13 (b. Spring 04T/11P)Sexuality:
Arisa is her father’s child, and she doesn’t hide it nearly as well as he did. Morbid and clinical, she very rarely has a happy smile on her face. It’s not that she’s never happy; she just doesn’t really show it very well, and sometimes some very odd things make her happy. A deadpan expression and flat, impersonal voice is predominant and she is distant, as if there is some space between her thoughts and her emotions. She has a habit of watching and listening to people in silence which can be rather disconcerting.
Once a precocious child, Arisa is intelligent and has an exceptional memory for facts and observations. She likes the immutability of such concrete things because they give the bones for the changing skin and flesh of things more prone to alteration and uncertainty. Arisa has a habit of treating the changeable things - what people say and do, the actions of all living things - as existing for her entertainment, to observe and perhaps pick apart or change. It pleases her to cut polite, proper, ultimately false behavior down to what she perceives as the reality. As she grows and her perceptive abilities sharpen, she will enjoy dissecting what people say and do, silently or aloud, to bare secrets and truths they might not want aired. Perhaps it is intended to be helpful or educational. Or perhaps it’s just a game.
In that context, it may not be surprising that she has an appreciation of death as the end of life’s little play. Living puppets - people, creatures big and small - sooner or later have their strings cut and the dance ends. Cease to be anything but another beautiful fact to provide the basis for some new dance. She finds it a shame that flesh rots - but clean bones and preserved hides find her favor. Arisa has also discovered sketching and writing as methods of preservation - not of physical things, but to capture thoughts, images and memories that might otherwise be forgotten with time. Although she rarely shares her scribblings, they demonstrate a talent that some may find unexpected in such a grim young person.Appearance:
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Rumpled dark brown hair falls around Arisa’s face. Sometimes - when she wants it out of the way - it is trapped in neat braids. Her eyes are a light hazel, almost a muddy color that seems too light to suit her face. A high forehead and short jaw unbalances her facial features, spoiling her chance of being deemed a ‘classic’ beauty with perfectly-proportioned features - although attractiveness will be left up to personal opinion.
Arisa is short for her age and while not delicately built, she is a little on the thin side. She is perfectly capable of long spates of physical activity although she rarely does. Her skin tone is simply neutral, neither pale nor dark. Overall, she looks healthy and cared for, contrasting sharply with the mind it hides.Family:
Arsonyk, father, Dalibor Weyr, deceased
Camisa, mother, deceasedPets:
Diaval - black
firelizard (#433928)- neutral, loyal, loves shiny things, hates negativity
Azrin - black
poppo (m) - steals sparklies, likes singing, territorial, can be won with bribes of seeds. History:
Camisa never had much intention of any lasting relationship with Arsonyk. He was just a bit of fun at the end of the drudge’s day - not her first, not her last, but the only one who gave her a child. By the time she knew she was pregnant, her fling with the senior apprentice was already over and she was onto the next one. She never even thought to tell him; after all, she wasn’t even sure it was his, and quite frankly she’d lost interest in having contact with him. There was something a little odd about him. Arisa was born there at Frontier Hold and raised by Camisa and her fellow drudges, depending on who was busy and who wasn’t.
It didn’t take her too long to get the suspicion of who Arisa’s father was. Some of their features were similar - and her behavior
reminded her mother of little off-things about Arsonyk she’d noticed in the course of their fling. Of course, by that point Arsonyk was gone, posted who knew where. It didn’t really matter.
When Arisa was four Turns old, Camisa received a message from an old friend who’d gone to Western several Turns before, encouraging her to come and start a new life with new opportunities at the second-youngest Hold. It was an invitation she didn’t even hesitate to take up, and uprooted herself and Arisa both. Arisa didn’t seem to mind the move too much. She wasn’t leaving behind any friends or pets or anything important. And she wasn’t really the type to cry over much anyway.
They’d only been at Western two seasons when Arisa’s mother took seriously ill in the first winter they’d experienced. Despite the healer’s efforts, she died in the night. When the healer returned to check on her, Arisa was sitting next to her mother’s body quite calmly, greeting him with a solemn, bland, “She’s dead now.” She was now apparently alone in the world.
But Camisa had left a letter to be sent to the Tannercrafthall in case of her death, for them to redirect wherever Arisa’s father might be. One to let him know that he had a daughter, and she was in his hands now. It was his turn to do what he would, which hopefully would be to go to Western Hold and collect her. After all, the drudges probably wouldn’t want to tend to the morbid little girl until she grew up.
Although she had a rather rocky start to her relationship with her father, Arisa soon found that she had a kindred spirit in the man who'd sired her. He alone seemed to fully understand her thoughts, her inclinations, the way she viewed the world. He taught her the social mores they needed to survive in ways she could actually understand and accept, and no human mattered more to her than her father.
She had few friends, although she did form an attachment to a then-candidate named Nevermor, who took her oddness in stride and challenged her developing mind. Sadly, difficulties plagued the young man after his Impression, and he ended up transferring away for some Turns after his graduation. Refusing to put to words how this felt, she carried on, apprenticing under her father at nine turns as a tanner.
A few turns later, he caught one of the illnesses that tended to sweep large habitations in the wintertime, and died from complications. Arisa carried on with so little sign of grief that it was disconcerting to the lower caverns staff that had to still interact with her. Completely emotionless, they whispered. Broken.
In the spring of the 17th Turn, she chose to watch from the stands as Couineth's latest clutch hatched. In a surprising development, a black dragonet clambered his way up into the stands, Impressing to her and bringing a focal point back into her life. Swath understood her, and she understood him, and that was really all she needed.Dragon Name:
< 1 Turn (Spring 17T/11P)Dragon Color:Black (#232323)Dragon Length:
Weyrling (Adult: 21 feet)Dragon Personality:
(Written by Boo)
Swath is a tactically minded dragon. He thinks with a warrior’s brain, considering flying formations and ways to improve in the fight against thread especially with regards to developing new tactics now that Threadfall can be larger. Swath is the first dragon to advocate for a change to tradition in favour of better methods. He has a way of bringing this up in conversation that does not seem confrontational or aggressive, merely logical. He and Wobath would get along famously.
Swath is not always inclined towards an emotional response. He is focussed and direct in a lot of ways. When he notices that someone seems to be drifting, he will bring them back to task. Swath is not as physical as some of his siblings but he will sometimes use physical intervention if necessary such as lightly tapping His on the head to gain attention. However in all things, Swath is calm. He believes in meeting others to learn more and reasons that without speaking to others, one will never gain a full appreciation of the world. To this end he is an intrepid explorer, eager to discover everything from one corner of Pern to the other. Swath’s desire to meet others does not mean he trusts them, he is just willing to listen. Although perfectly willing to discuss, he is wary of revealing his own thoughts.
One particularly unusual thing about Swath is that when he moves, his tail seems to ‘wag’ back and forth. It does give off the impression that he is a joker or perhaps a little flighty but it is merely a way to balance himself for Swath will jump into the sky at a moment’s notice, fly a short direction and then land abruptly but seems to have perfect balance. All thanks to the way he wags his tail. He also makes a ‘chirp’ sort of noise when he is thinking. Almost as though he is saying ‘tutt tutt’. However it actually sounds quite musical. He will be a brilliant flier, doing tricks in the air with very little effort. He can change directions in an instant and turn back on himself. Dragon Appearance:
He has a nose that almost looks like a deep red colour. In fact his black hide is so magnificent that when properly cleaned it will shine a beautiful onyx colour. His wings and tail have some grey and grey-white highlights/underside shading.Dragon History:
(Written by Boo)
The rain fell lightly still, misting the sands as it hit the warmth of the cavern. The mood on the sands was somber and still so was the mood in the stands. No matter what the dragonets did now, everything would be marred by the memory of the girl who had passed away. The black seemed to know now that there was little point wasting away his time now. His sandal had been taken back but he was fairly certain who he wanted. It was none of the people he had met at the touching although those were all really kind people, they had thought such thoughts to him. He was not an emotional dragon though, logic was his realm. Logic and ways to improve what was going on. Touchings were good, he thought, they had helped at least some of his siblings but perhaps there was some better way to do that too. He understood why they could not touch all the eggs when there were so many, but there had to be a better way.
While the black thought, he chirped whistling in a manner that might make people think him flighty or, indeed, a little silly. Even as he thought, his tail moved back and forth. His attention snapped back from his thoughts as he flapped his way around the female candidates. Unlike his burgundy brother, his wings actually did allow him to gain some air. He regarded Kataya with a lack of emotion, observing her as she sobbed. It was not that he didn’t feel bad for the girl, he understood, but she would need time before she was ready for a bond. Furthermore, his red sister had not helped matters no matter how much she had protested that she was trying to help.
He too could feel the warring in his mind. That hunger but whilst she had turned on the humans, he would not do that. Chirping and whistling again, he started hopping down the line once more. She was supposed to be here. He seemed to huff loudly and sat down in the sands, tail waggling back and forth again.
No he had come too early, she was not on the sands yet at all, she was up there. Oh well he could get up there, easily. With renewed vigour, the black began making his way over to the wall. With a strong and powerful flap of his wings he jumped, using the momentum to dig his claws into the rock wall. He then pulled himself over the barricade and looked around.
There. He started hopping down the line, careful not to hit anyone as he brought his wings in close to his body. There had already been too much bloodshed and he would not contribute.
Arisa, chin up, don’t be so down. Come on. There’s work to be done at this Weyr and much we can change. It was not said with pip or cheer, it was said flatly and almost like an order.
Contrary to the way he moved, this dragon was serious and stoic although his waggling body would seem to suggest otherwise.