|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Wed May 07, 2014 6:30 pm
Today is the day I make things right.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed May 07, 2014 6:32 pm
THE RIDER
Name: Shylla
Age: 27
Gender: Female
Appearance: The first word that comes to mind when looking at Shylla is soft, from the round shape of her face to the gentle curvature of her legs. Short and pear-shaped in build, she is neither particularly toned nor flabby, carrying some extra weight in her thighs but otherwise trim. Her hair is the brown of tanned leather and curls with a texture like soft-spun wool, usually corded into a fat braid that brushes her shoulders. Her dark brown eyes are dewey and calf-like, with long lashes and downturned lids that complement her button nose and pouty lips. Gratuitous freckles spatter her face and arms, and her skin is a light tawny brown that brands her as a 'generic Pernese mutt'.
Her outfits are generally practical and muted in color, certainly plain by any riders standards, and even on her off days she prefers the freedom afforded by pants. The material of her clothing is often rough-spun and well-worn, and several of her more casual tunics are pretty severely patched up. Shylla does keep one fine-spun garment for special occasions or appearances in front of more delicate folk, but it's generally only seen at Gathers.
Personality: Shylla is many things, but she is not the type to stand still. Steady work has been a part of her daily routine for as long as she can remember, and she is most fulfilled by the sense of accomplishment in a job well done. In spite of her soft appearance, she's not the sort to fear getting dirty, and especially before her dragonriding days it wasn't uncommon to see her entirely covered in dirt after a particularly hard line of duties. She takes to group projects with ease and leads by example, willing to work with anyone willing to learn. Likewise, she has little tolerance for willful ignorance or laziness, and the unfortunate weyrbrat that shows her such traits is likely to get an earful. Shylla never fears the consequence of putting something indelicately, and hers is a tough sort of love. Nevertheless, it's love for her weyr and its inhabitants that drives her fervent work ethic, and whenever she can it's a virtue she tries to pass on to the next generation.
Being born in High Reaches, Shylla has an almost complete understanding of the entire stronghold, from the Lower Caverns to the Weyrwoman's private quarters. A curious streak in her youth led to plenty of self-driven exploration, and even as an adult she is naturally inquisitive about the world around her and is quick to notice something different. Her comfort in her home exudes as a naturally infectious warmth and confidence, but it's sadly an attitude she can sport only when on her own ground. When visiting other weyrs or holds, Shylla is quick to shell up, following the lead of others who seem to know more of the happenings of the current region. For this reason, Shylla is unlikely to ever transfer except by direct orders, as being home makes a huge impact on her capacity to lead and work.
Her soft spot is children, especially the bands of weyrbrats hailing from the creche, and while she's not likely to spare them any of their chores, she is quick to toss a roaming child an extra sweetroll at the end of the day. She has a habit of adopting favorites from day to day, but overall she has a soft heart and open arms for any child in need, even if the need is a stern talking-to about the importance of diligence in the workplace. Shylla has a strong protective instinct, and the moment she feels like any of hers are threatened she throws herself onto the frontlines, championing their cause before she has a chance to hear any context behind the situation. It's gotten her in trouble more than a few times, where she's defended someone who rightfully needed to be punished, but the goldrider maintains an attitude of 'innocent until proven guilty' and is still quick to rush to anyone's aid.
At the end of the day, Shylla is only as effective as she feels she's in control, and the less able she is to contribute to the situation the more erratic and moody her behavior becomes. She fears being helpless as well as the unknown, and when pressured into such corners she has been known to lash out at people in what she perceives as self-defense. This tendency to put her heart on her sleeve leaves her ill-suited for any sort of high pressure leadership role, but in recent years she has worked to curb her behaviors in case she's ever to sit in a position of authority.
History: As a weyrbrat from High Reaches, Shylla's parentage has never been perfectly clear. Born during the famines, she was one of many orphaned, and shuffled from wet nurse to wet nurse until she could be weaned. Some of the more elderly matrons of the caverns would swear she was the lovechild of a blue-rider and an unknown paramour, while others claim she was the child of a drudge who succumbed to famine, but as far as the goldrider is concerned these are nothing more than rumors and empty myths. From her earliest memories she was housed in the creche and it was there that she flourished as a mischevious child that took to climbing and finding hidden caverns. She was quick to acquire friends through her playful antics and warm personality, especially amongst the younger children who were less likely to argue her methods. Through her early years she was provided the opportunity to explore, given all her duties were done, but at the age of 8 she led a group of her peers too far into an unsafe portion of the lower caverns, where a little playful roughhousing led to a minor cave-in and a couple of bruised weyrbrats. No one was seriously wounded, but nevertheless Shylla was placed under specific care to ensure she was properly watched and kept out of the caverns.
Reluctantly, Shylla was fostered under Caretaker Briggan, a stern woman with an eye for discipline and order. The girl's studies were doubled, as were her chores, but when she had the time she was still permitted the chance to play in the creche, rare as these opportunities were. More often than not, she was recruited to help corral the younger ones and keep them on track with their studies, acting as something of a teacher's aide. She took to the role fervently, as it offered her a chance to tend to her self-claimed flock of toddlers again (albeit under supervision herself). Under Briggan's watchful gaze Shylla played at being teacher and administrator for her little band of weyrbrats, making up mock chores and scolding them for laziness the way she'd been almost a hundred times. However, her games of house shifted when a trio of older weyrbrats she had grown up with aged into Candidacy and subsequently Impressed to two greens and a blue. Now, she imagined weyrling chores for her young ones, having them mime scrubbing dragon hide and learning combat and even flight. While not a particularly fanciful child, she began to envision a day where she, too, could sit at the rider's tables and drink klah with serious faces and discuss 'important events'. With this in mind, she began to try trailing her favorite trio of weyrlings whenever she could, a self-envisioned squire to the squires. Most of her efforts were squashed by Briggan before she could even sneak away, but once or twice she made it all the way to the barracks themselves before getting shooed back to the Caverns.
A day came when the weyrlings she so idolized never came home. Twenty-three was the total number of names stricken from the records in a single day, but Shylla's focus was on the three, the ones who had been so tangible in one moment and gone the next, as if they had Betweened and stayed there. None of hers survived, and it was a devastating moment for the tween. Dragonriders were supposed to be noble protecters, and if they were lost it was to fighting Thread, not some needless display of violence. When her time came, she shaved her head and entered Candidacy herself, but her efforts lacked their initial fervor. At night, she dreamed of the monsters who took her trio away, and it wore away at her desire to be bonded with a dragon. Why should she want such a thing for herself, when she would be made the target of such horrible men? Dying to thread was a matter of course, but to blades, arrows? Understandably, she stood for two hatchings unmatched, any particular hatchling off-put by the unsightly fear in her mind.
In the meanwhile, she squired for brownrider A'ril, a woman with a soft heart and a motherly touch. She made sure that Shylla took the time to breathe in between all of her lessons, and once she got the girl to open up with her concerns she provided gentle counsel. Over time and her talks with A'ril, she began to reconsider her position as a candidate at all, but before she had the chance to consider another craft her world was flipped upside down again. Plague was the word of the turn, and before her eyes she saw the downfall of entire wings, a sadness of which even she had never felt. There was a small beacon of hope, an isolated Queen with a clutch hardening on the Sands, perhaps the last safehold of dragonkind. When the option of travelling for the distant Hatching came to Shylla, she was quick to pull herself from the pool of candidates, feeling that her presence would be a waste. However, looking amongst the crowd agreeing to stand, Shylla saw some of her little weyrbrats, now cleanly shaven and willing to serve their purpose as proper Candidates of High Reaches Weyr. Embarassed by her own behavior, she opted to stand at the last minute, telling herself it was to be beside her weyrbrats once again. A'ril, whose dragon had yet to succumb to the plague, sent her off with a tight hug and a thin smile, telling her all the while how proud she was of the woman Shylla would be.
Shylla had never stood for the Hatching of a gold egg before, and despite her lessons was unprepared for the sheer pressure of it all. This was not her home, these were not the sands she knew, and the gravity of their current situation hang on everyone like a funeral shroud so unbefitting what would normally be a joyous occasion. The stress bore heavy on the newborn dragonets, who squawked and squabbled amongst themselves while combing through the ring of candidates, every so often knocking over a child or goring them in their frantic search. In the chaos of the moment, Shylla had only succeeded in placing herself next to one of her younglings, while the others stood alone on the other side of the candidates. She tried to focus on the hatching, she did, but her eyes kept wondering back to the throng of weyrbrats, watching for the rest of her flock with a concerned gaze. If weyrlings were fragile, then candidates were even more so, and all it would take was an errant swipe of those newborn claws to permanently maim someone, or worse. Every so often there would be murmurs of excitement from her side of candidates, but her focus would not be deterred except to check on the girl beside her. She would have missed the gold's hatching entirely if not for the lamented screech she gave as she tumbled out of her egg, eyes whirling with anxiousness and fear. Shylla, your Evmeth is trying, but they won't calm down! Why won't they calm down? Help me, maybe they'll listen to you! The piping whimper of a voice was certainly enough to capture Shylla's entire attention, and for the first time she let go of her weyrbrat's hand to step forward to the frantic dragonet. Wiping some of the eggshell from the gold's hide, she began to nuzzle Evmeth's eyeridges gently, the same way she'd seen A'ril do dozens of times. Shh, shhhh...we must lead by example, heart. They will follow if you lead. Just breathe, everything is okay. You are here now, everything is okay. Quietly, she led Evmeth from the sands to the feeding tables, and so began a long relationship of comforting woes and nurturing the high-strung gold's anxieties.
The return of the newly-fledged weyrling pair to High Reaches was one of mixed feelings. On one hand, Shylla was eager to return to home and show Evmeth everything she had ever learned, and Evmeth was cautiously anticipating meeting the other adult dragons themselves. However, their return heralded the news that A'ril and her brown had succumbed to the plague in the time since Shylla had left, once again tinging a happy occasion with the bitter pangs of grief. Determined to be the woman A'ril had seen before she left, she threw herself into her weyrling studies. While she struggled with most of the abstract academics, she flourished under her administrative duties, particularly working with assistant Weyrlingmaster B'tes and the senior weyrlingmaster. While her weyrmates were choosing wings, she chose to stay behind at the barracks, where Hiraeth's latest clutch had just moved in. Caring for the weyrlings reminded her of caring for the children of the creche, and she took to it naturally. Not long after seeing her first batch of weyrlings to their own graduation, she began to feel the stirrings that her own Evmeth would rise, and prepared herself as best she could. However, nothing could prepare her for the swirl of emotions surrounding Evmeth's first flight, nor waking up the next morning rather cozy with one of her bronze weyrmates. They both agreed that, while fun, neither of them wanted to pursue anything committal, and so they left the one night trist for what it was.
Shylla was pleasantly surprised to find that Evmeth's first clutch bore a gold of her own, to which Evmeth purred about for nearly the entire hardening. The goldrider became particularly interested in the candidates during that time, curious as to who would be the first riders of her dragon's children. She squired one of her favorite Candidates, enlisting them to help with her duties as Weyrlingmaster, and with each passing day her excitement grew. To hear her speak of it with such pride and adoration, one would almost assume that she had clutched the eggs herself. And then, some time in the middle of the night, Evmeth began to hum, and in one fell swoop a new class of weyrlings were born. Shylla worked this lucky bunch to the bone, but she also loved each and every one, learning all of their names and stories. It was something different, watching Evmeth's own brood grow up, especially another fledgling gold who would share her experiences. She watched their graduation with teary eyes, and made sure to congratulate each one individually, no matter their placement. It was just so refreshing to watch her young ones grow and flourish, and before she knew it, she was at it again. The second clutch was goldless but no less precious to Evmeth or her rider, and she treated their training with the same zeal. She worked her weyrlings hard, but she also played hard, celebrating the initial success of their attempts to repopulate.
For a while, everything seemed to be heading back to its natural order, which is about the time First Fall occurred. Several riders from each of Evmeth's clutches lost their lives in the fall, which sent her into a deep state of grieving, even as Evmeth prepared to rise again. When hatched, Shylla treated the third batch of weyrlings more delicately, as if they might break of the pressure of impending Thread. While she learned their faces, their names, she began to fear for them, wondering who would come home after they graduated. Not long after their lessons began, she found she was with child and, combined with her increasing anxiety, was pulled from the barracks to allow herself the time to deliver. It didn't serve to ease her nerves, however, and the further she found herself away from her weyrlings the less capable she felt they would be to fight Thread. The stress began to wear on Evmeth as well, who every now and again would stop in on the weyrlings herself just to check their progress. No matter their accomplishments, nothing was good enough, nothing would prepare them for the horrors, and with each passing day the pair began to collectively panic for their children. Shylla could not bear to watch their graduation: to her, it seemed a funeral. However, the first time they suited up, she couldn't help but want to see them off, and as she saw them begin to take wing for the first time, she went into a panic. Evmeth, feeling the rush of emotions, promptly Commanded all of the newest clutch to stop before they could fly. It was only a moment's lapse before Shylla managed to compose herself, but in that short span of time, wings were disassembled and riders were burned. A council of riders convened the next day, and while it was determined that Evmeth's use of Command was not malignant in nature, it was all the same unnecessary, and for that she was punitively grounded until the pair could prove their emotions were in check.
Needless to say, she was also pulled from weyrling duties indefinitely.
Currently, she has just weaned off her child, and seeks to find her place in the weyr, despite a lack of trust from senior riders who assume that her earlier outburst is likely to happen again. She assists the Headwoman with her paperwork, organizing the smaller parts of Gathers, and sometimes acts as an envoy to visitors outside the weyr. She visits the creche in between her duties to watch her son Flennan, but otherwise is not permitted to fraternize with the new candidates or weyrlings. She understands that her moment of weakness did irreparable damage and her resolve has steeled so that it will never happen again, but in the meanwhile still yearns for permission to take a squire, meet the candidates, or attend a weyrling graduation.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed May 07, 2014 6:39 pm
THE DRAGON
Name: Evmeth
Age: 10
Colour: Gold (Font Color #CD853F)
Feel of voice: The clutching pangs of nostalgia deep in the pit of your chest, the apprehension of the coming dawn.
Appearance: Evmeth is a pale gold, the color of shimmery champagne from nose to tip. She has eye-spots the color of brass from her lower eyelid to the top of her brow, and a single matching stripe running along her back. Trim for a gold at only 42', she is still nevertheless larger than all but the bulkiest of bronzes, and to see her in flight is not unlike watching a stately barge float down a river. Despite her size, she is a rather active dragon, always in motion in some capacity, whether it be a simple flick of her tail or full-on pacing.
Personality: Are you okay? Are you sure you're okay? Evmeth thinks there is something you would like fixed, regardless of how contented you might seem. A fretful dragon with a colorful imagination, she tends to take Murphy's Law to new and exciting extremes, sure to think of all the ways things could go wrong. It takes all of Shylla's effort to keep the gold calm, and even then she manages to murmur small insecurities now and again. She was an over-cautious hatchling, needing to be strung along for most of her weyrlinghood, including her first attempt at flight where they literally shoved her from the ledge. The majority of the gold's anxiety stems from the unknown, and coupled with a shorter-than-average attention span, the fear of stranger danger seems to be an ever-present part of her personality. However, after her first few attempts at flight and betweening, the skills gradually slipped into the realm of instinct and haven't bothered her since, provided she's not under any sort of pressure.
Evmeth should have been a watch-wher with her keen set of eyes: her nervous tendencies lend her to being excellent at observation, especially in regards to finding something's weaknesses. Her critique of wings in formation is scrupulous and thorough, while being surprisingly impartial. She's never cruel in her assessments, but she is honest: after all, her weyrlings aren't likely to survive if they continue to practice that faulty maneuver! In some wings, her assistance is welcome, while in others she is less well received, to which she is quick to keep her opinions to herself, and in either situation she isn't likely to comment on overall strategy. She is poignantly aware that her role is not military in nature and that there are many aspects that she fails to understand, but her eye for technique is nearly flawless.
That's not to say that her entirety is ruled by anxiety and fear, though. Like her rider, Evmeth is driven by love, and deeply cares for all of her brood with public, sentimental shows of affection. She croons and purrs any time she is near her brood, and if she's not anxious then she's positively giddy. Evmeth's memory is particularly short for a dragon, but she almost always remembers the dragons in her latest clutch. It's after they reach adulthood that her memory seems to get foggy, but on the off-chance that a random dragon could have been hers she is generally courteous and kind to any adult dragon (assuming they don't look too suspicious).
Evmeth is a master of compromise, and in a confrontation between two hot-headed individuals she is often prepared to throw out a third solution, provided both parties are willing to listen to reason. She does tend to favor dragons from her own clutch in a personal setting, but when it comes to professional decision making she's all business. However, she is also easily influenced by her rider, and if the two of them were ever completely honest, it was Shylla's panic that led to the improper Command. Evmeth would never admit to it, though: her rider is without question the one she favors most, almost to the point of utter coddling.
Mating flights are an interesting dichotomy for the skittish gold, who tends to get particularly needy in the days preceding her rise. She constantly worries about her performance or about harming the clutch-to-be with 'risky behaviors', and makes it a point to apologize to all the browns and bronzes who might think of chasing her. However, all of Evmeth's insecurities stay grounded when this pale gold takes wing, and with her fears melted away she becomes something sheepishly coy, beckoning for company from those who would fly after her. The residual confidence lingers for about a day or two after the Flight, after which she slinks back into abject terror about the many things that could happen to her eggs, her stress levels escalating up until the hatching itself, where she takes complete and utter calm. She knows what it means to be born into chaos, and Faranth take her, she will do everything she can to make sure her hatchlings feel as well-adjusted as possible when entering the world, even if it means turning off the little voice in her head for a few candle-marks.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed May 07, 2014 6:41 pm
Impressions
Bereck - Respectful -
C'ross - In Utter Confidence -
Name - Attitude - Explanation
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed May 07, 2014 6:46 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
