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Name: Ch'nda
Age: 37
Gender: Female
Craft/Rank: Watchrider

Appearance:
Ch'nda is a tall woman, topping off at an earth measurement of six foot two inches. Her complexion suggests that she once had fair, delicate skin but it has long since been worn into a tough, wind chaffed hide. Her dark brown hair falls midway down her back, long and straight, usually pulled back into a tight braid or pony tail and is probably the single most feminine feature she has. Her althletic build is only accentuated by ropey muscles, her frame trim to the point where the woman has almost no curves, but the woman hardly minds. She is proud of her strength and speed, proud of the fact that the years of training and work have made her body into that of a rider--something that trumphs sex and appearance. As what some might consider an older woman, her face is lined with the beginnings of wrinkles--years of smiles and anger have begun to leave their mark on her but she wears them with pride. This woman sees little use in the frivolity of appearance, dress and the like. She manicures her appearance, as cleanliness is important, as is neatness, but you will never see her wearing any sort of makeup, or sporting a new hairdo--likely not wearing a new outfit either. Painfully predictable, Ch'nda can be seen either in her rider's uniform or her own clothes which always bear more function than fashion.

Personality:
Ch'nda is a logical mind, and has quite the reputation for coming across cold and mechanical. Her speech is clipped and to the point. Even in her words, she has no love for frivolity. This girl does not beat about the bush, she says what she means and exactly so, and while she tries to be polite, the nuances are usually lost in the shadow of her mechanical demeanor.
Many wonder what would have become of her if she had never impressed, and never become a Watchmember. She often seems like nothing else could have ever been, nothing else would have fit. Needless to say, it's a pointless thought, and one Ch'nda dismisses immediately. She is a watchmember, why bother with the could have beens and the never was? It is a waste of energy.

While Ch'nda defines the phrase 'perfect little soldier,' and will follow orders to the end of the earth, she also has her own strong moral core. If ever there was a conflict between orders and her own morality, the woman would likely come to a halt, unsure of what to do--At least until Reth stepped in to push her to do the right thing. He knows that she will feel bad for disobeying others, but he also knows that if the woman betrays her own morals, it will eat her alive. She would never even think to disobey orders, it simply is not an option in her mind, but even stronger than her lawful nature is her moral core. Reth knows that while her lawfulness could recover, her moral core is what really makes her who she is--and that person is hard enough to find beneath all that soldier without it carrying emotional baggage. Reth will never let her betray her morals and compromise herself for the watch, he loves her too much and knows her too well. Perhaps this is why the two found their way to J'car's wing.

Ch'nda trusts J'car completely, and after working with him for years, the rider is more loyal to her Wingleader than just about anything. She admires the man as a rider, and trusts his judgement without falter--the way he will hold to his own and defy orders when he finds them wrong among other things. It was Reth who watched and evaluated, and 'found' J'car. Ch'nda is still unsure exactly why Reth was so insistant on their joining J'car's wing, but it makes sense. J'car is the only person that Reth would accept, and trust, to give orders to his bonded and in that way, the dragon almost holds J'car responsible for keeping Ch'nda's lawful nature in check. She is very much the type to follow orders into her own destruction, to hate herself for what she has done but do it regardless because it was ordered. While it is a complex feeling that Ch'nda does not understand, she knows she trusts J'car's judgement, and is doggedly sure she is correct in the assumption that he would never give her an order that would hurt her. Not like that, at least. She'll follow J'car's orders to the end of pern, but while she is terribly loyal, she doesn't seem to have feelings for the man--though, most would contest she doesn't seem to have feelings at all. She sees J'car as her leader, and at times, probably one of the closest things to friends she has (along with a select few other Watchriders she does like), but anything further than friend seems out of the realm of possibility. He's a flirt, and should she be the target Ch'nda would likely never look into it. He's a flirt. He flirts with everyone. She would never shoot J'car down, but likely react with a sort of patient dismissal as if to say 'All right, have your fun so we can move on to important things.' If J'car, by any minute chance, were ever to have an actual interest in Ch'nda, he'd likely have to weld the words into a cast iron frying pan and then beat her with it to get her to notice. In her mind, it simply is not a possibility-she's J'car's soldier, the researcher-and she refuses to entertain such frivolous ideas.

Emotional relationships, to be blunt, scare her to the core. Emotions make things messy, make things hurt, they cloud the mind and cause more trouble than they're worth. If she could separate herself from them, Ch'nda likely would. It seems that at her age, she has no interest in frivolous relationships that might get in the way of her work. A rider's duty comes first, before all things, and if ever there was a virtue Ch'nda made a part of herself, that was it. There might ave been some in the past who tried to woo and win her, but their efforts usually either go unnoticed or are met with suspicion and interrogation. Neither way ends particularly well. She simply has never quite learned to interact with people. Idle chatter puzzles her. Stupid questions like 'are you ok' infuriate her. At times, it seems like she speaks a language completely different from the rest of the world, with Reth as the only translator to go between them. Give her an order, and she can relentlessly fufill it. Give her a question and she can give you an answer. Complement her hair today and you'll likely be marked as an idiot in her mind, and you'll be lucky if she bothers with you again. She is not an easy person to befriend to say the least. To those she would hope to be friends with, she hesitates to assume comradery. In fact, she simply won't. Were someone to call her a friend, to tell her that they are friends, the woman would gladly accept and fulfill every traditional duty of a friend. She might even smile a little at you from time to time, but she will never be the one to make the first move. While those who win her loyalty can do no wrong, it seems even then she still can not bring herself to be the first to call someone a friend, or even ask them to a cup of klah. Every now and then, she slips up. A smile slips through or something that even sounds like a joke pops out, but almost immediately she will distance herself again. It is almost as if she fears to get to close to someone else without permission. Almost as if even in friendship, without orders she simply does not know what to do.

Her favorite place, her favorite thing to do, is be on the job. She will relentlessly take on any task ordered to her, and nothing satisfies like a job well done. Though, she will readily admit that in recent times she's gotten a bit more of an itch for action. There's nothing like chasing after a duster, tracking for days, then that moment of confrontation, that moment of choice between easy and hard, and Ch'nda always seems to find herself hoping they chose the latter. She is proud of her physical strength. Ch'nda loves to spar, and loves a real fight more.

In essence, I suppose you could liken her to a police dog:
Lawful, Loyal, Ever willing to please her masters and sink her teeth in when given the order.


History:
Chanda was born the first and last child in a very small mining family. Her mother was lost in the birth leaving only a little girl and her father. She grew quick and strong, spending most of her childhood in the mines with her father, learning the trade early. When she was not at her father's heels in the mines, she was in the archives. It was a wonderful old scribe who taught her to read--her father had never learned--and write, and Chanda suddenly found an entire new world. She was going on fantastic adventures, flying the skies with dragons and twisting in the air to scour thread from the sky. She was with Lessa as she made her journeys, with Moreta as she rode. Books were her sanctuary, her love and her life, but at the age of fifteen, a new love came to be.
He was a lordholder's son, with slick black hair and a suave intensity. The way he looked at her made her feel like his gaze might set her afire right then and there. In a whirlwind, the two fell in love and for a little while everything was perfect. At seventeen, the two were married and he began to take on more and more responsibility in the hold, and something in him began to change. He no longer had time for her firey self, her disdain for all authority. He wanted her to be quiet. He wanted her to dress in fine clothes, wear makeup, like a proper Lady. All that was fine enough. Some nights he would be angry, some nights he would be mean. But they were in love, they were married! This was going to be their happily ever after...right?

At the age of twenty, Chanda became pregnant. The news weighed hard on her. Each day it seemed like her husband was further and further from the man she had fallen in love with. He was nothing but anger. He wanted her to change and she had! She'd gone from a miner's daughter, rough and wild to a lady. She did everything she could, but she simply never seemed to live up to whatever trophy wife standard her husband seemed to keep. He hardly had time for her any more, and she was rather sure that those nights when he was working late had nothing to do with hold duties. She was trying so hard to keep her life from falling apart, and now, faced with a child, she was unsure and afraid. For weeks she pursued her husband. They needed to talk, they needed to talk, they needed to talk, yet he was always busy. We'll talk later, over and over and over again. Finally the girl snapped.

Chanda stormed into the meeting hall, not in her fine dresses but rather leather pants, boots and a loose canvas tunic that was just large enough to hide a budding belly. He watched her storm up to him with scathing eyes, those beautiful lips pushed into a fine thin line as those beautiful eyes lit up. Not with love. That was fine. She could hardly say she was a beacon of love herself. Her steps came hard and decisive against the stone floor, her own brow furrowed and mouth hard. He met his wife with a barked order, go back to your room. This is no place for you. But Chanda was determined to be heard. No. She demanded he listen. The woman stood not an inch from her husband's face, and all at once, it all came out. She was tired of his s**t. She was tired of being told what to do, how to speak, how to dress, how to act. He had married a her not some lump of clay he could smash and rebuild to his liking. And don't think she didn't know about him sleeping with that god damned hussy from the kitchens.
Her husband swung hard, and his hand connected with her cheek hard enough to send her to the floor, lip beginning to bleed. He stood, and began to yell. She'd never really remember what he said, just the look in those vivid, beautiful, hateful eyes. She'd remember the heat that rose in her own chest, the indignation that this man was the one who had spawned her child. Chanda got to her feet, her posture cowed but those eyes never wavering. He waived his finger in her face. Cursed. It took her quite a moment to get her bearings, to steady her feet and process the anger that was ever building. She'd never really remember what set her off. It was something else that he said. The slap she could have taken, if he hadn't pushed her further. She'd taken them before.

Chanda pulled back her fist, and without a second's hesitation, the miner's daughter planted it squarely in her husband's face. The man reeled back, nose broken and bleeding. Chanda came foreward, slamming her left into his gut as she swung her right into his side. The man dropped to the floor, and the guards had finally made their way to the woman to restrain her. She gave them no fight, only stared down at that man, standing straighter than she had in years. Those hateful, beautiful eyes. She found it hard to feel anything but disgust for them anymore. "I don't ever want to hear from your sorry a** again. Do you ******** understand me?" The man hastily nodded. Chanda pulled her arms free of the guards, turned on her heel and walked out.

The comming months were hard. Her belly swelled as she earned a living back in the mines. Soon, a little boy was born, and christened Jireth, a wonderful little boy, bright and perfect. Still.. Chanda knew what a single parent in the mines was like. She knew where this would lead. Her once husband had not gone uninformed either. A day after the child's birth Chanda recieved a letter, an offer. He would take the child, provide education and everything the child could ever need. She could even come and visit if she liked. It was a month before she responded. Another week before she managed the courage to bring her wonderful, brand new little boy to live with his father. He had never been able to hurt her. He'd never been able to break her spirit. Not with the words. Not with the adultery, not with the hard hands she got when she fought back. But this. Bringing her only son. Giving him up. It was the right thing to do, but felt so, so terribly wrong. Something broke in her that day. Shattered so completely she'd never be the same.

For five years she damn near buried herself in the mines. They say she dug the entire western corridor herself, working with a mechanical and almost unfaltering drive. Never quick, never careless, but tireless and sure. There were days when she approached the courtyards, watched her wonderful infant baby boy being fed by some nanny. Some woman who had no business touching him. But what did that make her? She'd left him. Chanda never made her way through the courtyard gates, so faced with that undenyable conclusion she had forced upon herself. She was the one who had no business touching that beautiful baby boy. She'd left him there. the woman was so, so sure that there had to be a way that she could have kept it together. Her father had raised her by himself, it had been hard, sad and lonely, and as much as she loved her little boy, she did not want that for him. She'd failed him, and as such, she had no business being in his life. Every year came that hard day. She would spend the whole year both looking forward to, and dreading that day. Meticulously she would search for the right one, the right present. She watched from the courtyard gates as he grew and played. Each year on that hard and wonderful day her wonderful, beautiful little Jireth would recieve a present, lovingly wrapped and always with that same card, it's singular line scrawled in shaking handwriting, "I will always love you more than the whole of the world. Happy Birthday." His father had always been surprised by the gifts, things that a miner shouldn't have been able to afford. She must have saved all year, each year, for that one thing.

The fifth year, a rider landed on her doorstep. She was selected as a candidate. Chanda turned her fervor to her duties as a candidate, though on some level sure she would never impress. Imagine her surprise when an egg broke open, and a little blue spilled out, bearing a name so close to her wonderful baby boy's own name. Everything, everything would change now.

Ch'nda stood at the courtyard gates, Reth pawing at them impatiently, urging her on. Go! What are you waiting for?!
The woman said nothing, only staring at those gates she'd never been able to pass. Reth let out a whine, butting his head into her rear to push her forward.
You're wasting time! We'll only be in the hold for today before we go back to the weyrs!
They had been given permission to visit the hold, but only for a day. The life of a weyrling was hard and busy. There was no telling when they would be able to return.
With a shaking hand the woman unlocked the latch on the gate, and walked through.
She had sent a letter, explaining her request, and now, when the moment was so close Ch'nda was terrified out of her mind. Would he hate her? She couldn't blame him if he did. Who was she kidding? He wouldn't even know her. She'd just be some stranger, stopping by. Ch'nda walked through the gate with hands shaking, Reth trailing at her heels.

The little boy's face lit up. It was a wide, toothy grin--minus a baby tooth or two. He ran to her, ran! Ch'nda bit the inside of her cheek hard as the little boy threw his arms around her hips in elation. Mommy, Mommy Mommy! The little boy was all giggles and happiness, dancing as he hugged his mommy tight. She'd finally come back, finally come to see him! He'd always known the cards were true. She'd always love him, love him more than the whole of the world. Daddy had never said it, but he had always known. He had always seen the lady, watching at the gates, so sad. He'd always known it was her, just out of his reach. But not any more, she was here!
Ch'nda knelt, pulling her little boy close to her chest in a tight hug. He was so beautiful, so perfect, just like the day he had been born. Oh, by the egg she had been so sure he'd hate her. She'd been so sure, but here he was, perfect, beautiful and loving. If you could reach out and touch love, if it were a solid thing you could hold in your hands, it came in the shape of a five year old little boy, meeting his mommy for the first time.

---
-becomes a full fledged dragon rider
-joins J'car's wing

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