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 Posted: Tue May 24, 2011 10:47 am
~Welcome to the Weyrsecond's abode~
The weyr is situated around three quarters of the way up the caldera, and faces west to catch the evening sun. It's a rather large weyr, but what stands out about it is less its size and far more its décor. Most things in here are practical, but everything is aesthetic. From the elegant desk and chair with handsome carvings, to the hammock made of bright red cloth, and on again to the pretty silver wine jug and goblets embossed with a design of playful firelizards it gives off an air of somewhat eclectic luxury. Not everything in here is expensive though; a necklace of cheap glass beads rests on a small table beside a thick gold arm ring, and in the storage alcoves a simply but prettily painted box sits beside a far more intricate piece. All in all this weyr is clearly about flare and looks, not about the price tag.
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Posted: Tue May 24, 2011 10:53 am
Contents
1. Welcome
2. Contents
3. History
4. Z'iv
5. Erebth
6. Flitts
7. Relationships
8. Logs
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Posted: Tue May 24, 2011 10:56 am
History
Pre-game history
Born to a Trader family in the back of a wagon rumbling from one Hold to another, Zerivon's childhood was chaotic and free. He ran barefoot in the streets, rode runners bareback, and learned how to make a quick mark. Thanks to his pretty face, striking eyes, and agility his speciality became dancing and acrobatics. Sometimes he genuinely earned his money this way, sometimes the purpose of his performance was distracting a crowd so that other members of the caravan could move around picking pockets. He learned the tricks of theft too, and employed these himself when somebody else was on diversion duty, as well as learning to employ sleight of had with flare to entertain and thus earn more money. Like any good Trader he also developed 'the gift of the gab', meaning that he could sell a nonplussed holder his own wherries at twice their value and have them thank him for it.
While this was all well and good, as he grew through his teens he began to develop a feeling of ennui; is this all there is? He was never going to grow up to run the caravan, so he'd always have to hand over a cut of his earnings, and he was bright enough to know that sooner or later his luck would probably run out and he'd be branded as the thief he was. In short, he didn't feel that he could sustain his life as it was long term, and nor did he really want to; as a middle child in a big family, which in turn was one small and not especially important part of the whole interconnected community he felt unimportant and under appreciated.
So it was than when a searchrider from Ista Weyr swept down upon the Hold Zerivon and the rest of the caravan were fleecing doing business with and picked him out as a potential candidate, he took the opportunity after only minimal hesitation. Sure dragonriders were irrelevant to modern life, but he could put up with their archaic ways and pointless drills if it meant he got a dragon. With a dragon, in his free time, he could go anywhere, do anything, bring the rarest of goods from one end of Pern to the other in the blink of an eye. Then they'd see who the most important member of the family, of the whole Trader group was. After pointing out the potential benefits to his parents and to the head of the caravan, Zerivon was allowed to climb onto the green dragon with his bag of possessions and disappear bound for his new life.
The rigid structure of candidate life came as a nasty shock to the seventeen turn old who, until that point, had enjoyed almost complete freedom. Sure he'd had to help cook, wash clothes, look after runners and so on but such chores had only been a small part of his day back with the caravan; having them take up most of his life did not please him at all. Neither did lessons; he was happy to learn about the care of dragons, but he felt that Weyr history and politics were a waste of his valuable time. After a couple of rounds of punishment duties for speaking out of turn, however, he learned to save his snarking for the candidate dorms, away from anyone who might decide to make him clean the latrines for a week straight. The only thing that stopped him from giving up and leaving in the end was the companionship he found in a tough, friendly, and rather handsome weyrbrat named Brekar. Zerivon had had a few girls before, and a couple of boys, but for the first time he found himself actually falling in love rather than just into bed. Brekar's energy and enthusiasm contrasted starkly to Zerivon's rather lazy cynicism, but then it is said that opposites attract. The pair kept their liason quiet, but the people around them probably suspected something was going on at least.
After what felt like forever to Zerivon, the hatching came around. Shells cracked spilling out greens and blues, and joyful bonds were made; the very first of the day was Brekar - B'kar - to a pretty little green who wanted a big strong man to protect her from the big scary world she suddenly found herself thrust into. It was getting towards the end of the hatching when a different colour finally showed itself; a handsome stocky bronze trotted over to a very surprised looking Holdborn lad, shattering the hopes of many of the males on the sand. Zerivon, however, remained indifferent; lessons had taught him well enough that one of the biggest males wouldn't even consider him, a fact that he rather resented. Stupid bronzes didn't know what they were missing, and nor did their uptight riders come to that. When it came down to the cracking of the penultimate shell Zerivon had more or less given up on being picked, and regarded the dark brown dragonet that emerged with slightly bored resignation, waiting for it to choose another boy. A moment later he heard a huff within his mind, followed by a deep quiet voice.
"You understand, Mine. Life is not laid out simply before us, but we must not resign ourselves, we must work hard and claim more than scraps; we are better than that. Come to your Erebeth, there is work to be done."
So the Impression was made, and Zerivon became Z'iv. Over the next few sevendays he had little time to notice anything but Erebeth, but once the dragonet required slightly less attention and he was more used to the routine of it, he noticed that things had cooled between himself and B'kar. At first he put it down to simple preoccupation, but as they progressed through their training he began to suspect that the greenrider was jealous of him. Eventually they had it out, and when accused of wanting a brown more than a green B'kar strenuously denied it. He did, however, admit that he wished Z'iv had got a green too; going from being the more dominant partner to having to watch while Z'iv had chances at leadership that he could never have did not sit well. Harsh words were spoken by both parties, and the once lovers stopped speaking to one another. Despite the manner of their parting Z'iv was still very much in love with B'kar, and hoped that they could reconcile once they were both more used to their new lives.
This, however, was not to be. Always a flighty, nervous creature B'kar's green ran afoul of the bronze in the clutch, and the bigger dragon started to bully her. One day he decided to spook her by swooping down on her as she fed on a wherry she had just killed. He had expected amusing squealing and flailing, but what he got was one brief scream and then nothing; the young green jumped between in terror and never re-emerged. B'kar, now Brekar again, was a broken man; three days after the loss of his lifemate he asked an older rider to taken him between and leave him so that he could join her. The loss of his first love further compounded Z'iv's cynical outlook on life, but the determined brown dragon by his side ensured that he continued to work hard, and they graduated from training as a fairly well thought of pair, well thought of by those who thought anything of weyrlings that is.
Z'iv has had various flings in the turns since then but has never settled with anyone for more than a sevenday or so. On Erebeth's behest he has striven for greatness, and he has followed through with his plans to hop around Pern doing a bit of buying and selling to a degree, but Erebeth's insistence on spending time trying to climb the political ladder has put a bit of a crimp in his money-making schemes. All this hard work has recently paid of too some degree, however; not long after his thirtieth naming day, Z'iv was chosen as the new candidatemaster as the previous one retired. His first batch of candidates have just attended their first hatching, and much to Z'iv's surprise nobody died.
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Posted: Tue May 24, 2011 11:10 am
Z'iv
Basics
Name: Z'iv (Zerivon)
Age: 30
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Bisexual
Height: ~5'10"
Build: Slim, lithely muscled
Skin: Deeply tanned all over
Face: Fine boned, handsome bordering on pretty
Hair: Black, straight, thick, fine strands, around shoulder-blade length
Eyes: Bright green
Detailed description: The rider is of average height, and as slim, supple, and quick as a whip. He has a kind of languid, lazy grace about him, and often gives off an air of either resigned ennui, or wry amusement. The first thing that people tend to notice about him while he's in riding gear are his eyes; bright green as they are they would be quite striking in any face, but thanks to his fine-boned features, deeply tanned complexion, and his inky black hair they really stand out.
When he's not in his riding gear, however, it will probably be his clothes that first catch the eye; once a Trader always a Trader he dresses with colourful, eclectic flare. Some notable items in his wardrobe are a pair of red trousers split down both sides, held together with criss-crossing gold ribbon, a white shirt that has huge sleeves drawn together at the wrists with cuffs that then fall over his hands, and a pair of thigh high leather boots with a notable heel. As well as an eye catching wardrobe, he has a fairly impressive jewellery box; the actual value of items doesn't seem to matter to him, he'll wear a real gold arm ring alongside simple wooden bangles, the only rule seems to be that he likes the pieces and that they look good together, and with what he's wearing.
Personality
Five words: Cynical, lazy, amiable, bright, wry
Quote: "What do I do? I provide people with a fantastic body to look at, it's my sole redeeming feature."
Talents: Dancing, acrobatics, fast-talking, slight of hand which can be turned to magic tricks or thievery
Character tracks:
Detailed personality: An amiable cynic, lazy but given to sudden bursts of activity. Z'iv isn't as much of a contradiction as summarizing him in a sentence makes him sound; he expects the worst of life in general, but not necessarily of the people around him. They're all in the same boat, up the same creek, without the same instrument after all, except for the bastards who get everything handed to them on a gold bronze silver platter. He presumes that people he doesn't know, or knows and dislikes, will try to use him just as he would try to use them, but he trusts that those he does know and like are on his side, and he in turn is on their side. It isn't difficult to get on his good side; he likes people in general, and is a pretty easy going sort, so you'd have to be really combative (or a serious enemy of one of his friends) for him to think badly of you. While he's fond of the company of almost all people, he finds the company of optimists particularly interesting. Sure he's convinced that they're just a bit naive, or that life has been uncommonly nice to them, but their outlook is refreshingly different to his own, almost entertaining at times. Additionally, while he is of course a cynical pessimist, he has a kind of dry, wry, darkly amused attitude to his own view of the world, and about the things that happen to him. Rather than whining that life is unfair and difficult he'll make a witty, snarky, or facetious observation about whatever it is that's just happened, or he expects to happen.
As to laziness, perhaps it would be more apt to say that he's languid, and conserves his energy. If there's nothing that needs doing he won't waste strength by pacing or wadnering aimlessly; he'd rather sprawl somewhere and top up his all over tan. When it comes to time to move, however, he really can move; while he doesn't dance or perform acrobatics as much as he used to he's kept up the muscles, flexibility, speed, and stamina necessary to put on a good show, or run like hell when everything goes Tango Uniform. Even when he is sprinting or turning a backflip, however, he manages to look lazy, as if every motion is completely effortless. As he rather likes his cool and casual image, he does his best to keep up this unruffled air until he's in private, whereupon it's acceptable to collapse in a heap and get his breath back.
While he is gregarious and loves to be surrounded by people, in general Z'iv doesn't chatter on; he's more likely to put in snarky/witty comments, or to make observations/remarks about the people or situation around him than to be the one dominating the talk/gossip. As with physical action, however, when there's something he really wants said, a point he really wants to make he'll use that Trader's mouth to full effect and talk non-stop until he's either been heard out or physically threatened. Yea, he's not a fan of threats. He's been in his share of scuffles, although mainly before he came to the Weyr, but he would much rather talk his way out of a bad situation than fight. If it does come to a fight he'll try to end it as swiftly as possible, with as little bodily harm done to himself as possible. If that means being underhanded and kicking his opponent where it hurts so be it, his hide is more important than his honour thanks so much.
It's also worth noting that he's kind of vain. He's handsome (or pretty), and he knows it; nature blessed him with a fine face, fine eyes, and fabulous hair, and he put in the hard work to make his body good enough to match. Insulting his looks... well it won't get you anywhere actually, at most you'll get a smirk and a short laugh out of him; he's completely secure in his vanity, and while he likes compliments he doesn't really need them. He approves of good looks in others too though, and isn't shy about giving compliments. He isn't shy about flirting either; he's not looking for a long term relationship right now but he is very fond of flings; one night, one sevenday, two at most in one stretch... He'll flirt with anyone he thinks is attractive regardless of gender, and more or less regardless of age too; so long as they've reached their majority they're fair game so far as he sees it, so long as they aren't weyrlings of course. He's not particularly offended or upset if his advances are rebuffed (his confidence shining through again) but that doesn't mean he'll quit flirting; he might know he's not going to get into bed with you but that doesn't mean he's going to stop having fun with you. Bronze riders beware, he's especially fond of teasing the riders of the largest males with double entendre and sly glances.
His confidence is fairly all-encompassing actually; it extends to belief in his proficiency in work as well as in a social setting. While he believes that the deck of life is fairly well stacked against him getting anywhere, he trusts in his ability to count the cards, and believe that if he sets his mind to it (and is willing to put in the effort) he could achieve just about anything. Will the world knock him down? Sure, but he's perfectly capable of getting back up and dusting himself off so long as nothing terminal happens to him. It is only through Erebeth's chivvying, however, that he does make the effort; had he not Impressed he would would probably never have bothered to use his wit and intellect to move ahead in life, and he certainly wouldn't have done so consistently. In his case the dragon really has made the man, or made the man get off his backside and make the effort at any rate.
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Posted: Tue May 24, 2011 11:16 am
Erebeth
Age: 13
Physical description: A shadow given shape; he is so dark a brown as to be almost black, and completely unmarked. He's almost the size of a small bronze, but is built more like a blue than anything else. Has a tendency to loom like a hunched spidery gargoyle. His eyes are usually dull green.
Five words: Driven, bold, cynical, workaholic, caring
Quote: "Earn your knots, Weyrsecond!"
Character tracks:
Detailed personality: A will of steel, and a manner just as unforgiving and militaristic while he's on the job. Erebeth wants to be the best, wants to rise above the bronzes, to command, to be respected. He sees being hatched brown as a cruel joke, an attempt by the world at large to keep him from getting where he wants to be. The joke, however, will be on the world one day. He's strong, he's smart, and above all he is determined. No number of setbacks will make him give up; he will make use of all of his talents and all of his rider's talents, and haul himself up out of the dirt as often as he must. He will get to the top, or he will die trying. In Z'iv he saw somebody who already knew the deck was stacked against them, and somebody who he believed could be persuaded to strive to overcome this disadvantage with enough prodding.
While he is certainly a very forceful dragon to be around, downright unpleasant if he sees you as a rival, he does have a softer nicer, actually rather protective side that he shows to dragons he cares for. One of the reasons he wishes to rise to the top is because he genuinely thinks he would do a good job, and cares about those around him. If asked he is happy to offer help and advice to those he sees as friends, and if he sees them in trouble he'll do what he can to help whether he's asked or not. Also when among friends he will display a dark sense of humour that is rather similar to his rider's; the difference between them is that Z'iv will still joke on the job, whereas Erebeth becomes straight-faced, totally focused on the task ahead.
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Posted: Fri May 27, 2011 7:23 am
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Posted: Fri May 27, 2011 7:37 am
Relationships
T'rel and bronze Zelith
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Posted: Tue Jun 07, 2011 8:40 am
LogsEncounter Log
Personal Log
Writings
All that remains - After the first Threadfall, Z'iv seeks out the surviving members of his family.
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Posted: Tue Jun 07, 2011 1:35 pm
All that remains
He swore that it was no warmer, no more possible to breathe when they appeared above the cliffs than it had been between. Almost immediately Erebeth’s sharp eyes picked out the remains of the caravans on the road that led to the Weyr. Stone and metal goods. The buckles from harnesses. Cooking pots. Thread, still wriggling. He didn’t want to know what the fattened pulsing things were devouring, and so he separated his vision from Erebeth’s before he saw something he couldn’t forget.
As they swooped down towards the beach and the cave the firelizards had shown them Erebeth let out a mighty roar, his yellowed eyes scanning for a place to land. The sand was still patched with tangles of live Thread. “Mine, I don’t think there’s room for me to-”
“Land in the water,” Z’iv instructed, having observed the same problem, “I can pick my way up safely.” He did not, however, wait for his dragon to land; as soon as they were over the water he freed himself from the straps and sprang down into the surf, rolling to lose momentum before coming to his feet again. Something slimy had coiled itself around his arm, and Z’iv looked down to see a long dull grey tendril. Drowned Thread, harmless as seaweed. He retched and shook the thing off before setting off up the beach at a dead run.
As the sand grew drier he began to see more and more live clumps of Thread, silver and twisting sickeningly. Up ahead was the a narrow crack that must lead into the cave the flitts had shown him and just short of it to the left was more Thread, a huge engorged clump of it. His history lessons told him that the foul green tinge to it meant that it had fed. The screams. Another fat clump caught his eye then, and another, and another. Z’iv came to a halt, unable to go any closer to the writhing masses which had once been members of his family. When the stuff finally died he could pick through the remains to find out who it had been by their jewellery.
“Z’iv!”
At the sound of his name the lithe man’s head snapped up; just outside the narrow entrance to the cave stood a skinny girl with short black hair. She was covered in sand, her bare arms were cut and bruised but she was alive. “Lora!” His horror at the tangles of pulsing Thread forgotten Z’iv raced forward, scooping the battered girl up and holding her close as she clung to him and sobbed into his shoulder.
“Zena’s inside,” she choked out after a moment, “hurt her ankle tripping when we ran into the cave. It was the Thread Z’iv, I thought it was gone forever! We were just down here with the others while the grownups were fixing a new wheel onto one of the caravans and Emerald and Jade went mad and started trying to chase all of us down the beach and we didn’t know why and then we head screaming up on the cliffs and we saw the silver Thread and we ran but Zena and I were the only ones that made it... That’s them, isn’t it? Those piles of Thread?”
What could he say to her? She was thirteen (no, she’d be fourteen by now actually), he couldn’t just lie and tell her everyone was safe but had to go away. “Don’t look sweetheart. Show me where your cousin is.”
Making a noise that was half assent half another sob Lora wriggled out of her uncle’s arms and, clasping his hand tightly, led him in through the narrow crack in the cliff face. It must have been this that scratched up her arms he supposed, even for him - a slim man - it was a squeeze, and even someone as tiny as Lora running for their life would have bashed against the sharp edges of rock.
After a couple of meters the crack opened up into the small cave he recognised from Emerald and Jade’s frantic sendings. Sitting on the sandy ground with a green flit on each shoulder and tears streaming down her face was Zena. She was as cut and bruised as her cousin, and he could see that her right ankle had already started to swell; it must be badly sprained. He couldn’t think of a single thing in the world to say and so he walked over, knelt down, and put his arms around her in silence. After a moment Lora joined them in the embrace and the girls started sobbing again, and despite his best efforts to stay strong for them Z’iv soon found himself crying too.
Of an extended family of more than fifty, they were all that remained. From their oldest member Granny Rina at ninety-two to his little sister Farla’s three month old baby whose name he couldn’t even remember. Had they looked up at the sky as the Thread fell and wondered why he didn’t appear to save them?...
Thread.
Saving people.
Tithes.
There was so much that would need to be sorted out at the Weyr, he couldn’t afford to collapse into grief and self recrimination. “We gotta go,” he managed to croak after a few moments, “I want to get you two safe to the Weyr, and I got a lot of work to do back there too. Trust me to get promoted to Weyrsecond five minutes before the Thread starts to fall again after nine hundred turns. I got a duty to them now, to everyone at the Weyr; they’re my family, my responsibility. You understand?”
“Uh-hu,” Zena replied, her voice indistinct due to her face being buried in his shoulder, “and I don’t want to stay here anyway... Are they really all dead?”
“Yea. Really.” Z’iv tried and failed to keep a tremor from his voice. All of them. It was beyond belief. “You still got me though. I’ll take care of you.” Somehow he’d make the time. Somehow. At least they still had one another too. “C’mon,” the green-eyed man squeezed his nieces tightly before releasing them and getting to his feet, “time to go. Lora it’ll be easier for you to help Zena out of the cave than for me, I’ll carry her when we get out.”
“Right. Okay.” White-faced, shaking, eyes and nose reddened with her sobbing Lora got to her feet, helping Zena up too as she did so.
Once again uncharacteristically lost for words Z’iv nodded and moved to squeeze back out of the cave. The Thread on the sand was moving less now, slowly dying. The tide seldom reached this high up the beach. He’d come back tomorrow, see what he could gather up from here and the remains of the wagons up on the road. As the girls squeezed out of the cave behind him Z’iv turned to pick Zena up and set off quickly towards the water where Erebeth waited. The brown’s grey eyes echoed his own pain. All those lives wiped out in the space of a few minutes.
As they approached the large brown crouched down, and Z’iv lifted Zena up onto his back where she expertly fastened the straps around herself. The times they had flown together had been full of joy and laughter. He could hardly bear to consider them. The grinning faces of the other children waiting for their turn. The adults pretending they weren’t that interested and then whooping like teens as the world spread out below them. Even Granny Rina had taken a flight or two in turns gone by, but recently she had claimed it far too drafty up there and her joints far too stiff...
Lora hadn’t joined him. She was standing by the edge of the water, transfixed by the tangles of drowned Thread between herself and Erebeth. “It can’t hurt you,” Z’iv assured the small girl gently, wading back out to her, “it’s all dead... Here,” he picked her up, “I’ll give you a lift, hu?” Placing her behind her cousin the rider lent against his dragon’s shoulder for a few moments, struggling to stay in control. He had to keep it together, both for the girls and to show a decent face to Lord Servick when he joined T’rel and Ky’t in tithe negations. He couldn't. He was too weak.
“I am your strength,” Erebeth said softly, rumbling deep in his chest and turning his huge head to look his rider in the eye, “lean on me for as long as you need. I will hold you up.”
All he could manage in response to that was a nod, he had neither the time nor the energy for more. Reaching for that indomitable strength that seemed to flow through every fibre of his dragon’s being Z’iv clambered up and strapped himself in. “Take us home, Erebeth.”
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