Name: Dalini Age: 17 Nameday: 3559.10.07 Sex: Female Sexual Orientation: ???? Weyr: High Reaches Weyr Rank: Candidate Previous Rank/Craft:Trophy Wife N/A Voice Actor:[x] - Haru, Persona 5 Significant Other:
Physical Description: At an average height, Dalini holds herself up with a proud but quiet demeanor. She has a thin frame, with little curvature to any bit of her. She holds herself up with confidence, chin high; no matter her more softer personality. Her hair is a softer, dry-earth color; a muddy blonde that borders on a tan. It’s rather thin, hanging down to her mid-back and typically in a braid or tied up. Dalini’s eyes are a dark brown color, cool and kind. She’s a pale little thing, without a scar or callous to be seen -- much like a perfect, porcelain doll.
Personality: A highly sheltered upbringing has left Dakini without much sense in the world. Certainly she has some basic life skills; how to mend small things, how to wash. But these aren’t proper social skills, good or bad intentions of those around her, or to have a basic sense of what may be dangerous for her. Yet beneath that naivety is a strong desire to change. Dalini wants so badly to prove that she is good enough, that she is strong and able to hold her own. For turns she desired to live up to her family’s--in particular, her mother’s--expectations of the young girl. Though she doesn’t have that exact same superior expectations of her, this sense of desire to learn and adapt hasn’t diminished. She may not be the smartest girl, and it may take her a few tries to get something done, but never will Dalini stop from trying to get things done in the best way she possibly can.
A gentle girl to her core, Dalini never has a harsh word or rude thought about anyone she meets. Anyone she comes across is a possible new friend. Yet Dalini is not terribly proactive at broaching a possible new friendship. She is quiet, especially in the presence of someone stronger or louder. She makes for a good quiet support, happily backing someone up or cheering someone on, though she struggles to make her own problems known even after listening to someone else’s for hours. It’s easier to put on a happy, friendly, nothing-is-wrong smile and be there for others.
With such a sheltered upbringing, and her mother’s desire to keep her sheltered and put on a shelf, oftentimes Dalini doesn’t have much of a thought in her head. She’s certainly no scholar of Pern. It sometimes takes a time or two of explanations for a concept to even partially set it. It’s not something that she’s proud of, and in private gets quite frustrated with herself with her struggles to understand what other people can catch onto so quickly. Yet Dalini isn’t one to give up over her shortcomings. She studies even past her classes, using her free time to try and tackle whatever she may be stuck on -- and never is she afraid to ask for help! Pride comes nowhere near her drive to be better, to want to make people proud of her.
Being in High Reaches Weyr was a dramatic shift to the once-pampered girl. Where she could try and finish mending a simple shirt and be waved away, chores were a different kettle of sweetsand. Yet despite her pushing need to be seen as flawless, perfect -- she had rolled up her sleeves and set to her chores with staggering effort. Some she found easier than others, and those she struggled in, she tried twice as hard. If she lamented her chipped nails and stained hands in private, well. No one needed to know. But the pushing weight of failing her family pushed her to want to succeed at being part of a Weyr, even if it's oftentimes very obvious she hasn't the slightest clue what she's doing.
Positive Trait List Protean, Friendly, Efficient Negative Trait List Vain, Naive, Vapid, Docile
History: Born the youngest child of three, Dalini was easily the coddled baby of the trio of children. She was third in line for the cothold, with no responsibilities falling to her with her elder brothers being more concerned with the state of the cothold. Her father, Lanil, saw to the education of his sons and was mostly hands off from his daughter, which left her at the mercy of her mother, Idali.
Her childhood was a wild affair. A young, happy child, she wanted nothing more to do but be a free little spirit, make friends and play. Her older brothers ignored her for the most part, and she turned to try and make other friends -- to little to no avail. She’d even taken to talking to the herdbeast and runners just to chatter at someone and call them a friend. Her mother was tolerant of it to a point, but her patience for her daughter’s free, wild nature drew thin at points -- and she wanted Dalini to stay inside, to learn how to be a lady instead of some holdless feral child. Dalini had no interest in things and lessons her mother tried repeatedly to cram into her brain. After all, Dalini was to be a lady, and someone’s pretty wife. It’s a fuzzy memory, somewhere in her 10th turn, that Idali had squashed an argument with the unruly child that her marriage was already arranged, and would she truly stop fussing about so wildly? What would her future husband think of her, so immature and mud-stained?
To say that Dalini reacted well was a far cry from the truth. An arranged marriage? To some boy she didn’t even know? When was she to meet him??? Tomorrow?!
No, she wouldn’t meet him until her sixteenth nameday. But Idali was cold to her for days, with only quick, venomous questions to shut down any attempt at Dalini reaching out for what little warmth she used to get from her. Would she continue being such a let down to her cothold and her family? Would she come inside and stop speaking to beasts and rid such silly thoughts from her head?
It took maybe a week for Dalini to finally break down and listen to her mother, wanting to please her, wanting to make everyone happy and play her part. So she was to become a bride at 16, and with Idali at the helm, she did become one. Perhaps leaning a bit too hard under her mother’s words. She stayed inside more, instead to work on her manners, her posture, her poise. Idali helped her to learn skills such as mending, washing, weaving, proper handwriting only fit for a lady. After all, Dalini would have little use of cothold dealings -- that was a man’s work. Even cooking was thrown wayside, for her intended came from a wealthy family, and certainly Dalini would have no use for practical skills.
Dalini took it in stride, thriving for every smile and tidbit of praise that Idali threw to her. She cared for her body, always meticulously fretting over her own appearance and ever-conscious of how she may be perceived. She was growing into a polite young woman, even if time was crawling on by.
At the age of 14, a searchrider would swing by the cothold as her father and brothers were out tending to the crop. A quiet little green and her rider, out on search for an upcoming clutch. Lanil had proudly paraded his sons to the front of the gathered crowd. Yet the dragon’s gaze passed over them as with everyone gathered. She ducked behind the shelter of a curtain, her mind running wild with potential possibility. Her! A possible dragonrider! She had drunk in the lovely dragon’s appearance from small glances, eyes with near child-like wonder as her mind spun a fantasy to latch onto. Yet, Dalini let her gaze drift back to Idali, to see her mother watching her with that hard, emotionless gaze.
It was hard to reject the sudden bloom of possibility, of taking even the chance to see if she was worthy. Her tongue wanted to trip over every word as she let go of the newly-spun fantasy with each syllable, asking if her mother needed help sorting the laundry -- a task that would take her to the opposite side of the cothold. She was betrothed, after all. Her home was reliant on her bride price that had been settled turns ago. That night, Idali had hugged her daughter so fiercely that she actually was lifted off the ground, and Dalini had cried herself to sleep. She dreamt of dragons.
Suddenly, the day was descending upon her -- her 16th nameday. Something that she was equally looking forward to, and equally fearing. Her intended, at first meeting him, looked… less than interested. His eye kept glazing over her, though they never spoke a word. Instead, she was only looked over by her intended father-in-law with the eye of a jeweler looking for the slightest imperfection, and he found plenty. Her hair was too thin, too wispy; her hips were narrow, did Dalini’s parents expect her to carry heirs with such a thin, flat shape? On and on, until he was angrily dismissed by Lanil -- not for the criticism of his daughter, but for backing out of an arrangement made for over a decade. The family was cold and quiet to her after that, with Dalini feeling ever more lost than before. What had she done wrong, besides not having met his standards? Was how she looked her fault? Dalini had behaved perfectly, had done herself up just as her mother taught her. No, her flaws had cost her family so much. She set herself to doing small tasks about the cothold, though most she would be shrugged away from before she could truly accomplish.
It was halfway through her 17th turn when another searchrider would end up at their cothold. This time, Dalini had snuck out to see the large dragon, to admire her just as she had the green those turns ago. But when this dragon’s eyes found hers, when the friendly rider had come to talk to her, Dalini hadn’t looked around to find her mother and see whether there was disapproval in her eyes. Let her old path of being a gracious wife stay in the cothold. Instead, she graciously accepted the offer to go to High Reaches Weyr.
Name: Ky’ess Age:24 25 Nameday: 3551.06.26 Sex: Male Sexual Orientation: Pansexual Weyr: High Reaches Weyr Rank: Wingrider Previous Rank/Craft: Candidate Voice Actor:[x] - Ren Amamiya, Persona 5 Song:[x] - Waving Through A Window, Dear Evan Hansen Significant Other: ?
Physical Description: Standing at an average height, Kyosess is nothing if not just ordinary. His build is a bit triangular, broader at the shoulders and slimmer at the waist. He’s a light auburn in tone, though the rich tone is broken by large swatches of vitiligo over his body. A large swash over his face that races into his hairline, turning the deep brown locks swept into a forward, short style into an almost snow white with his tone. His left eye is a darker blue, while his right eye is a few shades lighter -- always looking a touch sad at any present time, and the slight bags under his eyes definitely give off a “defeated canine” look to him. Kyosess’ large, expressive eyes seemed to have skipped wearing his heart on his sleeve, and jumped to baring his emotions quite openly. His left hand and entire right arm, as well as varied speckling along the rest of his body, hidden away by clothing, are this same lighter color.
Kyosess dresses in tamer colors, typically a soft blue in shade like his mother’s dragon’s tone. At the very least, he tries to keep his chest and legs always covered by clothing, for he fears the sun will burn him easier. He carries himself with hesitation, shoulders hunched inwards some in some odd mix of wanting to blend into the background -- but also in some small desire to be seen.
He has quite an impressive threadscore down his shoulder and across his chest, as well as down his left hip and down to nearly his knee. Thankfully, the wound was only ever deep enough to scar, and Ky’ess has been lucky to not only walk away from the injury, but without a limp as well.
Personality: Never one to stand out, Kyosess had always been quite happy to be mostly the passed over face in the crowd. After all, people’s stories always needed the filler folk, and that was how Kyosess has always felt -- a background person, a wallflower, passable. His gentle disposition and softer nature certainly leaned in hard to this self-perception.
Beyond the shy wallflower is quite the gentle soul. Kyosess is kind to a fault, for any who come into a conversation with the man will find themselves at the soft wondering if they’re okay, if they’ve eaten recently. Perhaps in another life, his calling certainly could have been a healer. As it were, he simply collects those under his friendship umbrella like a wherry hen collecting her chicks under her wings. He’s loyal to a fault, for the few people he has in his life he would stick to them like metallic on a gold. It can almost play a bit negatively, as Kyosess’ loyalty doesn’t know any bounds -- even in the face of someone betraying him, or making a deliberate move to hurt the man, Kyosess will wait patiently in hopes that his friend would come around to him again.
Loyal to a fault, and so easily slipping into the background, Kyosess is deferent to a fault. Why rock the boat when you can take the direction of someone in charge? Nevermind in a Weyr setting, where rocking the wing and not following direction could get you and/or others killed? No, he takes directions to heart, happy to do what’s asked and told of him. He makes a good cog in the machine, holding those in positions above him to an almost reverent degree. Certainly they climbed up to their positions for excellent reasons, and they should be given their well of respect for such.
Yet his more motherly nature can sometimes be a bit.. Much. While he will wait for someone who wronged him, it wont stop the mental gymnastics that Kyosess will leap to to somehow bring the blame all back to him. His foot could get stepped on, and yet Kyosess would place the blame on him for putting his in the walking path of someone else. He craves that social connection, having very few in a Weyr full of people he interacts with between candidacy and kitchen duties. His eye is always drawn to bronze dragons and their riders--not in some bid to possibly impress a bronze himself, but in some aching hearted attempt at filling in the hole his missing father has left. Positive Trait List Caring, Loyal, Deferent Negative Trait List Milquetoast, Anxious, Lonely
History: The start to Kyosess’ life was rather standard of a weyrbrat. He was born in High Reaches Weyr to his bluerider mother, a product of a greenflight with an unaffiliated bronzerider who had been visiting the Weyr on his own business and had a bit of fun along the way. He grew up mainly in his mother’s care, only in the creche when she had wing duties or to care for her dragon before Kyosess was grown enough to help out. He grew with the starry-eyed love that came from growing up in a Weyr, surrounded by dragons -- loving to watch each hatching with rapt attention.
To find your dragon, your other half. The one who could only know you better than you knew yourself… Kyosess was utterly enamored with the notion, and counted down each and every turn until he was able to enter candidacy with shy eagerness that came with a child wanting to enter adulthood early. Enter he did… and stand, and be left standing -- again, and again, and again. Turns soon passed him by, as he took up to working in the kitchens between clutches. His mother had him take heart, because surely Kyosess’ dragon was in the next clutch and was waiting to meet him. Each clutch, her gentle encouragement would boost him up -- and proceed to crash his hope each time he was left standing. It ached to think that dragon after dragon would find him lacking. Doubt seeped in, with the heavy questions that lingered. Was he not good enough? If he hadn’t grown up a weyrbrat, would he have even been searched?
He begged his mother for his father’s name, wanting to learn anything he could about the man. Maybe if Kyosess knew more about him.. Though all he got was a name, Ylzure, an unaffiliated bronzerider. Though any tries to reach out to him was met with silence. He did find out about a halfsister in Western, about the same age as him, though he wasn’t quite so sure about reaching out to her as he had been to Ylzure.
As he was beginning to lose hope, and began to become more settled on the idea of working in the kitchens once he would age out of his bid for candidacy, the worst nightmare he could have imagined came true -- thread had returned. What he always found a touch silly but never hurt to be prepared suddenly transformed into gratefulness that the possibility had been prepared for.
Until thread took her away shortly after it’s return, gone in an instant by a clump falling on top of her, and Kyosess suddenly felt so… alone the turns after her death.
It wouldn’t be until a fated day standing before the double clutch that Kyosess’ luck seemed to have run its course. In the midst of the fights and chaos, the only egg Kyosess ever needed to hatch had split open, revealing the little blue within. While it took him some time to find his way, it wouldn’t be terribly long before the small, lanky blue would find himself at the man’s feet, staring at Kyosess with all the love and devotion that the candidate craved.
Don’t worry, Kyosess, your Hiraeth will make sure you’re never alone again.
Name: Hiraeth Age: 1 Hatchday: 3574.11.20 - Fianth x Rixth Color: Blue Size: 25’ Sexuality: Homosexual Voice Actor:[x] - Jim Hawkins, Disney's Treasure Planet Song:[x] - I'm Still Here - Disney's Treasure Planet, Cover by Caleb Hyles Significant Other: ?
Physical Description: Average size for a blue, Hiraeth is dainty for a dragon. His forelimbs are longer than his rear legs, giving his chest a touch of elevation that looks almost regal on the little blue. His wings are wide, tapered fans that he loves to stretch in the sun, as if to catch every drop of heat that he might soak up. His eyes are a touch rounder, a bit wider, giving him an innocent look in those facets. Hiraeth’s chest is more pointed and sharp, and for a well-toned dragon, it’s easy to see his muscle definition as well as points and ribs beneath taut hide.
Personality: A gentle soul, Hiraeth is the soulful outsider-looking-in. He forever craves connection in life, though his own insecurities keep the distance of ’Wanting that connection’ and ’Making that connection’ at odds with one another. He desires the deeper connections of his family members, of his fellow dragons within the Weyr, and though he is surrounded by his kin in such a mass setting, Hiraeth still often finds himself at his own council on his ledge -- or with his rider wrapped in one of his wings. Connections are a powerful thing, after all -- they can boost you up, but they also leave you at the most vulnerable state to be torn down, and Hiraeth still meters the risk and reward carefully.
A stranger in a crowded room that he may be (or imposes on himself), it isn't to say that he is alone in the Weyr -- far from it, in fact. He knows his family members well enough for pleasantries and with whom he can carry them with, and shares the company of deeper conversation with a select few.
Yet the dragon who watches and lingers at the edge has such a bright glow at his core, a small glimmer of hope in his hearts that he can be as equally loved and accepted as his siblings, his cousins, his fellow dragons. He’s unsure in making connections, yet holds such a fierce hope that he can share his ledge with a dragon he can devote his hearts to, totally and completely -- and he hopes in return to capture another boy’s dragon’s hearts completely as well. To have his small social circle of dragons to rely on.
Life is a dangerous thing, however, and Hiraeth crawls though with the notion that the sky may fall on him at any moment--even before such great losses. He thinks of his choices before putting a claw in -- even if the moment has well and truly passed by. Thread is a rough concept for him to wrestle with, for he has desires out of life -- and becoming just another count of a lost chromatic dragon to High Reaches Weyr isn’t entirely one of them.
But the things that he’s able to get his claws on?--talking to a handsome dragon, making it through a fall without a scratch (or even just a minor one)? Hiraeth takes all the victories of even the smallest battles as bigger ones. He would certainly celebrate as if he’d caught the senior queen and became the Weyrleader -- not like that would happen for multiple reasons, but he’ll certainly be beaming about it for days.
Additional Notes: For his size, Hiraeth has quite a powerful burst of flame on him. He’s able to control it… most of the time, anyway. It does have a rare tendency to get away from him, especially on windier conditions, however time and practice have helped to rein in it.
Though he has a quiet, firm love for his Mama and Papa, Hiraeth was among his siblings who were devastated when Uncle Rixth left High Reaches Weyr. Yet all he could do was hold his tongue and press against his beloved Ky’ess when his hearts ached for his missing family. He’d never step on the aches of his siblings, certainly not the more important ones like his big sister Mictecath, just as he was silently overjoyed at Rixth’s return. However, he has found himself still unable to voice these feelings to his returned family, and sits on his talons over the matter.
Flights are a tricky thing for Hiraeth, for as much as he might want to push himself forward to chase a glowing green, he finds himself unwilling to catch her in his claws--for he has a more hidden desire to be entangled in the claws of another suitor.
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Posted: Sat Jun 27, 2020 10:15 pm
Name: L'rua Age:39 40 Nameday: 3535.11.25 Sex: Male Sexual Orientation: Homosexual Weyr: Western Weyr Rank: Wingrider Previous Rank/Craft: Healer - Midwife Journeyman Voice Actor: Significant Other: ...
Physical Description: Never has, nor will, L’rua cut a stand-out figure. His body is skinny, to the point of a willowy frame. Average height helps to give way to a rather insignificant air -- which is fine by him. He’s a healer, not a leader. Once bright green eyes are framed a bit to look near permanently sad, like the weight of his heart will always be reflected. His hair is a deep, matte black, short locks feathered up from his part. It trails down into a shadow of facial hair--his sideburns taper out into a thin balbo beard. His skin is a rich, mid tone tan with varied scars. His hands have the most, between his own equipment and his flit landing on an offered hand--the same scars cover his shoulders. The largest scar is into the meat of his left shoulder and runs a jagged hand length into the meat of his arm, a hasty suture job to pull the flesh together -- an attack by a distraught rider who in one disastrous moment went from expectant father to an alone widower full of raging panic and anger from him and his suddenly-mateless dragon. It healed over time, though he does sometimes have muscle weakness in his left arm.
Personality: L’rua is a man that is easily missed. There’s a bit of personal preference to not be in the limelight, for he’s not the sort to revel with all attention on him. Truthfully, he’s quite a humble person at his core--with gentle dismissing of his achievements. For he’s just a healer who does his job, and now a proper rider doing his duties, as well. What’s there to thank him or give him recognition when others do much greater feats. For he’s more dedicated to his trades and duties than he is to stepping into the limelight. He’s a dragonrider and healer, and from a young age he knew he would want to help others, from a medical standpoint -- and Invenirth only aids in that as well.
He’s patient to a fault, overly so at some points. While being gentle and patient is key for his job, it can get to an extreme degree. He’s used to the odd threat and snapped words from expectant mothers and fathers, for it rolls off his back like water on a fowl. But to have been lashed out at by a man who sank his own belt knife from his side and into his shoulder--where he could only grasp the hand that stuck him until the panicked, belligerent energy wore out. He shouted, sure -- but held fast in the face of a devastated rider until it waned instead of lashing right back. He has a high tolerance for pain -- physical and mental, yet it is worn on his sleeves, in the curves of his eyes.
Yet with patience comes a bit of reservation. It helps with his professional side, yet only allows people to get so close. Being hurt in his past has had L’rua keeping his cards much closer to his chest--a gentleness with patients and associates. To earn a way into his friendship is to have a man as loyal as any could be--for he has few that have weaseled their way into his small group of confidants.
At his core, L’rua craves a family. He adores children, and still wants to have some to call his own. It was a natural step that he focused from being a general healer to midwife -- for while it may be murky if he should ever have his own with his own peculiarities, he could help bring them safely into this life. Yet he’s quietly jealous over the new families--for the romantic in him will always craved that idyllic life he had assumed his life was directing towards when he was younger and utterly besotted. For while his life has changed drastically since he was younger and in love--the addition of Invenirth certainly hallmarking a permanent change--he often calls back to those lovely, bronzen thoughts of a life he (still) craves, despite the awful ending. It’s near self-sabotaging, for L’rua has never had a relationship last longer than a sevenday or two, for his heart and mind are still longing for another.
Positive Trait List Dutiful, Humble, Tolerant Negative Trait List Reserved, Jealous, Romantic
History: Born as a result of a goldflight passing by, Lirua was born to a pair of healers outside Fort Weyr. Despite it being completely accidental, they stayed in touch once they’d learned that they were expecting. His mother, a midwife journeyman by the name of Rulmina, reared Lirua from his early years as his father travelled. Once he reached of age, he reached out to his father, a general healer by the name of Linra, and entered into apprenticeship with him.
It would be when he was in his mid-teenage years when they would find themselves being pulled to a smaller Hold in the Keroon area. He was happy learning from his father, finding what he was pretty good at in life working beside his father. Impressed by his skill, his father had been offered a permanent place in the Hold -- and thus, they stayed their wandering ways for the time being. All was right in Lirua’s world.
Yet what Lirua thought a content life soon blossomed further; the lord holder’s son had taken an interest in him, and Lirua was happy to have someone to call his friend for once. Moving from place to place had him meeting many, yet never staying long enough to be more than acquaintances or even tentative friends. Friendship slowly budded into his first honest crush on a boy as long days of riding runners and long talks of Lirua listening to passionate dreams--it would soon burst into a near wildfire when he found his feelings were returned. Lirua went from crushing to truly smitten, falling hard and fast in love. Despite knowing his beloved was an heir, times were changing! Lady Holders had wives, Holders had husbands and consorts. The idyllic romantic in him had giddy dreams of being Hold Consort--for he didn’t like the idea of having any sort of power--but a marriage with the love of his life, to keep practicing healing? Lirua even entertained the idea of fostering children together. The idle talk of acting on dreams to see what Pern had to offer, together -- away from Hold politics and striking it out on their own was even pitched. It was perfection, it was idyllic --
It was never meant to be.
The day that came when he was told directly from his beau to leave, that their deep love had never meant a thing is a day that still haunts him to the present. The chill in his chest, the ache of where it felt he had cracked in two. The rug was snatched from under his feet in a way that left Lirua feeling forlorn and lost -- what had he done? Had it been his gender? Had he said something wrong? Questions that had never been answered, for he would leave the hold that had held his heart -- and everywhere he looked, there was memories. Corners hid around, soft conversations, the barest touch of affection. His father was unwilling to leave a good form of life, and so, a-dragonback, Lirua had gone back to stay with his mother, who had moved to Western Hold while he was away.
His mother welcomed him back with open arms, and a strong shoulder to cry on. One he needed, for he was utterly lost with no direction. In his later teenage years, nearly pushing on his 20th turn, Lirua wiped his face and entered into her apprenticeship with her as a midwife -- something that helped to distract him but found a niche, his niche. It made him happy to help bring new life into the world, to help welcome small children into awaiting parents’ arms while inside, it hurt. Happy families, kids -- things Lirua had wanted, yet seemed so impossible for him. Romantic dalliances were few and far between, lasting if days while he studied and learned -- and at the age of 27, he walked the tables and became a journeyman.
Not long after, would he find himself the object of a kind blue’s snout. For while searchriders often rode through Western Hold on search, none had ever given Lirua much of a second thought. But those bright, impish eyes followed him everywhere, and so Lirua would head to Western Weyr. Five clutches would come and go with no luck, before he felt drawn to the second clutch that had been on the sands at the time. The queen had been intimidating, yet he felt hopeful -- and as luck would have it, so did a small blue by the name of Invenirth. The blue had had a fun game of gently herding Lirua--now L’rua--to the feeding tables, for he would always be their guiding arrow in life from now on. Weyrling training, for what it was, would end up being a bit of a breeze for both L’rua and Invenirth. Something to focus on was good for both of them. However, once graduation came about, it would be Invenirth who would gently nudge them into a path in life. They would join up with Adeniuth’s caravan, for the travelling band would visit cotholds and villages that needed a midwife--or at least a healer with knowledge to help.
It was on one trip to a small cothold that L’rua was painfully reminded of just how bad his profession can get. What started as a few days monitoring a heavily-pregnant bluerider with her greenrider mate near atwitter over being a first time dad ended in chaos. The delivery went south quickly, and during the process both the mother and child had perished. The once-father, now-widower rider was beside himself with grief and panic, which was only fed by his dragon’s keening grief over the immediate loss of her mate. In a rage, the man had attacked L’rua. Loss and anger fed into his actions, drawing L’rua’s beltknife and making to stab the bluerider. L’rua remembers Invenirth--calm, sweet Invenirth--screaming as the blade instead sank through his palm. Instinct took over, bloody hand curling over the hilt as L’rua grabbed the aggrieved rider and held him until the fight drained out of him and left L’rua with a sobbing greenrider in his arms. While there’s some muscle damage, it healed nicely enough, though Invenirth needed a lot of reassurance for months while it healed.
Threadfall returning was something they could have never predicted. It was a mad dash for the caravan to get everyone to safety, and there was never quite rest for anyone with the lookout for not only thieves and bandits, but now threadfall. It would be almost two turns after thread began to fall when Invenirth made the hard decision for them to return to Western Weyr to fight in the skies with their kin. Their next step in life saw them going through training so that they might join a wing and fight.
Name: Invenirth Age:9 10 Hatchday: 3565.08.08 - Adeniuth x Jibasth Color: Blue Size: 27’ Sexuality: Ambivalent Voice Actor: Significant Other:
Physical Description: Sleek and lithe, Invenirth looks much like an arrow. His body is longer and slim, with long wings to aid the illusion that he is much bigger than he appears--he’s just long. His head is more of a sharper wedge, and his body fades in and out of darker and lighter blues. His chest is scarred from a clash with another blue, furrows from claws that didn’t go very deep yet still scarred over. His riding straps that go across his chest are padded a bit extra to protect the sensitive area, though Invenirth will protest they aren’t necessary (yet are).
Personality: Invenirth is a gentle spirit, who would rather give advice than get into any sort of conflict. The guiding light in his lost rider’s life, he gives an outside perspective that L’rua may not consider. For the bigger picture may just need a top-side down view to understand--and who better to see it than a dragon? He sees the world in a clearer view -- his own. Yet it’s not without fault, for who is perfect. But L’rua trusts his dragon’s judgment, and has followed his directions in life. The choice to join Adeniuth’s caravan and travel came from Invenirth’s own mind, as well as the decision to rejoin Western Weyr to fight in a wing. It’s a flip of a mark if the change came from a necessary step in life that Invenirth directed--or just to change things for the sake of change. The blue stays silent on the matter.
Yet despite his direction, he’s quite a little ham for attention--opposite of L’rua. Visits to Western were met with gleeful excitement to see his fathers--both his biological one as well as adoptive. Being in his mother’s caravan for turns was a delight to his soul, yet knows the move back to Western is good for both he and L’rua.
He’s kind to a fault, patient like His--yet nothing of the same caliber. His fuse does run faster than L’rua’s, and often he’s found himself angering quicker. But anything said in heated words and low-growled noises is as quickly apologized for. For he does like to give guidance and advice to others -- sometimes not the best advice to ever be given, but he certainly does try.
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Posted: Sat Jun 27, 2020 10:20 pm
Name: Niviora Age: 28 Nameday: 3547.12.01 Sex: Female Sexual Orientation: Claimed Hetero, leans more Pan Weyr: Western Weyr Rank: Weyrling Previous Rank/Craft: Courtesan Apprentice Voice Actor:[x] - Captain Amelia, Treasure Planet Song:[x] - It's Alright, Mother Mother Significant Other: ?
Physical Description: Lean, sharp, and all stream-lined edges of steel make up the blade that is Niviora. She has a dancer’s build on a small, lithe frame; a good match for her eventual craft along with caring for her body in the best way that she could. She got most of her mother’s color; something she’s thankful for, as she detests the thought of looking any bit like her father. Her red hair hangs to her shoulders, though it is often tied up and away. A good portion still hangs forward into her face, breaking up and hiding a decent-sized scar over her right temple and forehead. Her eyes are a soft slurry of brown, and in the right lights almost look a shade of deeper red.
Niviora’s clothes are often loose, in warmer colors that hang off her body and show off her movements. She likes to wear a golden sash of her mother’s, hidden away from her and now secretly cherished, on her person like a badge of honor and shame, for she loves her mother even if they’ve fallen out. The edges are embroidered with suns and moons, and only knows it’s somehow connected to her aunt.
Personality: Life has come at Niviora hard and fast, and she prides herself on being quicker. She is resilient, priding herself on learning to think quick and act quicker. Learning to dance from her mother has her thinking quickly, learning to try and anticipate your opponent partner’s moves and move in tandem. When Jacira left her to take Sapheria back to Courtesan Hold, she had to make her plans carefully and quickly -- even if those plans fell through, it was a meal ticket. A joke or jab at her expense is laughed off, shrugging off the little things if there’s no true harm meant, or if someone didn’t know. However, Niviora can also be just as eager to launch back with insults and aggression, though she hasn’t properly fought someone with her fists in many turns. She’s just as eager to get her blood boiling to have a verbal fight as much as she used to enjoy a physical one, near delights in the challenge of it -- especially a match of wit.
The sky's the limit for Niviora, with no glass ceiling in sight. With a rougher, dirt start to life, and knowing her family has achieved great things, Niviora has set her sights high and proud. She will impress, stun her family, stun her mother who never glanced back with that little snit of a daughter she saved out of the gutter like a mewling kitten. Yet her sights on her future have turned her vision for the future to the point of unrealistic, and were anyone to hear it they might laugh. Why shouldn’t she impress a queen like her aunt? Grow a following and start her own Weyr? Her desire to be known, to make her mark almost verge on fanatical -- she will make her mark on Pern, she is certain. While clutches have come and gone, Niviora has, truly, looked at how slim her chances are -- and though her ambitions are high... to be able to be loved by a dragon, any dragon...
There's zest for life that runs deep through Niviora, for she is rather animated through her daily life. It’s hard to not see her moving about with a bit of pep in her step, to see her laughing at a joke, striking up a conversation with someone around her simply for the hell of it. She doesn’t shy away from what could possibly be an awkward conversation, or if she is clearly outranked. Friends are an asset, a boon to her and each other -- and she seeks to make connections with people all around her in many ways. Niviora is destined for greatness, after all. She knows her place in the eventual chain of command, so she can happily play the part of the lowly candidate and show respect for those of greater rank. She’s certainly not above taking back her paces if she crosses a boundary, but will tread those waters more carefully from then on.
Positive Trait List Resilient, Ambitious, Lively Negative Trait List Quixotic, Truculent, Arrogant
History: Born to a small minor hold loyal to Western, Niviora is born to her mother Jacira in the cold winter months toward the end of the turn. Her father, absent for months, had spent a pretty mark to keep Jacira around for a while -- but after hearing his pretty mistress was with child. Not wanting word to reach his wife, he’d all but abandoned Jacira at the Hold after she’d been towards the middle of her pregnancy. The disconnect is clear between mother and child, as Niviora grew up knowing her mother’s coldness had been brought on by her father leaving. As a young babe, she did all she could to try to make her mother happy … to no avail.
When she was middling, barely breaching eleven, change happened so rapidly in Niviora’s life that she could barely blink. Her mother became besotted with a young orphan girl, who made her mother smile like the girl had tried for turns. Yet all she could feel for this young child so dependant on her mother, looking at her with wide, cute eyes and a pretty, tiny face was contempt. Anger boiled over easier, and she found herself picking fights with the hold kids for the littlest of things. A particular nasty fight left Niviora with a nasty scar across her face, after tumbling into a table. Jacira, suddenly fearing for her child (as well as their place in the Hold), began to teach young Niviora to dance and hone her body into shape. Niv, sadly, ate it right up -- having her mother’s attention, working with her to learn something new. She became her mother’s apprentice, delighting in having Jacira’s attention all to herself. It came with the stipulation that she not rough house with the boys anymore -- and Niviora agreed, for while she couldn’t physically fight, her mother had said nothing about verbal ones.
It lasted four turns. Four happy, blissful turns of Niviora ignoring her mother’s favorite daughter for the crumbs she could have. It came crashing down when Sapheria, the little brat, was showing such prowess and wanting to learn Niviora’s mother’s craft -- had called the woman mother right in front of her. Perhaps attacking her had been in poor taste, yet Niviora was young, blinded by anger that someone would have the audacity of calling her mother as their own. She'd only punched, but Sapheria falling against a table had left a large gash across her forehead. It would leave a scar, that was certain. Jacira had been cold to her for the rest of the night, tending to Sapheria’s wound. As the night progressed on, Niviora had worried as her mother continued to ignore her. Perhaps it had been too much...
Jacira and Sapheria had been gone by morning, with only a note wishing Niviora well in life. Niv had broken her promise, one she had kept up so many turns -- and while she wasn't combating hold boys, it was still a promise broken.
It was the first time in Niviora’s life when she felt truly devastated, had rocked the young girl to her core. If she could have taken it back, had kept her jealousy in check. She’d attacked a child after all, only a few turns her junior or not. Niviora had wept all day, mourning her actions -- mourning her mother, and a girl who should have been her sister.
The next day, Niviora stepped out from the room she would be losing soon unless she did something to secure it -- or secure her own place in another’s bed. She would stuff down her anger, stuff down her mourning at least beyond the surface. She would carry the weight as a reminder to not lash out -- even if she relished in a verbal spat, no longer could she use her fists to solve her problems. Niv honed herself, worked on the lessons her mother had taught her as a dancer, worked on being kinder -- making herself a better person. It wasn’t long after that she met him, a handsome man who stole her heart and ferreted it away as he sang her praises, sweet nothings that made her feel like the most important person in the world -- and eight long months later, she bore him a son. Or, if he knows he has a son -- for like some self-fulfilling prophecy, he exited her life before her small son came into the world. He was… tiny, and gross. But she owed to try and give him some kind of life, and she would try.
The search rider had been a surprise, and her mind latched onto the possibilities that came from dragon life. Impressing a queen? Fitting for her. Weren’t queens more likely to pick hold girls? Delight at making her mark had her jumping at the chance, as she entered candidacy at the age of 16 -- and her tiny son having been left in the care of a Hold woman who had recently had a son of her own..
Turns have slipped away, as Niviora becomes more desperate with each and every clutch that passes by her. She wants, desperately, to make her mark on Pern, to prove that she’s not just something for everyone to leave behind.
Physical Description: A small but not tiny green, Sauzath is a great beauty. If you ask her, she's a famed beauty. She has an exquisite tail, and lovely wings, but don't let that detract you from a face that could launch ships.
Personality: Come here and let Sauzath take a closer look at you. Yes, you! A party girl who adored being the center of attention, Sauzath knows how to get her way. She also knows what and who she likes, and makes no bones about it. If Sauzath is interested, you'll know. As far as she's concerned, there's nothing shameful in expressing her intentions as clearly as possible. If someone says no, so what? She's onto the next playmate. Life's a party, and everyone's invited!
Especially anyone just as inclined toward good times as Sauzath. Don't assume that she's always looking for a Flight partner, either, for cuddles are just as good and welcomed by this lady. She wants, no, needs to be the object of others' desire, and becomes quite petulant if she's not currently getting any attention. That said, she does have some rigid standards of attractiveness. If you don't meet those set standards, good luck getting her to give you the time of day.
She has grown quite adept in wrapping dragons around her littlest claw, and can be quite manipulative if the situation calls for it. Any objections made will be met with what seem like reasonable responses, guiding the other party to the resolution that Sauzath wants. Note that it will be something that benefits her, but she's perfectly capable of keeping the interests of others in mind too... if not at hearts. She's bright but uses her intelligence to her own selfish ends most of the time. But does anyone really mind?
Truth be told, she enjoys being able to lead from behind the scenes. Although fully capable of succeeding on her own laurels, she would much rather play those around her like so many chess pieces. A little nudge here, a little suggestion there... well, everything will work out just splendidly. That such traits are not well admired in a green does not trouble her at all. It just means that she needn't worry overly much about anyone suspecting her in the first place. Truth be told, she does get herself in trouble from time to time, but it hasn't quite caught up with her yet.
Origin of Name: From Sauza, a popular brand of Tequila - which is used in the making of margaritas.
Inspiration: Margarita
A margarita is a cocktail consisting of tequila, orange liqueur, and lime juice often served with salt on the rim of the glass. The drink is served shaken with ice (on the rocks), blended with ice (frozen margarita), or without ice (straight up). Although it has become acceptable to serve a margarita in a wide variety of glass types, ranging from cocktail and wine glasses to pint glasses and even large schooners, the drink is traditionally served in the eponymous margarita glass, a stepped-diameter variant of a cocktail glass or champagne coupe.
According to cocktail historian David Wondrich, the margarita is merely a popular Mexican and American drink, the Daisy (margarita is Spanish for "daisy" ), remade with tequila instead of brandy, which became popular during Prohibition as people drifted over the border for alcohol. There is an account from 1936 of Iowa newspaper editor James Graham finding such a cocktail in Tijuana, years before any of the other margarita "creation myths".
1937 Cafe Royal Cocktail Book contains a recipe for a Picador using the same concentrations of tequila, triple sec and lime juice as a margarita. One of the earliest stories is of the margarita being invented in 1938 by Carlos "Danny" Herrera at his restaurant Rancho La Gloria, halfway between Tijuana and Rosarito, Baja California, created for customer and former Ziegfeld dancer Marjorie King, who was allergic to many spirits, but not to tequila. This story was related by Herrera and also by bartender Albert Hernandez, acknowledged for popularizing a margarita in San Diego after 1947, at the La Plaza restaurant in La Jolla.
There are also claims that the margarita was first mixed in Juárez, Chihuahua at Tommy's Place Bar on July 4, 1942 by Francisco "Pancho" Morales. Morales later left bartending in Mexico to become a US citizen, where he worked as a milkman for 25 years. Mexico's official news agency Notimex and many experts have said Morales has the strongest claim to having invented the margarita.
Others say the inventor was Dallas socialite Margarita Sames, when she concocted the drink for her guests at her Acapulco, Guerrero vacation home in 1948. Tommy Hilton reportedly attended, bringing the drink back to the Hilton chain of hotels. However, Jose Cuervo was already running ad campaigns for the margarita three years earlier, in 1945, with the slogan, "Margarita: It's more than a girl's name." According to Jose Cuervo, the cocktail was invented in 1938 by a bartender in honor of Mexican showgirl Rita de la Rosa.
Another common origin tale begins the cocktail's history at the legendary Balinese Room in Galveston, Texas where, in 1948, head bartender Santos Cruz created the margarita for singer Peggy (Margaret) Lee. He supposedly named it after the Spanish version of her name, Margarita.
The first known publication of a margarita recipe was in the December 1953 issue of Esquire, with a recipe calling for an ounce of tequila, a dash of triple sec and the juice of half a lime or lemon. A recipe for a tequila-based cocktail first appeared in the 1930 book My New Cocktail Book by G.F. Steele. Without noting a specific recipe or inventor, a drink called the Tequila Daisy was mentioned in the Syracuse Herald as early as 1936. Margarita is Spanish for Daisy, which is a nickname for Margaret.
A later, certainly false, story is that the margarita was invented in October 1961, at a party in Houston, Texas, by party goer Robert James "Rusty" Thomson while acting as bartender. He concocted a mixture of equal parts tequila, Controy orange liqueur, lime, and crushed ice in a salt-rimmed glass. However, Thomson's recipe was made with Damiana Liqueur, not Cointreau orange liqueur. It is said that the idea was an experiment after running out of rum while making frozen daiquiris.
Egg: A small purple and teal swirl egg.
Additional Notes: This green is going to be up in the air every three months like clockwork. That is, if she doesn't chase in a Flight herself! She very well might. Although she has no gender preference, she does have certain standards of physical beauty that she expects any potential mate to fit. If they don't, well... good luck getting a second glance.
Impression Effect: Although her family might think her a mere snit of a girl, no one else will ever look at her that way ever again. Although, many could be forgiven for wanting to look longer than is polite, for Impression suits Niviora very well indeed. +20 charisma.
Why Me? Niviora is Sauzath's equal match, fully able to go toe to toe with her, and trained in the art of manipulation herself. Whether or not her bondmate admits it, Sauzath knows full well that courtesans are expected to be able to shift and change at a moment's notice, and all on the whims of others. Well, no longer - she will be moving to her own whims, and only her own whims. Unless of course one counts Sauzath's, for the green is certainly charming enough to pull it off. Niviora need never fear being left behind ever again, for Sauzath is and always will be Hers.
Relationships
Firelizards
Prism Shine
Fanatical Egg
Online
Prism Shine
Fanatical Egg
Online
Posted: Sat Jun 27, 2020 10:36 pm
Name: Rh’tyb Age:26 27 Nameday: 3549.02.20 Sex: Male Sexual Orientation: Omnisexual Weyr:Unaffiliated High Reaches Weyr Rank: Woodcraft Journeyman - Ranger, Wingrider Previous Rank/Craft: Benden Wingrider, Apprentice Voice Actor:[x] - Billy Hargrove, Stranger Things Song:[x] - Karma, AJR Significant Other:
Physical Description: This boy is disastrously pretty, and he unfortunately knows it. A solidly built man, Rh’tyb is all finely tuned muscle that only time and careful cultivation have allowed to develop. He’s a rich brassy color from working in the sun constantly (with equal odds that he took his shirt off to either impress a wandering eye, or because it was actually hot). However, his back is a patchwork of golden-hued scars, deep claw wounds over a decade old. Blonde hair falls down to his shoulders and curls over his forehead, usually bound out of his face if he’s working. However, he’s been known to coif it some if he’s got a reason to -- a nice event, a date, what have you. It’s a rusty, almost ‘dirty’ color, with some subtle natural tones of brown giving it depth and curling gently with length. Rh’tyb’s eyes are a darker shade of blue.
Personality: The product of an absent mother, oppressive father, and finding more guidance in his dragon than either of his parents, Rh’tyb is a lot of flash and bang. He’s a charismatic man, unafraid to use his charms to find a foothold in life -- whether to flirt for a fling, or to get something out of the interaction. He knows he’s handsome, and unafraid to use this to his advantage if he can get something out of it. However, Rh’tyb is quick to turn on the defensive if something even hints at going sour. If a deal doesn’t go his way, his charming mouth can grow teeth and an edge to his tongue quickly. Sometimes, it can seem like nothing at all can make his mood flip -- perhaps an errant thought that ran away from him, or a suspicion he’d rather act on than not trust his gut.
Even with his rocky start at the whole ‘family’ thing, Rh’tyb is rather family oriented. His sister in High Reaches may have her less-than-pleasant thoughts, but he still loves her. He’s never quite considered having children, as he’s not exactly settled somewhere more condusive to having children. The odd crass joke about not needing anything to tie him down right now, partner/s or children included, might leave him, but it doesn’t stop how soft he gets around kids, or some of the possible tenderness in a fling. He desires connection, no matter what he says.
His desire for connection and love is somewhat battled by his desire to keep people at arm’s length. While not jaded, there is a certain trepidation to let someone close to him once again, and if they might hurt him again. He’s quick to push buttons -- both as a means to keep someone at bay, but also to see how exactly someone reacts.
Positive Trait List Charismatic, Family-oriented, Loyal Negative Trait List Antagonistic, Temperamental, Defensive
History: Early life at Benden Weyr was a mixed bag of emotions for the young Rholtyb. Born to a bronzerider father and a greenrider mother, he was a pretty average weyrbrat within the walls of the Weyr. However, his mother wanted nothing to do with little Rholtyb. His father--a rather snobbish man who did no good credit that all bronzeriders aren’t an awful, porcine-inspired stereotype--wouldn’t let his only son go to the creche, instead opting to raise his son instead.. As Rholtyb grew closer to standing age, his father began to pressure and groom his only son on setting his eyes on Top Prize or Nothing At All. Nevermind candidate lessons, Rholtyb was to impress bronze and bronze only. That was how his son ought to be, for what was he, otherwise? The young soon-to-be candidate, eager to please his father, had taken his words to heart -- but took fear with him on his first standing, and the young candidate almost met his end.
The bronze dragonet had been stunning in color, handsome enough to make Rholtyb’s heart ache with wanting, needing those facets to turn towards him that he went against teachings, trying so desperately to step in front of the wandering baby’s path. He knew his father was watching from up on the ledges, and he ached to make a connection. Weren’t they suitable? Surely the bronze would be happy with him? That he would make a good partner? The bronze had less than ideal thoughts of how Rholtyb’s only thoughts about him were for gain, and had taken the spike of ire out on the lad -- tackling him to the ground as claws dug in, as the candidate could only try to curl up and protect himself from a possibly inevitable death with each swing.
The screech of defiance met the ringing in Rholtyb’s ears, before the sound of a bodily hit somewhere above him -- and the bulk of the young bronze was off his back.
Struggling to try and get up with the assault temporarily halted, he eyed the little green almost as equally warily as she fanned her wings, making a show of hisses and snaps to get the bronze away. Get BACK -- you can’t have him! -- My Rholtyb, can you stand? The young green had turned to look at him once the danger had skulked away, the ire in her eyes still swirling deeply. Yet Rholtyb was stunned, looking at the green. Green. Not bronze. And your Alluith is just as good as any bronze! Better than! Her harsh voice, combined with the edges of white creeping into her eyes, snapped him back to reality, reaching to touch the soft green of her cheek. Let anyone dare to think me less. There was a dangerous promise there, as the rainbows of impression had flooded her eyes finally, and she closed the gap between her and her injured rider. I will be the best bronze of them all, just you watch.
To say that Rholtyb -- Rh’tyb’s -- father was unamused with his only son impressing a green was an understatement. He completely ignored his son’s existence.
Aching from the loss, the disappointment he could feel from his parent was lessened by Alluith’s charm and fierce spirit, who held a less than stellar opinion of her rider’s idiotic sire and where he could go stick those colorist views straight up his------
After graduation, Rh’tyb and Alluith made the decision to leave Benden Weyr. There had been nothing tying them to the Weyr, and leaving seemed best to escape the lingering heavy feelings over Rh’tyb’s father. However, freedom from a Weyr left the teen eager to try something he had barely given a glimpse to: a craft. Sure, he had dabbled some. But like any weyrbrat, his sights had been set on the hatching grounds. He would enter into Woodcrafthall as an apprentice, eager to learn and give himself a good craft to help make him feel satisfied. Alluith got all the space she ever wanted to fly and test her speeds in the open air, and the pair felt happy once more.
Yet it was during his crawl to journeyman rank towards being a ranger that he received a firelizard from High Reaches Weyr. A letter from his apparent half sister, when his father had been caught up in a flight while visiting. Tybrelle was an interesting girl, and he tries to be there for her as much as he can -- despite her own colorist tinges from idolizing their father.
As he walked the tables, Rh’tyb finally felt at peace. Happy with his craft, his dragon, his place in life -- and then thread came back.
The decision to stay unaffiliated has been a battle of wills -- what they ought to do, versus what they want to do. They had a duty to protect Pern from thread, yet what they wanted to do was to keep at their dutiful lifestyle protecting forests. At least, until word finally reached them that his father had perished to threadfall. While Rh’tyb couldn’t feel any sort of sadness at his father’s passing, he’s yet to tell his sister, despite the fact it’s been almost two turns since his passing.
Name: Alluith Age:1213 14 Hatchday: 3563.07.03 - Poymath x Ferlonth Color: Green Size: 26’ Sexuality: ;D Voice Actor: Song:[x] - Stay Frosty Royal Milk Tea - Fall Out Boy Significant Other:
Physical Description: On the larger side of average, Alluith is a finely-tuned machine of muscle and power. She is nothing but a speed demon, and keeps herself in the best shape to get the most out of her stamina and to see what top speeds she can reach. A bright green dragon, Rh’tyb keeps her oiled so well so that she always shines, and she absolutely preens over looking her best. Long legs and thin wings lend well to her quick lifestyle, able to make sharp turns without much resistance. Her body is riddled with scars, from little scratches from tree branches to the claws of dragons while she eagerly chased rising greens.
Personality: The world couldn’t be wide enough for this green’s larger than life personality. From the cracking of her egg, Alluith has never let the notions of others get her down. Why should she let someone else tell her what she should be just based on the green of her hide? What she should and should not have? No way, not for her. She’s got a fiery passion to be the best she can be, and that started with an obsession to be the fastest in the sky. Nothing will make her hearts feel as free as the wind rushing between her wings, feeling the drag of gravity trying to bring her back down to the ground -- and being able to deny it. She is the master of the air, and if it were up to her, she’d never leave the freedom of the sky.
She has quite the opinionated mind on her -- from where Rh’tyb’s father can go take a long flight past the horizon line, to those who think she has a place in life just because of some old standards. Let her claws tear down anything to ever stand in the way -- be it hers or her rider’s, she’d rend the world to make him happy.
In Alluith’s mind, she is the bronze that Rh’tyb’s father demanded of his son, that Rh’tyb had hoped for to appease a man who cared so little for his young son. Sure, she is of green hide. She knows she’s a female. But why should she not adopt that famous bronzen mindset? The world is hers if she has enough swagger, has enough charm to woo a rising green away from the other chasing dragons with the ability to shake off when competitive claws try and sink their way into her.
Physical Description: Tall and willowy, Ahula settles at the taller average for a woman. Her body shape is more rectangular, with very little curve to her bust or hips. She has slim muscle, slight tone that’s barely visible when it’s exposed. Yet she’s Weyr-bred, who ran around with other brats in the creche and took to pulling her weight seriously, even if her own weight isn’t very much to lift.
Her hair is a lovely shade of soft, mid-tone brown, falling down in scattered, choppy waves down to the middle of her back. Her bangs are long, covering up a good portion of her face and hiding it away. It's easily long enough to draw back into a ponytail when need be, especially for some of the messier chores, but her preferred state is to have something to hide behind. Ahula’s eyes are a muddy hazel color, a mix of softer browns and the slightest green hint. A collection of freckles dust along the bridge of her nose and over her cheekbones, only highlighting further when she gets a bit red in the cheeks.
Personality: Never one to raise her voice or hand, Ahula takes on the world with the gentlest touch, or softest voice. The world is full of ills and pain, so why should she add to someone else’s? This same soft tendency stretches for all that reach her path -- friend, foe, stranger; no matter who they are to Ahula, she treats all equal in her eyes -- that is to say, a sweet sort of respect and kindness. However, her kind nature and softer steps through life leave her wide open to those who see profit with her softer nature. She has a hard time defending herself, and her will is easily bent. Chores that should not be hers might end up becoming more to her list if someone plies her enough, a seat given up during a meal or lessons so that someone may sit there instead, a lovely gather’s best that would look much better on someone else over her (and doesn’t Ahula agree?).
Soft and sweet like the fluffiest dessert to her core, Ahula loves all in her path. She is motherly from her soft palms to the cradle of her arms. Younger candidates might find themselves fussed over by Ahula, if softly. Are they keeping warm in the winter? They ate enough at meals? She adores children, and when not busy with lessons or chores, Ahula sometimes gravitates towards the creche. Working with children and seeing them grow through the turns has been one of her delights, especially growing up in the creche herself. While others may fret about where they slot in life if they aren’t chosen on the sands, Ahula has gently affirmed to herself that she has a place helping to raise the next generation of candidates in the Weyr. Yet while Ahula is brimming with love and sweetness, none of this extends to herself. She holds herself with a tentative belief that she is bound to love others -- and to not receive that love in kind. Crushes have come and gone, with one lingering through the turns, yet none have ever so much have batted an eye at Ahula -- goldflight lust notwithstanding. She tends to put everyone up on a level above her -- giving all she has to support those around her, even if she believes that her place is to care for others.
They say only bleeding hearts and drunks are the most sincere in life -- and Ahula is certainly the former. A bleeding heart to care for everyone around her has left Ahula with a bare sense of sincerity. She couldn’t lie to save her life (though thankfully she’s never had to actually test this theory), but even her little white lies are able to be seen through with noticeable tells -- even if she’s trying to save the feelings of someone else. Her heart is bared on her sleeves -- and shirt, and bright eyes. However, with her inability to lie, and her open emotions -- Ahula’s deepest fears are rather hard for her to hide. Her fears of never being loved are open, her terror of dying on the sands (or, Faranth forbid, melting in the air on the back of some innocent dragon that chose her because thread is back--) has her almost looking like a scared bunny. She tries to misdirect and deflect, but deep in her core, Ahula is scared of a lot in life, and it makes her take half steps where she might have succeeded otherwise.
Positive Trait List Gentle, Loving, Sincere Negative Trait List Weak-willed, Self-depreciative, Craven
History: Born shortly in the beginning of the year on a cold, crisp winter morning as a result of a greenflight in High Reaches Weyr, Ahula came whimpering into the world. Born of her greenrider mother Ulanu and her blueriding genetic benefactor V’ahtl, Ahula didn’t know either of her parents all that well. She was raised in the creche, as neither had the time or know-withal to raise a child while caring for a dragon.
A meeker child, Ahula kept her head down and did what was asked of her. Though she was sometimes the victim of being picked on, she had a happy childhood with a few close friends, and a good handful of less close ones as well. She took to learning well, loving to read any story that she could get her little hands on -- or sit and listen with rapt attention to harper tales.
As she waited until that fateful day she could enter for candidacy, Ahula became more trepidatious to enter into the field. It was a weyrbrat’s right to stand for candidacy, yet they feared as they watched hatching after hatching when someone was hurt. Nevermind the greater majority of candidates who weren’t hurt, nor that this was a normal thing amongst hatchings. Yet with a friend’s gentle reassurance that all would be fine, Ahula did enter her bid for candidacy -- and surprise surprise when she wasn’t hurt. In fact, she’s been quite lucky to avoid any injuries during the clutches she has stood for.
As the turns have whiled on, Ahula has begun to spend more time in the creche that raised her, at least when she wasn’t spending time between chores and lessons. A backup plan while she waits to see how the next few turns go before she ages out, but one she’d be content in life with no matter what.
Name: Amrit Age:34 35 Nameday: 3541.04.25 Sex: Male Sexual Orientation: [Insert Keyboard Smashing over Cute People] Weyr: Western Weyr Rank: Wingrider Previous Rank/Craft: Harper Apprentice Voice Actor:[x] - Aiden, Blood & Chocolate Significant Other: Amra, of Green Seirath (Hattaki), Nona, of Gold Shalbyath (Spockat)
Physical Description: Amrit looks anything but a stereotypical bronzerider. His stature is smaller, on the shorter side of average. His body is strong, yet you wouldn’t know it by a first glance. Sporting a softer body type, it seems that he can manage his weigh vigorout but never quite shed his "dad-bod" type shape, despite rigorous exercise even before impressing to Chirakumath have ever eliminated. He’s quite strong, for he has to be -- yet his own resolve to be better than most take him at first glance has needled him to try to be better, constantly. He’s quite tan, a bronzen shade from all his work outside. His more defined chin with softer cheeks, thin eyebrows and not a single hair of beard growth to be seen. Deep matte black locks fall about to his ears, though he slicks it back against his head to stay out of soft, puppy-like green eyes help to cover his fine hairline. Large scars drag up his front, starting from by the belt line and ending somewhere by his collarbone from his youth--dragging marks from where he slid down the ging tree. Small, freckle-like scars line his body from the subsequent fall into the needlethorn bush after the slip from the tree.
Personality: From a young age, Amrit has always lived and breathed adventure. The adventurous spirit has left him always seeking the next big adventure--whether it’s climbing the cliff sides and trees in his youth, or on the back of his colossal Chirakumath. He grew out of the spunk and spitfire of his youth after his accident. It turned him into a softer boy, though with that desire to go see the world still firmly planted.
To a fault, Amrit is kind. With such a big reality check on the value of his life leaving him bare to the world, it set the boy down a path of a humbler nature. With such low self confidence from his injury and taunting of his peers, he became quite diffident into his adult years. Shyness bleeds into his tendency to stay away from people. Life at a Weyr certainly doesn’t make a good mode to stay away, but while he stays around to fulfill his wing duties and whatever else may be needed of him--just don’t expect him to be overly social outside of those social requirements. When he is around people, though, one would never assume he’d rather be anywhere else. He is kind to a fault, rolling into his gentle, humble nature. Yet the man inside is shaking, nervous for the company or coming off odd. Past bullying left Amrit extremely sensitive, for even the littlest tease might leave the rider drying his tears into Chirakumath’s broad chest.
Somewhere inside the tender, nervous rider blooms a romantic soul, however. While he is not the most conventional “manly man”, nor will he ever be in his own thinking (and Chirakumath’s protests), it doesn’t stop him from eagerly consuming romance novel after romance novel that feeds into the gentlest of dreams -- sweeping damsels off their feet, wooing gentlemen with the kindest words. Things he could never do, but dreams are sweet, aren’t they?
Positive Trait List Adventurous, Kind, Humble, Romantic Negative Trait List Nervous, Diffident, Oversensitive, Reclusive
History: Amrit was born in the warm spring to a pair of loving parents in Ista Hold. He grew as any boy would; an adventurous spitfire, craving adventure. He grew up running around with a group of rather callous boys, always daring each other to wilder and wilder stunts. But one such day, Amrit had been dared to climb a ging tree while the needlethorn bushes were still fully needled. But he was young and stupid, and in the face of his friends--he couldn’t just back down. The youth climbed the tree, making it almost near the top before his footing slipped. His front skidded down the rough bark, tearing shirt and skin alike before he fell into the needlethorn bush below.
He wouldn’t be found until almost evening by a passerby, as his friends had left him for dead.
The local healer and surgeon did the best they could, but he would be forever scarred from the event. Full of holes and healing wounds, Amrit felt as if he’d been sucker punched by life. Perhaps he had, for it took him the better part of a turn to fully heal. His friends had abandoned him, turned their backs on the healing boy. Suddenly alone, Amrit fell into a depression at such a tender age.
Yet it would be his mother’s doing that he found a better sense of purpose. He was introduced to the local harper journeyman, who took him under his wing. Amrit grew into a softer person--gone was the firecracker, and in was the warmth of a hearth. He learned to not just sing, but smile again. Singing became his escape, with a sweet soprano that never left him even as it broke in some of the harper’s other pupils.
The fall of his 14th turn, a searchrider appeared at the hold, for a golden queen had risen and they had need of candidates. Amrit had been picked out of the crowd--but so had his best friend, or former. Ziril, now older, stronger, more developed, sank his talons into the younger, softer boy. The months leading up to the hatching were brutal for Amrit, who in all his humble nature, never spoke up about the tormenting.
Yet came hatching day. The candidates scrambled into position, bowing deep to the mother and father. Amrit was excited, nervous to stand for his first hatching--if trying to avoid his former friend. Yet Ziril constantly moved in front of him, with a jeer of any dragon that thought that Amrit was worthy should see a real candidate first. Yet when a bronze hatched on the sands, large in size--everyone held their breath. First out, yet the large bronze would take until the near end to finally find his rider. The bronze--the sole bronze of the clutch--made all the boys puff up in pride. For they were worthy of such a bronze. The only glimmering hide of the bunch. They could align themselves in his patient attitude of waiting until his siblings hatched, agree as he turned to croon encouragement to every member of his growing family a good morning and a safe passage. He was every boy’s dream--yet as he approached Ziril, he stared up at the boy as he stuck his chest out a bit proudly.
Until the bronze sneezed quite purposefully, broadcasting to everyone around him to hear--
You’re in my way. Move.
Ziril, dumbfounded, scuttled out of the way as the bronze easily loped to stand in front of Amrit. There you are. I thought that dimwit would block my view of you all hatching, Mine, so I made him move. Your Chirakumath has no patience for those who would keep me from you.
Amrit, for his brief stint at Ista, would be known as A’rit, was utterly floored. For didn’t this perfect dragon want a better man? Yet Chirakumath would want nothing to do with it--for His was His, even if Amrit needed to come to terms with it.
Weyrlinghood would fly by for the pair, and although Amrit worked on his self confidence, it was still lacking. Once fully graduated, they took to the skies to see what Pern had to offer. Yet they were ultimately drawn to Western for a fresher start--and Amrit dropped his abbreviated name. They would be waiting in the wings for when thread had returned, and meet it eagerly.
Physical Description: This dragon is certainly a specimen of his color. Clocking out at max size, Chirakumath is a very strong boy. A barrel chest and strong wings keep him up in the air with ease. His limbs are thicker and sturdier, which in his youth was troublesome. Yet once he’d reached his full size and stride, he found his grace. Chirakumath is a bit heavier round the middle, but it certainly doesn’t slow him down.
Personality: This boy is nothing but a damn flirt. Chirakumath sees all, and certainly enjoys all. Oh, a pretty green is rising? Oh, what a lovely gold sunning herself. Ladies are his true passion, for he will bend over backwards to impress any lady dragon that he sees. Well, whites may take some time to garner his attention--not for anything but Chirakumath just simply… not be able to tell right away if some lovely dragon is female or male. Oops. But he is all about the ladies. Really. He has no interest in males--certainly doesn’t admire a blue’s zippiness, or a sturdy brown’s wingspan, or a fellow bronze’s sheen. Certainly.
He’s not the smartest dragon, that is true. The notion of Big, Dumb Bronze seems made for him. Yet where that may offend a prouder king’s sensibilities, Chirakumath just can’t be bothered to care. So he’s dumb, oh well. He can still sear thread, still chase after rising females. The social ladder isn’t for him, though one might assume with how he spouts rather pathetic compliments or fetches a meal just so a pretty queen doesn’t have to dirty her talons with the catch.
His easy going manner carries over to his friends, for it’s certainly not hard to get along with Chirakumath. For the Istan easiness has leeched its way into his soul. Oh, new dragon to the Weyr? Why not show them the best spot on the beach where the warm air and cool water feel so completely balanced. A dragon’s not having a good day? He’s got a shoulder, or at the least nudges them up in the air to come fly and forget their problems.
When it comes to love, Chirakumath is a hard dragon to nail down. He is a romantic soul--no thanks to long evenings with his little pillow of a rider reading romance novels to him--, but he does adore everyone. It may also be hard in that he makes it no little secret how he adores hatchlings, and would love to have a clutch of them to call his own. Any dragon that may choose to call Chirakumath their own may have to contend with his desire to be a father. But should a gold take his fancy? He would chase no other. It’s a complicated matter for the otherwise dumb dragon, as he craves love but also family.
Relationships
Firelizards
Posted: Sat Jun 27, 2020 11:05 pm
Name: Dystzha Age:17 18 Nameday: 3559.02.04 Sex: Female Sexual Orientation: Pansexual (Currently super noticing cute girls) Weyr: Western Weyr Rank: Candidate Previous Rank/Craft: Weyrbrat Voice Actor: Song:[x] - Your Type, Carly Rae Jepsen Significant Other:
Physical Description: A cute girl who stands with the confidence of knowing so, Dystzha stands tall and proud with her chin held high. She’s caught somewhere in the murky cusp of soft cuteness and sharper angles of maturity, with a thin, athletic frame and mild curvature. Brown hair, so deep a shade that it rivals black in lower lights, falls to her mid-back, and usually partially up with braids. Her eyes are a mid-tone brown, warm and full of energy. She’s got a bit of a vain streak running through her, for she knows she’s pretty, and does her best to play it carefully. Dystzha uses such little cosmetics at times, using hair style and simple clothes but nice accessories to make herself shine. The little things that she does to make herself seen just a bit more.
Personality: Never one to be shy, Dystzha enjoys plunking herself down infront of anything new -- be it a social group where she knows no one, a crafter who looks to be doing something interesting, or a storyteller going on about something unique. Dystzha has a zest for life, particularly anything new she can wrap her head around, and shows no fear in putting herself out there. If someone looks rather lonely, she’ll happily go introduce herself -- and take the initiative to drag them over to someone else and make even more friends. Her best foot forward always, Dystzha prides herself on being the curious, lively girl she makes herself known for. One of the first to volunteer, to never shy away from a challenge but also to let herself be seen. She does her best to promote this, and while it’s not far from the truth, there is still a superficial tinge to her.
Yet even if she jumps with one foot out, her other is still a bit planted. A nervous streak runs through her fiercely, and she cannot quite help but always look back on things she’s done, words that have been spoken. Did she hurt someone with a particular word choice? Perhaps that new friend only tolerated her presence. Dystzha harbors a great desire to find her niche in life -- for she has a great family, but some earnest friends, maybe a love, a solid place in Western Weyr, to hopefully impress… It leaves a cavern of ache in the teen, for a fear of failure runs a deep chasm. It drove her to ponder some craft, any possibility to fall back on should she not impress even before she had a chance to stand. A legacy of shadows she hopes to rise above, not be lost beneath the weight.
There’s a fierce competitive drive within Dystzha, one that is more-so stoked by her brother the most. She wants to be the best at what she does, and wants to come out on top. Any little thing can become a competition easily, and it’s not hard to bait Dys up to the task. Suddenly something as benign as making a bed becomes a competition to who can make it the fastest, or the most neat, or both. Who got to candidate lessons fastest? Clearly her. When Dys loses, it’s a hit to her pride, and though she’ll be nursing a sore and angry wounded pride, she’ll still give accolades or credit where it’s due. If she avoids someone who won in a bigger bet than her, if she happens to not come across them for the next few days, that’s an absolute accident and absolutely not avoidance on her part at all. It has led to the occasional shoddy chore, though Dystzha would never shy away from owning up to the fact that it was her who didn’t fully complete something. Even if she’s still itching from losing a friendly bet, Dystzha would never let something she did or did not do go to someone who did not earn that reprimand or praise. She would never shy away from punishment she rightfully deserves. Yet she does her best to mind where her manners are at, as well as anyone who many need reminded of theirs. When Dystzha puts her mind to something, she tends to buckle down on it. It’s hard to change her mind when she’s set onto something. She is very detail-oriented, wanting to make certain that all her i’s are dotted and t’s crossed.
Positive Trait List Outgoing, Responsible, Focused Negative Trait List Competitive, Nervous, Conceited
History: Born as a weyrbrat in Western Weyr, Dystzha has lived a remotely average life for a weyrbrat. She grew up loving her family fiercely for every facet -- grandfather, parents, aunts and uncles, cousins, siblings. A close knit family inside Western gave her a sense of pride, for she came from a lengthy lineage of riders, and she greatly looked forward to each passing turn to where she could stand and try to join them up in the sky.
While she waited, Dystzha would take a peek at this craft or that. It was mainly out of curiosity, though some fragments wouldn’t deny that it was out of an internal fear at finding some kind of fall back incase she wouldn’t be able to stand, or if she might age out. A backup plan didn’t seem like a bad plan at the time, however her own perfectionist tendencies tended to futz with her ability to throw herself into something while seeing her beginning errors. It was good to throw herself into when Zhay had been able to stand for a few turns before she was able to, and Dys’ jealousy had flared up.
Just shortly after her 13th nameday, with her bid for candidacy just a turn away, that the unthinkable happened -- thread had returned. To see so much pain and agony within her home, to have suffered the loss of her aunt, never wavered her determination to stand for her first clutch, nor the subsequent hatchings beyond that. Though there is some nerves at the thought of failure, Dystzha stands just as eagerly three turns later.
Name: Shoxiel Age: 20 Nameday: 3556.03.25 Sex: Male Sexual Orientation: [Quiet keyboard smashing] Weyr: Western Weyr Rank: Candidate Previous Rank/Craft: Weyrbrat Voice Actor:[x] - Jason "JD" Dean, Heathers Significant Other:
Physical Description: Standing at a taller height, puberty never quite caught up fully with Shoxiel. He’s on the slightly taller side of average, with broad shoulders and a more square head. Yet he’s got a thin frame, looking more like a prepubescent preteen than a man in his early 20s. Shoxiel’s complexion is a cool, darker tan, with bright spots racing up the left side of his face and disappearing into his hairline. His pale blonde hair is shorn down on the sides, while the top is long, and usually tied in the back into a short tail. His eyes are a soft hazel brown, sparking green in certain lights, and usually held in some soft mix of dismay and quiet judgement. His fingers, arms, and particularly his shoulders are rather scarred up due to his firelizard.
Personality: Up until the shocking and horrifying return of threadfall, Shoxiel has had his life mostly planned out in his little bubble in Western Weyr. Grow up, hopefully impress, take care of his loved ones, live out his life in Western Weyr -- that was it. He has no strive for power, not in the political sense. No, it wasn’t until the return of thread that his protective nature went into overdrive. Seeing his foster mother’s dragon get her first few burns from threadfall, hearing the aching keen of dragons for multiple riders and dragons lost to the silvery threads raining down. Where he used to desire caring for his loved ones, to impress a dragon and fuss over people; he now aches to fight, to sear thread and protect not just his family but all of Pern that he can. While he still has many turns left to stand, Shoxiel takes each march off the stands hard -- even if he has to bury those feelings deep until they can find a way to route out of him. Usually frustration and tears either into Keeper or Shalbyath.
Shoxiel prides himself by being an eager student. Basic lessons as a child, or each new lesson as a candidate, Shoxiel attended all with a keyed interest to soak all information that he could. Though his first priority is a candidate, there are some crafts that draw his eye to possibly try one day.
The world inside Shoxiel’s bubble is a small but loving one. It extends to very few; his foster mother, his foster siblings, a friend here or there. He has no problems interacting with fellow candidates, putting on a pleasant demeanor when he’s helping a rider out. But Shoxiel is most at ease when he’s around those he loves dearly. However, he’s prone to snap decisions, and it can take a lot for him to get over a bad mindset he has on someone.
Though he has a hard time lifting a negative mindset Shoxiel has on someone, he doesn’t let it hinder his day. If he’s got a negative perception of a candidate, Shox may avoid them when sitting down for lessons. Yet is perfectly capable of remaining civil when matched to do chores, able to communicate plenty to see to the end of their task. The friendlier, softer banter that flows easier with Loctius, or a close friend of his might be remarkably absent, and Shoxiel may take a spare look over all their chores to make certain everything is done correctly on his partner’s side of the work.
The one thing that will shut down Shoxiel fast is flirting. It happens rarely, as Shoxiel is not that much of a looker in terms of appearance department. He has such little use of flirting, as it’s hurt him so in the past. A terrible love interest ruined such a blooming time for Shoxiel, and any hint of flirting from a simple wink or a compliment said in the wrong tone has him instantly on guard. If romance were ever in the cards for Shoxiel some day, it would take a lot to chip through such a dense shell. It may be possible, though. But the instant there’s a hint, he’s got his hackles raised and instantly distrustful of any intentions someone may have.
Positive Trait List Studious, Loyal, Loving Negative Trait List Overprotective, Judgemental, Distrustful
History: A result of a flight between a Western greenrider and an unaffiliated bronzerider named Ylzure, Shoxiel started life in the creche shortly after his birth. It wasn’t long before he was taken into the care of Nona, as she raised him amongst her other three children. He’s never taken much care to find which rider in the Weyr is his mother, nor contact his birth father -- for he was content to have his foster mother in his life. He was proud and eager to enter into candidacy when he turned 14.
One day while exploring the beach with his brother Loctius, they stumbled upon a wild firelizard clutch, and Shoxiel walked away with his darling little green firelizard Keeper.
Thus far it’s been six turns of standing and walking away, though he always holds himself with dignity -- at least until after the hatching feast. If he cries against Nona or Shalbyath after the festivities are over, that’s his business.
Sometime after his 16th nameday, he entered a tentative friendship with a fellow candidate. Cool, suave, and took interest in Shoxiel’s knowledge. Shox was, embarrassedly, enamored with the ability to just chatter so easily to the other candidate -- and it was some summer day after lessons that Shoxiel worked up the courage to finally kiss him. It was less than a week when everything crashed around his ears, that the kiss had been a long-con bet between him and his friends to see how long it would take -- and Shoxiel’s feelings were all but built on lies. It hurt the candidate deep, and fostered a mistrust of anything remotely related to love.
It wasn’t until thread returned that his little world was rocked, and he waits on baited breath when his foster mother (amidst every other Western Weyr rider) rises to meet thread, and subsequently returns. It gave him a new determination to Impress and fight for Pern -- if to help keep his loved ones safe, too.
Physical Description: A sprig of a man, Iskernyk isn’t much to look at -- but you should look at him anyway. The man makes an effort to fill a room with his presence, despite having quite an ordinary look about him. Naturally pale, his time on the road lends a bit of a sunned look to his disposition. A mess of brown hair falls to the back of his neck, sun bringing out the lighter highlights. Being so shaggy and chopped tends to lend a more youthful look to this young man, though his disposition certainly doesn’t help. His eyes, a bright green in color, show every bit of his nearly ever present smile, gleaning with merry and mischief. He’s got a few scars here and there, the main one being his nose is slightly off kilter from being broken -- a token he received from a farmer who he may or may not have made a grandfather.
His happiest state is when he’s found a place to bunk down, scrubbed clean until he shines like his personality. Iskernyk prefers clothes of a more colorful variety, anything to stand out and make himself known. Unfortunately, only some of his outfits look properly stylish, as some just tend to look Loud.
Personality: Loud, proud, and filling the room with his song and voice, Iskernyk isn’t one to shy away from the limelight of a room.
A bright spirit, very little tends to weigh down Iskernyk. It’s water off a sea wherry’s back, after all! It’s very rare to see him without a smile, a croon of his voice, and his gitar out of arm’s reach. He delights in being the center of a party, making himself center stage and wanting all eyes on him. Very little gets him down, even when threatened by someone his flitter-may-care attitude or penchant for flirting (and occasionally more) with the wrong person’s significant other. For indeed, his gaze tends to stray to the finer bits of those around him. An admiring eye that always finds the most delightful and, daresay, admirable parts of a person. He’s keen to smooze on anyone that his eye catches, with little sense of self preservation to whom he may flirt with all the way to their bed -- or closet, or anywhere vaguely private, really. Yet for all his romantic dalliances, never does he stay faithful to any particular one. Iskernyk may return to one, with sweet words of how they always invoke inspiration for his music and poetry. But he skirts and dances through life with little care -- shying away from too much responsibility of long personal attachments. While he holds the responsibility of being a harper to a higher degree, tending to stray towards cotholds that don’t see the attentions of a harper to hear ballads and songs to teach littles while keeping a roof over his head and hot meals in his belly. At least, until his sweet nothings to a farmer’s daughter have him being chased away by a grandparent-to-be in the middle of the night.
While he does his best to have the light of the party centered on him, it helps that he’s quite adept at social situations. Quick as a flit, Iskernyk prides himself at staying on his toes at all social occasions. He does his best to read a situation and use it to his advantage, whether to comfort a distressed woman or charm an overworked mother in a caravan into minding her children for a warm meal and a spot in a wagon. He does it all in exchange for a few marks, a hot meal, a warm bed -- finding himself a place to stay for a while does have its perks, though he prefers to not stay. Iskernyk likes to keep himself tidy and prim as best he can. Fine clothes, making certain he’s preened and pretty to charm and smooze on the nearest cute person in his vicinity. Vanity, thy name is Iskernyk -- his natural and happy state is cleaned, washed, and looking his absolute best in fine clothes of his own choosing.
A failing of Iskernyk is that he tends to only stay on the present. What happens right in front of him gets his whole attentions, and while he may have idle thoughts here and there -- a lover he left back in Nerat, an old friend he may not have seen in many months -- what he has going on in the present gets his whole attention, and once that has past is when he allows himself to move on.
A friend to many, he has been invited as a personal guest to hatchings here and there -- an event that he’s always so gracious to attend. Hatchings are reverent to Iskernyk, ones that he’s written ballads and poems over. Yet he’s never blind to the idle thought that, as an observer, guest, and witness to the birth of the next clutch of fighting dragons to Pern that one may turn their gaze towards the stands, to look upon Iskernyk with those prismatic pools of love -- and he may let out a bit of a self-deprecating laugh. For a dragon would have to find him... worthy.
Positive Trait List Ebullient, Amorous, Astute Negative Trait List Vain, Gamophobe, Single-minded
History: The start of Iskernyk’s life is a rather humorous one -- in which he spent quite a while of his young years trying to figure out how his two mothers ended up having him. Although he wouldn’t find out for many years, his apparent sire in life had some steamy affair with his parents -- and ended up with Iskernyk being raised in nothing but love, and his dear ol' dad ditching out on the best ladies in all of Pern.
He grew up as the delightful only sprite of Skyrk and Innyse, two wonderful weavers in High Reaches Hold. A cheeky, bright kid who had a natural hand for weaving together fibers and building patterns deftly, and perhaps the building blocks to his natural calling in life -- being a harper. He filled his long voids in his day--be it chores, helping cook or clean, taking care of the family canine--with soft humming and singing. His spare time was filled with running around with other hold kids (at least until they got dirty, ugh), and balanced with hanging off any harper's shirt tails that didn't send him scrambling back to his mums. Yet when he wasn't being a nuisance, he was always on the go-- a wandering spirit who adored to see what other people were up to in the hold.
At the age of eleven, after much discussion and more than a few tears, he was sent off to Harper Hall to hone his skills. It was with some tinkering that he grew to like the gitar, finding his hands were quite adept to the little strings after years of helping his mothers -- though he was plucking them this time around, not weaving. He had a handful of assorted relationships, nothing substantial lasting for more than a week or two. Iskernyk's main duty was to learning, after all. At the age of 20, barely a month into his new decade of life, Iskernyk was able to walk the tables into journeyman life. Its a badge of honor that he's proud of, and upon being released to the world he ventured back to High Reaches Hold to visit his mothers.
Short visit that it was, he was happy to trek about Pern. Finding comfortable company out on the roads, finding his way to stay on caravans for respites and charming his way into cotholds. Perhaps not the best way to get about, but his roguish charms have yet to let him down. His first brush with his consequences landed him with a broken nose, after the farmer's daughter that he may have had a roll in the hay with wound up pregnant. Not that he was entirely sure that the babe would be his, after all -- he knows that she wasn't exactly devoted back to Iskernyk in return. The insinuation is what landed him a square punch to the face, and sent the wounded harper scrambling onto the next hold to nurse his pride (and broken nose).
His dalliances have continued on, with no general direction as to what he wants in life. Sweet nothings that were uttered and crooned for any ear that would have them. Though some were consistent, romantic interests that usually ended with a door being slammed on him. The first time he charmed a rider ended with him being the guest of a handsome Western greenrider to a hatching, one he greatly values as a friend and possibly more (and what's even worse, the man's own dragon onto his own moony feelings) -- but that's neither here nor there. Not when he got to witness the cracking of so many shells, the shine of impression in those little facets, the pure influx of emotions across newly made weyrlings' faces. Iskernyk wasn't quite addicted to watching the event, but anytime he could jump at the chance of being at his friend's arm, watching such a sight that few out of a Weyr would ever see -- Isk would never turn down the invitation.
It's only recent that he learned of his father, having been tracked down by the man himself after some time. Iskernyk does take a small dash of pride to not being tracked down, at least not without draconic means of help. But the man who oh-so-kindly donated his half of the dna and ditched out was sporting a still-healing broken nose, talking about needing an heir after his first had died, and his second had left such a nice parting gift with his refusal. Iskernyk had, with little grace, laughed at the man. Where he might have left a bridge beam to walk on, he was happy to flatly turn down a man who had left his mothers -- however the delightful knowledge that he had a half-brother in High Reaches Weyr has put a good pep in his step, determined to know his little sibling.
