Teacher's Gonna Teach!
Who are you trying out for? V'mel
Which role is that again? Weyrlingmaster
I forget... At Which Weyr? High Reaches
How old are they? 56 turns
Personality: V'mel is not the sort of man that many people like. Or any people like. Despite your feelings about him though, he's sharding good at getting the job done, and so no one can really complain. And even if they did, well, it's not like he'd listen, or care if he heard.
V'mel is old blood, as far as loyalty to High Reaches goes. He's been eating, breathing, and living the doctrine of tradition since he was weaned, and it's clear in his every action and thought. This is why they were ready, this is why they survived. The rest of Pern were shaffing idiots, and they've paid the (completely justified, if you ask him) price for their lax attitudes and subversion of the rightful way of things. V'mel is here to make sure that not only are his weyrlings capable of surviving in this world where thread has returned, but that they fall in line during the process too.
Dragonriders are Pern's military, and V'mel trains and teaches and leads as if that's all that it is. There will be no mollycoddling, and this is not the place for laughs or play. Candidates assumed the duties and responsibilities that came with the role when they signed up, and now that you've gone and impressed you want to treat it like a game? You're making a waste of yourself and your dragon, and he Will. Not. Have. It. People DIED because Pern stopped caring about thread, because of jokers who made light just like you seem to want to do. It isn't that he hates people with differing opinions, no—he's just rock solid in his, and unless you have a damn good argument, you're not going to shake him from trying to force his way.
He's been training weyrlings for two decades now, and honestly his mentality on the process hasn't changed much since thread returned. High Reaches was always preparing for this, and he's taught every class as if this would be the first to have to fight it. There have been deaths, injuries. Babes barely out the shell rendered flightless or suddenly bereft of their partner.
It's part of the cost. He really and truly believes it, and knows such things have happened since the first riders took up their straps, and he does not often consider it in any way a personal failure. Maybe it's for the best if they remove themselves from the equation before they're in a wing where they might take someone out with them... He also has clear biases towards ranking dragons. Greens and blues are there to fight thread, and keep especially their golden queens safe. If that means two, three, four times as many of them die for the sake of golds (and maybe bronzes or especially important browns), well, that's why there's so many more of them, isn't it?
In terms of relationships outside those he has in the 'workplace', he does have some friends. An 'old guard' of sorts; men about his age and with similar opinions, almost all brown or bronze riders, of course, that he doesn't mind spending time with. He's had time with one or two gold riders in his day as well, though he wouldn't really call them friends. They're his superiors, and nice as they might be to look at or chase after for a good roll during a flight, he wouldn't really dare to reach up out of his station to go for one in a long-term way, even as friends. He doesn't much care for anyone 'beneath' him, and especially those younger than him or originally from other weyrs. He'll still bend the proverbial knee for metallic riders though; dragons do know best.
Positive Trait List: Dedicated, militant, resilient, seasoned.
Negative Trait List: Harsh, overly-conventional, combative, merciless.
History: V'mel was born in Nabol Hold, and a lot of that place is still at the core of what makes up his personality. He doesn't talk about his childhood, and it was long enough ago that there aren't much by way of records; he was searched when he was 14 and took the chance to get out, though the damage had been done. He's never bothered to go back to Nabol except on business, and it seems that once he joined the weyr he opted to live as if that was where he'd lived all his life.
He was a stoic, serious child even as a candidate. What was probably delight at being lifted up out of the cesspool of Nabol manifested as near-worship-like devotion to the weyr and its rules. In his mind it was that strict doctrine that kept High Reaches effective, safe, and more or less everything Nabol was not. He didn't just drink the kool-aid, he's learned the recipe and is helping to hand it out now. He stood a candidate until he was 20 turns old, though he didn't seemed to be bothered to be left standing. Finally his Aviroth came for him, and in his mind it was all worth it. He'd never expected he'd be worth a bronze, but to be good enough for a brown? It felt right, and further solidified his opinions and feelings for High Reaches. The pair were exemplary through training, and at 21 turns he joined Tsunami Wing, strong and proud and ready to die for his weyr.
And then nothing happened. For fifteen turns, not a thing happened.
He flew his formations, he ran his drills. He never wavered, never doubted, and often spoke out against those who started to question if High Reaches had the right of things. He became a weyrling assistant at the age of thirty, because of his rigid adherence to the traditions and ideals of the weyr, and when the old weyrlingmaster passed on shortly after V'mel's 36th birthingday, he threw his proverbial hat into the ring for consideration. A spotless record, good (if somewhat harsh) character, and unwavering loyalty won him the job, and he's been doing it ever since, churning out small fleets of new riders as fast and efficiently as the weyr's golds can lay their eggs. He's handled being more or less out of the fight against thread very well now that it has returned. He'd love to fight it, of course, but he has his role, his place. Each cog must turn perfectly to spin the wheel, and he isn't here to tick out of time with the rest.
What's Their Dragon's Name Again?: Aviroth
Dragon Personality: Aviroth is the softer of the pair, though he is by no means a gentle soul. He is much quieter than his rider, mostly content to watch and listen, which makes him an extra valuable tool. He seems more approachable, and often weyrlings will come to him in lieu of V'mel, especially for advice or very rarely comfort. Of course, once he's done assisting them, he will immediately reach out to his rider to fill him in. He is the velvet glove covering the iron fist of leadership the pair strive to be, and he plays the part very, very well. He does find baby dragons to be somewhat adorable, and has the silent goal of siring a clutch himself one day, though he'd never dare boast about it or speak of it to anyone but his own rider. Still, with the constant influence of V'mel's feelings, he has no trouble keeping no attachment to the weyrlings. It's not especially difficult, either, as he forgets those they lose within days, as would any dragon, and his rider never lingers over them.
HIs attitude towards blues and greens is less blatantly smug than some browns and bronzes: he looks at them sort of like a parent would, or an uncle of sorts. Always finding some sort of trouble or other, they are about as sensible he's found as hatchlings. A bit bigger, of course, but still. He treats them much the same, happy enough to listen and give advice, but he'll inform on any curious or more...free-thinking chromatics as easily as he would a weyrling.
Overall he is much less militant, less aggressive than V'mel, but no less detached and loyal. His work and efforts and thoughts are for the good of the weyr, and to stop the Great Enemy that his kind was made to fight. How could anyone think of a life where dragons didn't fight thread, when it was literally the reason they were first shelled? It's in his blood and bones, and the brown would do anything to help that cause, even if that meant he had to sit out of the fight to help train the weyrlings.
How long have they been Weyrlingmaster? 20 turns (and assistant for six turns before that).
Why were they picked for the position? Namely, he had experience, the attitude, and the right mindset, as far as the weyr was concerned. No rebel 'hippie' here to baby the new weyrlings or foster the idea of one day leaving for more progressive weyrs, he was an excellent mouthpiece for their rhetoric, and strong enough to suffer the rote losses that came with the job. That he rode a brown was an added bonus—high up enough to make sense having rank, low down enough not to possibly want to think above his station (or be at risk of becoming weyrleader). Browns traditionally made good liaisons between the metallic and chromatic worlds of dragons, and his had as good an attitude as V'mel himself did.
How do they feel about their role since Thread returned? It's just as important as it's always been. High Reaches has stood ready for generations, after all. Thread could fall, thread will fall, thread is falling, what does it matter? The only thing it changes is that more adult riders will die, and that means he'll have more classes to raise up from the increased clutches. He's a bit more aware of how many weyrlings die during training, but he doesn't think that it's something that can really be helped. If they're too weak, they're too weak, and so on. He's never been particularly personally taxed by their loss, and losing more during their first threadfall, or in their first turn of fighting thread? It won't hurt him any more or less than losing them in training, especially the blues and greens.
How do they feel about their students? They're soldiers. They're here to fight, not to be gently cradled through training. He expects total dedication in return for the reward of a dragon, and he is not afraid to break down more rebellious or free-spirited attitudes into something he can put to work for the weyr. He tends not to make any real personal connections to his students, at least not until they finish training and make their own way; they may as well have numbers and colors rather than names. That doesn't mean he hates them, of course, but he isn't here to be a friend or father figure. He's here to make them ready to fight and die for High Reaches.
What is their teaching style? Brutal? He's a taskmaster, and he doesn't put up with insubordination, laziness, or other troublesome traits well. Schedules are firmly set, and not to be debated. Weyrlings are not to be late to their lessons or chores. Rank is to be observed, and he highly encourages the weyrlings to pattern themselves after their elders in preparation for one day having to meld into and integrate with the existing ranks. He has extensively reviewed records of training methods and exercises from as far back as records go, and a good 80-85% of drills and tasks he puts his weyrlings to were in use during the 9th pass prior to AVIAS. He prefers to teach by doing and showing than telling—after the first month, lectures will be scarce, unless you'd consider him shouting directions or corrections while his students work or train to be a lecture.
Two Weyrlings have been caught fighting in the Barracks. One of them has a bloody nose (possibly broken) and the other a blackeye and missing tooth. Both of their weyrlings are terribly upset. How do you handle this? Please answer ICly.
Unbelievable. Un. Believable. V'mel was up to here with this nonsense, and he could feel the sharp jab of an early afternoon headache coming on. He'd had to tear the two young men apart, tangled up as they were in their barracks room, and even now he had to keep one hand firmly on a shoulder of each boy to keep them from clashing back together. Behind each boy was coiled a creeling, terrified dragonet, eyes twirling yellow, orange, red, gray...One green, small and all but hiding beneath her own tailfork, the other a bulky, creamy bronze who looked as ready to charge as his young rider.
"It was him, I-I thold you! He—!" The green weyrling squealed, missing tooth giving him an unfortunate, unattractive lisp before V'mel cut him off with a sharp look and something akin to a growling snort.
"I don't give Faranth's own egg who started it! Y'both know the rules, and the risks!" His lip curled in disgust, "Crackbrained little...What'f one of your dragons had gone between out of fear? You think of that?" He shook each boy by where he gripped them, not enough to hurt (never enough to hurt) but clearly very upset with them both. "You don't think about it, do you? Nooo, too busy fighting over some girl or something one of you said." He rounded on the little bronze dragonet's boy, huffing and giving him a shove towards the door. "You ought to know better, K'arl. You, on a bronze? Blues and greens both, how can you expect them to respect you, look up to you if this is how you respond, sinking down to that level?" He tugged the green's boy along as well, and Aviroth gently extended the thought to let him know that one of the healers had indeed been procured and would meet them just outside the barracks. "And you, J'mes, you know there are channels to go through if you've an issue with another weyrling." He shook his head, pulling the boy ahead to herd them both in front of him now that shame had somewhat begun to cool their ire.
"The both of you though should be better than this. You can't live together? How do you expect to be able to fly together?" He glanced behind to make sure both dragons were following. They were, and four little yellow-gray eyes twirled back at him, their ire forgotten out of concern for their riders. No more anger, which was good, but he hoped that the knowledge that they'd both caused such distress to their partners would stymie further fights between the boys. "High Reaches owns you both, and as dragonriders of the weyr, we expect better of you," He scolded both boys. "Thread has begun to fall again, and people are dying. Dying. And you want to let some trivial thing be more important than that?" He heard something like a whimper from one of the boys—who didn't matter—and forged ahead. "I'll be speaking to each of you about this, once you're fixed up and you've seen to your weyrlings." It'd be a shame to lose either from this, especially the bronze. "And we'll get to the bottom of this little problem, since is important enough to risk your own partners over."
And with that he deposited them unceremoniously in the waiting arms of the healer before settling back, arms folded, against a nearby wall. Updated plans and schedules were sent out by way of Aviroth to his assistants...one of them could no doubt stay and interrogate the two boys, but perhaps especially because one of the boys had a green, and the other a bronze...well. Certain things were just better handled himself.
It is time for your senior weyrlings to fly their first Threadfall. What role do you give them? Will you keep them together or send them off in smaller groups? What are your directions and orders? Do you encourage them? Do you keep a stiff upper lip? This Threadfall is already reported to be nasty with heavy wind conditions and thick clumps. What do you say to your group? Will you by flying with them or will you assign one of your assistants to guide them?
This was it. Thread was coming. Today. V'mel had been up candlemarks already, double and triple checking his plans and making a few last minute changes. There weren't many to make, as his plans had been laid for months now, but weather and forecasts would always cause a few minor fluctuations. Supplies were ready, and his assistants had been up and briefed. Now there was just to wait...until at last the call went out to prepare.
His weyrlings were arrayed like troops in the wedge of the bowl that had been allotted to them. The most varied, colorful bunch, and the smallest, they were regardless going to make him proud, he knew. Today they would rise together, they would fly together, and hopefully all survive together. If not, it would not be the first time, or a dishonorable death. The plan was simple, and one that had been used from time immemorial, back to Faranth's own battle with the Great Enemy. Two divisions, one led by himself, and the other his main assistant. The first division of weyrlings, the bronzes, browns, and a selection of the blues and greens would fly above the queen's wing. The low altitude would be easier to navigate, and with luck only a bit of thread would make it that far down, and should they need to land it would not be so difficult to do so. The second batch, the remainder of the greens and blues would be flying bags of firestone up to the lowest fighting wing. It would give the smaller dragons time to rest as the bags were reloaded and prepared. Those greens and blues on firestone duty would take the place of their chromatic counterparts during the next fall. They would get to experience both parts of what their duties would be, and it would grow them accustomed to the habit of rotating during the fall, finding and working into their place within the larger wing on the fly.
His assistants would be arrayed throughout both divisions of the weyrling wing, and he himself would act as the wingleader. None of them would go unduly out of their way to do the weyrlings' jobs for them, and were there more to keep order should any of them panic. They were to lead by example, and would not be allowed to slack off just because they weren't part of a real fighting wing.
"You all know what's expected of you," He called out to his assembled weyrlings. "This is what we've been training for, and what you're meant to do. This is how you die, weyrlings, though if you do your jobs right and stay calm, it won't be today." To their credit, the weyrlings didn't seem alarmed by his 'threat'. Probably they were just used to it by then. "The wind's rough, and we have reports of clumps of thread. You know by now what that means." He saw a few scattered nods, but no one dared interrupt. "Things could get messy if a clump gets through, so don't be some crack-headed hatchling, and remember that you can jump between. Keep clear visuals in mind, and try to remember that you want to come back a hundred yards below the wing's flying altitude. Don't need any sudden collisions on top of thread."
From the lip of the bowl the watchdragon trumpeted. High above a glimmer of silver appeared, faintly in the sky. The sound of hundreds of wings unfurling drowned out anything else V'mel might have aimed to say, and he swung up atop Aviroth to join them. Flying so low, the weyrling wing would be one of the last to take off, but the view from the ground—green and brown and bronze and blue twirling up up up to meet the threat in a blossom of fire and death—was awe-inspiring. When at last their moment came to rise, to fight, he could hear the fervor in their cries as they cupped the air with still-small wings, off at last to join the fight.
