accustomed to looking after younger children, to the point that she assumes most people less mature than herself until they prove themselves equal.

She might never find someone ‘superior’ though. She is too full of her own over-confident opinions for that. She does respect rank though – as long as it makes those who have it easier to handle, but she doesn’t really ‘listen’ to the advice of others, as she prefers doling it out. Her ego is such that if you were to ask her, she would say she hasn’t Impressed because she does very well on her own and does not need a dragon. If one comes to her, it will either be equally self-sufficient or need her. The advantage is that she’s not very bothered over her lack of Impression (having a trade that she loves waiting doesn’t hurt), but when she does voice her haughty opinions, she can rub people the wrong way.

She has a great love for those trod upon and abused, and is quick to really to the defense of underdeogs. Either by advising them to strength or helping in their battles, she takes true comfort in helping others in need. Still, her ego keeps her from sharing the weight of her own troubles. One day, the burden might catch up with her.
Other: This is quite subject to change, but presently I do not want Galeia to Impress. I want her to experience Candidate life, but right now I’m enjoying her musical focus.

Also, I need somewhere to put this, so here. Tis a song Galeia has written about the recent meta-events.
Having tuned her guitar moments before coming to the room, she sat quietly, head bent over a still instrument. Silence gathered around her and spread outward like a cloying mist. She picked out a gentle refrain and her voice slipped through the surface of the hush, smooth and without splashing.
“Watch the weyrs of northern clime.
Listen to the thrumming queen.
Ere the troubles of these times…”
Her voice fell to a low alto’s range and the music hummed on a single plucked string.
“Rob the world of life and green.”
Her voice lifted again, but achingly, and the tune grew drawn and lingering.
“See her clutch bring blue and brown.
The sweetling greens are all abound.
But where the gold,
So bright and bold,
To guard us all,
From star’s threadfall?
There was no answer, only a long line of playing that rippled and rolled with great emotion. She tuned the crowd like her guitar, forcing them to deliberate the question for a long while until the beat grew more measured and demanding and her words drummed over the crowd, suddenly rallying.
End the impasse of the weyrs.
The old and new, unsettled pairs.
Find the meaning, find the link.
Ere the weyrs begin to shrink.
Her fingers pressed against the strings suddenly, and her dark eyes looked over the throng. The silence was brief and cutting, and then her fingers plucked the last verse again, ever so softly. Her voice whispered.
Find the meaning, find the link.
Find the meaning, find the link…
She ended her song with a soft tumble of notes and rose swiftly, leaving before anyone could gather the wits to applaud or accuse. She wasn’t sure of their reactions. Only that they were stirred.