Post by boober on May 28, 2009 5:45:18 GMT -5
killed by fellis poisoning, october 3012
[[Ok, I hope I got everything I needed to...]]
Humans:
Name: Aryna
Age: 23 [born January]
Gender: Female
Sexual Orientation: Bisexual
Rank: Wingrider
Physical Appearance:
Standing at a height of roughly 5’6, Aryna seems to be on the tall side of average for a Pernese woman. There is no singular feature that stands out above the others, but all work together to make Aryna a lovely young woman by almost anyone’s standards. Long hair falls to the end of her back, thick and black and just wavy enough to look unruly at times. It’s usually tied back in some way, though she rarely has the patience to braid it and it’s not uncommon to see her with it completely unbound. It’s soft and silky smooth to the touch. Her skin is a dark bronze color that grows even darker with time spent in the sun. While it is partially due to being outdoors often, it’s also hereditary; thanks to her dark complexion, Aryna almost never gets a sunburn. Her skin is marred in a few places only by a few scars, still pink and new. A long gash across her back has healed into a fine, smooth line. There’s a small burn scar on her shoulder in a peculiar shape, almost like a brand that hadn’t been held to the skin long enough. This too had been acquired in battle.
Because of her dark skin and hair, one automatically expects her eyes to be dark as well. Once upon a time, Aryna’s eyes were both a pale, eerie gray that almost bordered on silver. However since the last battle with Benden, a perfect blow to her right eye caused the color to darken into a shade that was closer to black. The perfect angle of light will sometimes make the affected eye shine a dark reddish brown. Healers believe the trauma caused the eye to bleed internally, hence the odd coloring. The injury has also affected her sight, and while she no longer has the perfect vision she formerly boasted, it’s not quite bad enough to interfere in her daily life. Her eyes are fringed with thick, dark lashes and slant slightly, giving her a very exotic, almost feline-like appearance.
Her nose is long and straight above full, plump lips. The general shape of her face is somewhat long and angular, with a softly squared jawline leading to small rounded ears usually hidden by her hair. Aryna’s build is perhaps the most misleading feature of all. At first glance, she’s slender and almost petite, with enough curves in the hip and breast to make it obvious that she is very much a woman. It’s nearly impossible to mistake her for a male from any angle. But what looks like soft, yielding flesh is in fact hard, slim muscle in most places. Her flat belly has the faintest definition of abs and her arms, while slender, are lined with muscle. There’s not a single ounce of extra fat to be found anywhere on this young woman’s body, and she’s perfectly capable of packing quite a punch.
She prefers pants and shirts to dresses and skirts, which limit her movements. When she dresses up, she wears a wide variety of colors, not liking to limit herself to just a few. To see her in a dress is a truly rare and wondrous thing and takes a great deal of coaxing and wheedling from someone she’s close to. Usually one will see her at a Gather wearing modified tunics and trousers, although they’re typically very fine in quality and flatter her form much as a dress might.
Personality:
Sultry and commanding, there’s something about Aryna that demands attention. Even when she’s at rest and not particularly doing anything, it’s hard not to pay attention to her. She tends to be on the bossy side, issuing commands and orders to whoever’s nearby. Whether or not they listen is entirely up to them, but woe betide anyone who doesn’t. Extremely headstrong, once she makes up her mind to do something, Aryna does it, no questions asked… and she expects the same of others as well. She seems to have a particular fondness for dragons, and has a certain affinity for being able to figure their emotions.
Despite this, however, it seems as if she’s hardly ever serious. There’s always a glint of mischief or humor in her eyes, a quirk of her full mouth that makes it seem as if she goes about laughing inside all the time. It’s a very dire situation indeed when these little quirks are absent in her face. She leans heavily on sarcasm and witty remarks, which she’s well aware that many people don’t appreciate, but she often finds herself lacking the ability to give a damn. She has a naturally outgoing nature, and in spite of the sarcasm, can be very friendly when she puts her mind to it. Newcomers to the Weyr often find her a willing and helpful companion.
Aryna is honest, almost blunt, and no one will ever be in the dark as to whether or not she likes them. She makes it plain with her actions who she likes and dislikes, and if it somehow escapes the person in question, she’ll say it to their face without hesitation or stutter. She has a very low tolerance for people she dislikes. Depending on her mood, angering her will either result in immediate antagonizing in return, or a swift and punishing fist to the face. You make Aryna angry, she’ll return the favor. One of the quickest ways to annoy her is to mess with her friends. Loyal to a fault, she’ll fight tooth and nail for anyone she calls ‘friend’.
Some people would call her a bully, and she’s certainly not above using bullying tactics if she feels it necessary. Others, however, consider her a friend. Which side of her personality one happens to fall on is often up in the air until it’s too late. Despite her tendency toward violence and a boisterous nature, she is intelligent, and it’s obvious when she slows down enough to actually use her head instead of her mouth.
History:
Born and raised at Benden Weyr, the full of Aryna’s boisterous nature was hidden for years. She was immediately placed in the crèche after birth, where she grew up among the other children doing what children did. It is questionable as to whether the culture around her helped to shape her personality or if it was something else; she was willful and independent from a very early age, and any attempts to stifle such behavior only resulted in a deep resentment and a stealthier nature. Rebellious to her very core, Aryna was seen as a nuisance and even a danger before she even hit puberty. Despite numerous beatings and punishments, she remained unbroken and unwilling to submit to the dominant males who seemed to rule the Weyr… or at least thought they did.
From a very early age, Aryna seemed to hold a special affinity for dragons, fascinated by them with an intensity usually reserved for hold folk who rarely had the opportunity to behold the magnificent creatures. She spoke often to the beasts, not seeming to care whether they spoke back or not. Most of them didn’t, but it didn’t seem to deter her in the least; the dragons were her favorite creatures, and she always showed them the utmost respect.
Between avoiding being caught for doing something she shouldn’t and admiring the dragons, Aryna could be found bullying the other weyrbrats. She wasn’t stupid, knowing that her survival relied upon being tough and strong. For the most part, it was a façade, a defense mechanism put in place to deter others from getting the idea that she was just a weak girl. But she had few qualms about shoving her fist down the other kids’ throats if it was necessary. By the time she was 10 Turns old, Aryna was running with a group of unruly boys and had gained the grudging respect of the rest of her peers. She proved time and again that she was tougher than shoe leather, able to take on any boy in the Weyr and hold her own. Honestly, she cared little for beating other kids up, but she cared even less for being on the bottom of the so-called food chain.
She got into her fair share of scraps over the Turns, lost some and won some, but she made sure to pay back the ones she lost to. Violence seemed to be the only answer, and she was becoming quite adept at speaking with her fists. As she grew older, Aryna began to attract attention, and not in a good way. Her proverbial rank within the group she ran with became stagnant, and at the age of 13, it seemed that the boys suddenly realized there was a girl in their midst. She wanted no part of their proposals and by the time she was 14, they’d had enough of her uncooperative behavior. Aryna was on her own, but it was a mutual decision (though she hadn’t told the boys that). It was almost better, she’d decided, to only have to worry about herself. But the boys weren’t the only ones whose unwelcome attention she’d captured. Unbeknownst to Aryna, some of the adults had been keeping an eye on her.
One day seemingly out of the blue, she was urged to Stand at the next Hatching. She was suspicious, but it seemed like a good idea after some thought. She had nothing to lose and the relative safety of a draconic companion to gain. The thought of becoming a warrior in the war between Fort and Benden crossed her mind. It was a bitter thought but the protection that she felt a dragon offered her outweighed whatever disgust she felt at having to use it to fight other dragons. Just after her 15th birthing day, she was on the Sands with her fellow candidates, waiting to see if her life mate was hidden behind one of the mottled shells of the eggs before her.
When a brown spilled across the hot Sands, Aryna looked away. She knew this dragon was not for her, but she followed the greens, even the blues across the Hatching Grounds with an intent gaze. But she ended up surprised when the brown she had so quickly dismissed approached and butted her knees roughly, demanding food. When she looked down and met Dramuth’s eyes, she knew that she was His. The astonishment of the onlookers was all but unnoticed as Aryna fed her starving life mate and led him from the Sands. In the months to came, Dramuth grew magnificently. All too soon, Aryna’s fears became reality: they were being trained for war.
She put her foot down. No one was endangering her Dramuth. No one. Naturally they would rise to fight Thread, but pitting dragon against dragon was abhorrent. But her protests were stifled harshly, leaving her bruised and bleeding, just on the cusp of being too injured to fly. No, they didn’t want to take out one of their own fighters, even if she was a rebellious woman. But Aryna would not be defeated; the night after she and Dramuth graduated from weyrlinghood, the brown rider quietly packed all of her things in a carisak and under the cover of darkness lashed her belongings to her faithful friend.
Together they left, vanishing into the darkness of between and emerging into the wet warmth and bright sunshine of Southern… and Selenitas Weyr. She carried with her forged transfer papers, which were accepted without a hitch. And so began her happy life at Selenitas. The Weyr was her haven where she didn’t have to worry about being jumped and possibly raped and beaten just for walking down the wrong hallway at the wrong time. And Dramuth was safe; no one would make them fly against another dragon and rider. Still, old habits die hard and Aryna found herself in some sticky situations as a result of acting first and thinking later. It didn’t help that she disapproved strongly of Shmee and didn’t bother to hide her opinion that the Weyrwoman was unfit and weak. The fact that she was from Benden didn’t earn her many friends among her fellow riders either.
As time went on, however, it became clear that Aryna would never be able to fully escape the clutches of war, or Benden. C’leon, psychopath that he was, insisted on troubling Selenitas at every turn and the brown riding female felt no qualms about assisting her adoptive home against the clutches of her former Weyrleader. She threw herself into the fray without hesitation the day Benden tried to execute the Weyrwomen of Selenitas and showed no remorse for whatever Benden lives she took. Selenitas was triumphant that day, but it wasn’t to be the last battle. She knew now beyond a shadow of a doubt that the war was coming to this place whether she wanted it to or not. But Aryna knew Selenitas was better than the alternatives and she stayed on at the Weyr. It wasn’t all bad; one day she Impressed one of the creatures known as salamandyrs, a little green that she dubbed Clover. Clover was one of the quieter sort, preferring to hide and watch rather than cause mayhem like some of her clutchmates (such as the little terror appropriately named Bite).
The brownrider did her best to actually ignore what was going on around her; the attempts on the Weyrwoman’s life were actually of little concern to her. Aryna honestly believed that the Weyr was better off without Shmee and, traitorous it may have been, but she was actually rooting for Benden in this. Somehow, the wayward young woman acquired a temporary job covering for the Weyrlingmaster. Even though she’d never actually admit it, she had actually enjoyed the weyrling lessons. They had given her a chance to let her commanding side take over and coming up with reasonable torture methods and unique punishments kept her mind from things she’d as soon not think about. But months later the mass poisoning at the Weyr refused to be ignored. It was the thing that finally claimed the Weyrwoman’s life but Aryna was too concerned about herself and Dramuth to really give it much thought. Who would be next? Would it be someone she actually didn’t mind (it wasn’t as if she really had actual friends)?
Thanks to luck and paranoia, they survived. For the time being. Shmee’s death meant the rise of a new gold rider into power, one that Aryna didn’t have much of an opinion on. To the brownrider, she seemed quiet and somewhat withdrawn, maybe a little too young to be in a position of leadership. But until something happened that was worth judging, Aryna didn’t think much of it. The Weyrleadership changed hands as was customary and it seemed almost as if life would go back to normal. But once again it was proven that they were in a war, and nothing was really ‘normal’. This much became obvious when the call from the Nightwatch went up. The Weyr erupted in chaos, and by the time Aryna tumbled out of bed and dressed herself, fighting had already broken out in much of the area. Never one to cower and cringe away from a fight the brown rider immediately armed herself and plunged into the skirmish. It was in the hallway that she was ambushed by one of the riders from Benden. As she looked at him she remembered him as one of the boys from the group she’d run with as a child. He had a multitude of scars to tell of his hard life waging war, but Aryna was unimpressed.
In spite of this she was taken as a weak willed woman, and the rider attempted to guile her into giving up her weapon. His mistake cost him very dearly. In the scuffle that ensued, however, Aryna received a fierce blow at just the right angle to her eye. It hurt something terrible but she brushed it off as a future shiner and went about her business. After killing the man who so foolishly thought he could win her over with pretty words and a soft voice, the brown rider truly joined in the fight, joining the group in the weyrling barracks. At one point she was slashed across the back by a dagger wielded by a younger Benden rider and his inexperience made him easy to overcome. There were several other attackers that, either on her own or with the aid of fellow riders, Aryna managed to fight off. It came as a shock to her when Benden at last retreated, and she was left to gaze at the carnage that was left behind.
Bodies and destruction were everywhere. Despite her injuries the brown rider pitched in with everyone else to help where she was able. Fighting had been a way of life for her ever since she’d been small but never had she witnessed anything like this. It wasn’t until the burn on her shoulder began to ache and throb that she took a break and allowed herself to be seen by one of the healers. The wound on her back had been deep and required numerous stitches, although the healer wasn’t sure what good it would do, having been left untended for so long. It was fortunate that Aryna cared little about beauty. Recovery was slow, but the holds sent a supply caravan to the decimated Weyr, coming to their aid when they most needed it. It was an improvement, hopefully one of many.
Salamandyr:
Name: Clover
Color: Green
Age: 2
Physical Appearance:
Rather bulky with muscle, there isn’t much about this little ‘mandyr that anyone can really say. Her hide is a dark green that lets her hide in the shadows quite effectively, which is handy for a creature who enjoys eavesdropping and stealing things. Her wings are short and stumpy and likely won’t even carry her as far as most salamandyrs’ but it doesn’t seem to bother her that much. Her tail is thick with muscle and long, used often as a whip to lash her bonded into action. Well, more likely a rage, but it is good for something!
Personality:
Usually quiet and (mostly) unobtrusive, at least for a salamandyr, this green prefers to hide out someplace and spy on people. When that’s not an option she isn’t above helping herself to someone’s stash of ‘shinies’. Beware! Once in her possession, things are guarded fiercely and the little beastie shows her true ‘mandyr temper. Anyone who’s come to take back stolen items should be comfortable with the possibility of losing fingers. Clover is also quite capable of holding grudges for a shockingly long period of time.
Dragon
Name: Dramuth
Color: Brown
Age: 8
Physical Appearance:
Dramuth is of average size for a brown, nicely muscled due to the exercise he undergoes at his rider’s insistence. He’s long in the neck and tail, but it doesn’t seem to bother him much either way. His wings are also long and wide, giving him extra lift and speed when he needs it. His eyes are somewhat large, but not so much so as to look disproportionate. A long, slender muzzle tapers off at the end and his head is topped with short, slim headknobs.
He is a handsome shade of brown, almost a deep mahogany. Red undertones gleam almost as if underneath his hide rather than in it, with a deep caramel color overlaying it. Swirls of a dark chocolate brown extend down and out from his neck ridges, forming darker wisps on top of the exotic base coat, which grows lighter on his underside. Talons are unusually long, but are wickedly sharp and curved and usually make others think twice about doing anything that might give the brown reason to use them.
Personality:
At first observation, Dramuth is aloof and stoic, but anyone who’s around this brown often knows that he has a keen eye for detail. Very little, if anything, escapes this dragon’s notice. If he says something is amiss, then best pay attention. He was trained as a fighter in the north, and it shows in his personality. He’s not belligerent or even an instigator, but he’s a creature who seems ready for anything. Unlike his rider, however, Dramuth usually tries to solve issues with his mind first, violence later. He is perfect at tempering his rider’s brash impulsiveness, and has even saved a few people from losing some teeth.
Still, it’s not wise to underestimate this brown. If brains fail, he’s more than prepared to use brawn. His strength is often underestimated, as he enjoys lazing about comfortably and simply observing his surroundings. Once one gets past his aloof observational stage, Dramuth will show them a pleasant, almost warm side to his personality that had certainly helped to ease him into a comfortable social standing at Selenitas.
[x] By checking this box, I am saying that I have read the Rules and History, and will follow them.
[[Ok, I hope I got everything I needed to...]]
Humans:
Name: Aryna
Age: 23 [born January]
Gender: Female
Sexual Orientation: Bisexual
Rank: Wingrider
Physical Appearance:
Standing at a height of roughly 5’6, Aryna seems to be on the tall side of average for a Pernese woman. There is no singular feature that stands out above the others, but all work together to make Aryna a lovely young woman by almost anyone’s standards. Long hair falls to the end of her back, thick and black and just wavy enough to look unruly at times. It’s usually tied back in some way, though she rarely has the patience to braid it and it’s not uncommon to see her with it completely unbound. It’s soft and silky smooth to the touch. Her skin is a dark bronze color that grows even darker with time spent in the sun. While it is partially due to being outdoors often, it’s also hereditary; thanks to her dark complexion, Aryna almost never gets a sunburn. Her skin is marred in a few places only by a few scars, still pink and new. A long gash across her back has healed into a fine, smooth line. There’s a small burn scar on her shoulder in a peculiar shape, almost like a brand that hadn’t been held to the skin long enough. This too had been acquired in battle.
Because of her dark skin and hair, one automatically expects her eyes to be dark as well. Once upon a time, Aryna’s eyes were both a pale, eerie gray that almost bordered on silver. However since the last battle with Benden, a perfect blow to her right eye caused the color to darken into a shade that was closer to black. The perfect angle of light will sometimes make the affected eye shine a dark reddish brown. Healers believe the trauma caused the eye to bleed internally, hence the odd coloring. The injury has also affected her sight, and while she no longer has the perfect vision she formerly boasted, it’s not quite bad enough to interfere in her daily life. Her eyes are fringed with thick, dark lashes and slant slightly, giving her a very exotic, almost feline-like appearance.
Her nose is long and straight above full, plump lips. The general shape of her face is somewhat long and angular, with a softly squared jawline leading to small rounded ears usually hidden by her hair. Aryna’s build is perhaps the most misleading feature of all. At first glance, she’s slender and almost petite, with enough curves in the hip and breast to make it obvious that she is very much a woman. It’s nearly impossible to mistake her for a male from any angle. But what looks like soft, yielding flesh is in fact hard, slim muscle in most places. Her flat belly has the faintest definition of abs and her arms, while slender, are lined with muscle. There’s not a single ounce of extra fat to be found anywhere on this young woman’s body, and she’s perfectly capable of packing quite a punch.
She prefers pants and shirts to dresses and skirts, which limit her movements. When she dresses up, she wears a wide variety of colors, not liking to limit herself to just a few. To see her in a dress is a truly rare and wondrous thing and takes a great deal of coaxing and wheedling from someone she’s close to. Usually one will see her at a Gather wearing modified tunics and trousers, although they’re typically very fine in quality and flatter her form much as a dress might.
Personality:
Sultry and commanding, there’s something about Aryna that demands attention. Even when she’s at rest and not particularly doing anything, it’s hard not to pay attention to her. She tends to be on the bossy side, issuing commands and orders to whoever’s nearby. Whether or not they listen is entirely up to them, but woe betide anyone who doesn’t. Extremely headstrong, once she makes up her mind to do something, Aryna does it, no questions asked… and she expects the same of others as well. She seems to have a particular fondness for dragons, and has a certain affinity for being able to figure their emotions.
Despite this, however, it seems as if she’s hardly ever serious. There’s always a glint of mischief or humor in her eyes, a quirk of her full mouth that makes it seem as if she goes about laughing inside all the time. It’s a very dire situation indeed when these little quirks are absent in her face. She leans heavily on sarcasm and witty remarks, which she’s well aware that many people don’t appreciate, but she often finds herself lacking the ability to give a damn. She has a naturally outgoing nature, and in spite of the sarcasm, can be very friendly when she puts her mind to it. Newcomers to the Weyr often find her a willing and helpful companion.
Aryna is honest, almost blunt, and no one will ever be in the dark as to whether or not she likes them. She makes it plain with her actions who she likes and dislikes, and if it somehow escapes the person in question, she’ll say it to their face without hesitation or stutter. She has a very low tolerance for people she dislikes. Depending on her mood, angering her will either result in immediate antagonizing in return, or a swift and punishing fist to the face. You make Aryna angry, she’ll return the favor. One of the quickest ways to annoy her is to mess with her friends. Loyal to a fault, she’ll fight tooth and nail for anyone she calls ‘friend’.
Some people would call her a bully, and she’s certainly not above using bullying tactics if she feels it necessary. Others, however, consider her a friend. Which side of her personality one happens to fall on is often up in the air until it’s too late. Despite her tendency toward violence and a boisterous nature, she is intelligent, and it’s obvious when she slows down enough to actually use her head instead of her mouth.
History:
Born and raised at Benden Weyr, the full of Aryna’s boisterous nature was hidden for years. She was immediately placed in the crèche after birth, where she grew up among the other children doing what children did. It is questionable as to whether the culture around her helped to shape her personality or if it was something else; she was willful and independent from a very early age, and any attempts to stifle such behavior only resulted in a deep resentment and a stealthier nature. Rebellious to her very core, Aryna was seen as a nuisance and even a danger before she even hit puberty. Despite numerous beatings and punishments, she remained unbroken and unwilling to submit to the dominant males who seemed to rule the Weyr… or at least thought they did.
From a very early age, Aryna seemed to hold a special affinity for dragons, fascinated by them with an intensity usually reserved for hold folk who rarely had the opportunity to behold the magnificent creatures. She spoke often to the beasts, not seeming to care whether they spoke back or not. Most of them didn’t, but it didn’t seem to deter her in the least; the dragons were her favorite creatures, and she always showed them the utmost respect.
Between avoiding being caught for doing something she shouldn’t and admiring the dragons, Aryna could be found bullying the other weyrbrats. She wasn’t stupid, knowing that her survival relied upon being tough and strong. For the most part, it was a façade, a defense mechanism put in place to deter others from getting the idea that she was just a weak girl. But she had few qualms about shoving her fist down the other kids’ throats if it was necessary. By the time she was 10 Turns old, Aryna was running with a group of unruly boys and had gained the grudging respect of the rest of her peers. She proved time and again that she was tougher than shoe leather, able to take on any boy in the Weyr and hold her own. Honestly, she cared little for beating other kids up, but she cared even less for being on the bottom of the so-called food chain.
She got into her fair share of scraps over the Turns, lost some and won some, but she made sure to pay back the ones she lost to. Violence seemed to be the only answer, and she was becoming quite adept at speaking with her fists. As she grew older, Aryna began to attract attention, and not in a good way. Her proverbial rank within the group she ran with became stagnant, and at the age of 13, it seemed that the boys suddenly realized there was a girl in their midst. She wanted no part of their proposals and by the time she was 14, they’d had enough of her uncooperative behavior. Aryna was on her own, but it was a mutual decision (though she hadn’t told the boys that). It was almost better, she’d decided, to only have to worry about herself. But the boys weren’t the only ones whose unwelcome attention she’d captured. Unbeknownst to Aryna, some of the adults had been keeping an eye on her.
One day seemingly out of the blue, she was urged to Stand at the next Hatching. She was suspicious, but it seemed like a good idea after some thought. She had nothing to lose and the relative safety of a draconic companion to gain. The thought of becoming a warrior in the war between Fort and Benden crossed her mind. It was a bitter thought but the protection that she felt a dragon offered her outweighed whatever disgust she felt at having to use it to fight other dragons. Just after her 15th birthing day, she was on the Sands with her fellow candidates, waiting to see if her life mate was hidden behind one of the mottled shells of the eggs before her.
When a brown spilled across the hot Sands, Aryna looked away. She knew this dragon was not for her, but she followed the greens, even the blues across the Hatching Grounds with an intent gaze. But she ended up surprised when the brown she had so quickly dismissed approached and butted her knees roughly, demanding food. When she looked down and met Dramuth’s eyes, she knew that she was His. The astonishment of the onlookers was all but unnoticed as Aryna fed her starving life mate and led him from the Sands. In the months to came, Dramuth grew magnificently. All too soon, Aryna’s fears became reality: they were being trained for war.
She put her foot down. No one was endangering her Dramuth. No one. Naturally they would rise to fight Thread, but pitting dragon against dragon was abhorrent. But her protests were stifled harshly, leaving her bruised and bleeding, just on the cusp of being too injured to fly. No, they didn’t want to take out one of their own fighters, even if she was a rebellious woman. But Aryna would not be defeated; the night after she and Dramuth graduated from weyrlinghood, the brown rider quietly packed all of her things in a carisak and under the cover of darkness lashed her belongings to her faithful friend.
Together they left, vanishing into the darkness of between and emerging into the wet warmth and bright sunshine of Southern… and Selenitas Weyr. She carried with her forged transfer papers, which were accepted without a hitch. And so began her happy life at Selenitas. The Weyr was her haven where she didn’t have to worry about being jumped and possibly raped and beaten just for walking down the wrong hallway at the wrong time. And Dramuth was safe; no one would make them fly against another dragon and rider. Still, old habits die hard and Aryna found herself in some sticky situations as a result of acting first and thinking later. It didn’t help that she disapproved strongly of Shmee and didn’t bother to hide her opinion that the Weyrwoman was unfit and weak. The fact that she was from Benden didn’t earn her many friends among her fellow riders either.
As time went on, however, it became clear that Aryna would never be able to fully escape the clutches of war, or Benden. C’leon, psychopath that he was, insisted on troubling Selenitas at every turn and the brown riding female felt no qualms about assisting her adoptive home against the clutches of her former Weyrleader. She threw herself into the fray without hesitation the day Benden tried to execute the Weyrwomen of Selenitas and showed no remorse for whatever Benden lives she took. Selenitas was triumphant that day, but it wasn’t to be the last battle. She knew now beyond a shadow of a doubt that the war was coming to this place whether she wanted it to or not. But Aryna knew Selenitas was better than the alternatives and she stayed on at the Weyr. It wasn’t all bad; one day she Impressed one of the creatures known as salamandyrs, a little green that she dubbed Clover. Clover was one of the quieter sort, preferring to hide and watch rather than cause mayhem like some of her clutchmates (such as the little terror appropriately named Bite).
The brownrider did her best to actually ignore what was going on around her; the attempts on the Weyrwoman’s life were actually of little concern to her. Aryna honestly believed that the Weyr was better off without Shmee and, traitorous it may have been, but she was actually rooting for Benden in this. Somehow, the wayward young woman acquired a temporary job covering for the Weyrlingmaster. Even though she’d never actually admit it, she had actually enjoyed the weyrling lessons. They had given her a chance to let her commanding side take over and coming up with reasonable torture methods and unique punishments kept her mind from things she’d as soon not think about. But months later the mass poisoning at the Weyr refused to be ignored. It was the thing that finally claimed the Weyrwoman’s life but Aryna was too concerned about herself and Dramuth to really give it much thought. Who would be next? Would it be someone she actually didn’t mind (it wasn’t as if she really had actual friends)?
Thanks to luck and paranoia, they survived. For the time being. Shmee’s death meant the rise of a new gold rider into power, one that Aryna didn’t have much of an opinion on. To the brownrider, she seemed quiet and somewhat withdrawn, maybe a little too young to be in a position of leadership. But until something happened that was worth judging, Aryna didn’t think much of it. The Weyrleadership changed hands as was customary and it seemed almost as if life would go back to normal. But once again it was proven that they were in a war, and nothing was really ‘normal’. This much became obvious when the call from the Nightwatch went up. The Weyr erupted in chaos, and by the time Aryna tumbled out of bed and dressed herself, fighting had already broken out in much of the area. Never one to cower and cringe away from a fight the brown rider immediately armed herself and plunged into the skirmish. It was in the hallway that she was ambushed by one of the riders from Benden. As she looked at him she remembered him as one of the boys from the group she’d run with as a child. He had a multitude of scars to tell of his hard life waging war, but Aryna was unimpressed.
In spite of this she was taken as a weak willed woman, and the rider attempted to guile her into giving up her weapon. His mistake cost him very dearly. In the scuffle that ensued, however, Aryna received a fierce blow at just the right angle to her eye. It hurt something terrible but she brushed it off as a future shiner and went about her business. After killing the man who so foolishly thought he could win her over with pretty words and a soft voice, the brown rider truly joined in the fight, joining the group in the weyrling barracks. At one point she was slashed across the back by a dagger wielded by a younger Benden rider and his inexperience made him easy to overcome. There were several other attackers that, either on her own or with the aid of fellow riders, Aryna managed to fight off. It came as a shock to her when Benden at last retreated, and she was left to gaze at the carnage that was left behind.
Bodies and destruction were everywhere. Despite her injuries the brown rider pitched in with everyone else to help where she was able. Fighting had been a way of life for her ever since she’d been small but never had she witnessed anything like this. It wasn’t until the burn on her shoulder began to ache and throb that she took a break and allowed herself to be seen by one of the healers. The wound on her back had been deep and required numerous stitches, although the healer wasn’t sure what good it would do, having been left untended for so long. It was fortunate that Aryna cared little about beauty. Recovery was slow, but the holds sent a supply caravan to the decimated Weyr, coming to their aid when they most needed it. It was an improvement, hopefully one of many.
Salamandyr:
Name: Clover
Color: Green
Age: 2
Physical Appearance:
Rather bulky with muscle, there isn’t much about this little ‘mandyr that anyone can really say. Her hide is a dark green that lets her hide in the shadows quite effectively, which is handy for a creature who enjoys eavesdropping and stealing things. Her wings are short and stumpy and likely won’t even carry her as far as most salamandyrs’ but it doesn’t seem to bother her that much. Her tail is thick with muscle and long, used often as a whip to lash her bonded into action. Well, more likely a rage, but it is good for something!
Personality:
Usually quiet and (mostly) unobtrusive, at least for a salamandyr, this green prefers to hide out someplace and spy on people. When that’s not an option she isn’t above helping herself to someone’s stash of ‘shinies’. Beware! Once in her possession, things are guarded fiercely and the little beastie shows her true ‘mandyr temper. Anyone who’s come to take back stolen items should be comfortable with the possibility of losing fingers. Clover is also quite capable of holding grudges for a shockingly long period of time.
Dragon
Name: Dramuth
Color: Brown
Age: 8
Physical Appearance:
Dramuth is of average size for a brown, nicely muscled due to the exercise he undergoes at his rider’s insistence. He’s long in the neck and tail, but it doesn’t seem to bother him much either way. His wings are also long and wide, giving him extra lift and speed when he needs it. His eyes are somewhat large, but not so much so as to look disproportionate. A long, slender muzzle tapers off at the end and his head is topped with short, slim headknobs.
He is a handsome shade of brown, almost a deep mahogany. Red undertones gleam almost as if underneath his hide rather than in it, with a deep caramel color overlaying it. Swirls of a dark chocolate brown extend down and out from his neck ridges, forming darker wisps on top of the exotic base coat, which grows lighter on his underside. Talons are unusually long, but are wickedly sharp and curved and usually make others think twice about doing anything that might give the brown reason to use them.
Personality:
At first observation, Dramuth is aloof and stoic, but anyone who’s around this brown often knows that he has a keen eye for detail. Very little, if anything, escapes this dragon’s notice. If he says something is amiss, then best pay attention. He was trained as a fighter in the north, and it shows in his personality. He’s not belligerent or even an instigator, but he’s a creature who seems ready for anything. Unlike his rider, however, Dramuth usually tries to solve issues with his mind first, violence later. He is perfect at tempering his rider’s brash impulsiveness, and has even saved a few people from losing some teeth.
Still, it’s not wise to underestimate this brown. If brains fail, he’s more than prepared to use brawn. His strength is often underestimated, as he enjoys lazing about comfortably and simply observing his surroundings. Once one gets past his aloof observational stage, Dramuth will show them a pleasant, almost warm side to his personality that had certainly helped to ease him into a comfortable social standing at Selenitas.
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