Post by Micarst on Feb 2, 2011 3:41:05 GMT -5
((Edit 02/02/2011 - Finished except for anything I need to add or change.))
((Edit 02/02/2011 - Fixed formatting error I missed.))
((Edit 12/27/2011 - Starting to update for the IC turn time-skip.))
Name: Z'eith
Age: 31 Turns (Born 2.2.1226)
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Straight (with bisexual past)
Rank: Weyrlingmaster; bronzerider
Appearance: Upon meeting Z’eith, the first thing you're likely to notice is his shock of unruly black hair. It springs from his head in clumps held together by static electricity, like blades of marsh grass. He often keeps it out of his face with a blackened leather cord, as much for style as convenience, but since his hair is kept fairly short he cannot tie it in a tail (though it is longer than the apparent “standard” for dragonriders). Equally obvious to the casual observer are intense brown eyes, so near to black in hue as to make no difference. These eyes often crinkle at the corners with humor; they seem luminous by any light, with a vague hint of animalistic eyeshine. Z'eith's brownish eyelashes are long but sparse, and his eyebrows - much the same hue as his hair – slant humorously above his eyes.
His face is thin and elfin, eternally beardless, the lips delicately colored along with the rest of him and often either curled mischievously or set in a stern scowl. His left ear is pierced at the helix position with a small silver-plated earring. His shoulders are broad, his waist narrow, giving him a rather girlish physique where contours are concerned. Since Z'eith is so short, being only around five and a half feet tall, he maintains good posture in a subconscious effort to be more imposing.
Two inches above his bellybutton, there is a small white scar he's had since birth where the midwife's surgical knife slipped when she cut his umbilical cord. As with his face, he has only the slightest touch of body hair anywhere but his head. He has long fingers, roughened by calluses though the rest of his skin is smooth and unbroken. He is thin, not just slender, but too wiry to be considered scrawny. His body doesn’t get bulky with muscle like many dragonriders though some definition can be seen; those who have judged his strength based on appearance have misled themselves miserably. Although Z’eith does not consider himself attractive, he is mindful of his rank and dresses accordingly in clean, well-kept clothes, completed with a belt hung at the hip with small pouches of supplies. Dark clothes are most often selected, for the sake of utility, though at Gathers or other feasts he used to walk out in style.
Personality: The ambidextrous Z'eith is a confident, bipolar sort of guy with a strange sense of humor. He sometimes tells jokes at his own expense, even the silliest sort of outrageous statements like "I am a woman today." Sometimes his jokes fall flat, which is awkward, but he certainly tries. He is a terrible flirt even with those who consider themselves straight (except, of course, for those who rank him - he has great respect for individuals of rank)- and even though he is now solidly straight, he enjoys wearing the occasional skirt... if only to incite comments. Commitment in a pair bond isn't really in his nature, though as a friend he is diligent, conscientious, and loyal. In point of fact, most of his real friends are women, because he feels safe commiserating with them over the follies of his fellows. He never quite achieves the same sense of comradeship with other guys.
Z’eith is rarely ever at a loss for words. His rumbling baritone is as much of a shock as his appearance; it seems like too much voice for such a short man. Z'eith is a graceful person with a great presence of mind and a talent for memorization. He has a sharp perception of emotions. While he might not appear to be watching anyone in particular, he can in truth be watching everyone. His sense of what is right and moral rarely fails to express itself, and he will not stand for bullying or pointless bickering if he can prevent it. He does not condone fighting except as a contest of skill, or for physical training purposes; when driven to the extreme edge of anger, however, he will prove that he is not a man to be taken lightly.
There is a darkness in Z'eith, as with everyone, that rarely gets aired. Usually its form is self-doubt (as when Kaycy and blue Winzerith defected, in spite of his best attempts to sway the weyrling class to loyalty), sometimes it is fear, very rarely it will be rage. He believes these feelings are weaknesses that he must work through and overcome. It takes him a lot of irritation to become angry, and it’s common that he will leave the conflict long before anger develops, whether by physically walking away or retreating into the fortress of his mind. He actually doesn’t much care for the more hidebound traditions of Pernese culture, when it comes right down to it, but that’s something he keeps to himself- except for mating flights, his proclivity for cooking, and where profanities are concerned. When he’s upset, words like “shards” and “flaming” tend to… err… round out his language. Fear of inadequacy can be a strength or a weakness. For Z'eith, it is both: sometimes he tries too hard to be all that he can for Pern and ends up overexerting himself, but it's better to try too hard than not at all, right?
At the opposite end of his emotional spectrum resides a wry sense of humor, appreciation of harmless pranks (that he nonetheless must punish!), and genuine delight in good music and good company. Though he is an alcoholic, Z’eith considers himself to be an easygoing fellow, except of course where duty is concerned. He has a deep capacity for patience and compassion that he usually conceals. He feels that he generally knows the best way to accomplish things, but except for students who must be instructed to the smallest detail, he would prefer to guide others to make a decision for themselves instead of just bossing them into the result he wants. His thirty-one Turns have led him to a rational view of the world; to Z’eith, every action has a motive, a price, and a consequence.
His perfect day would consist of waking for early morning exercise, finished with a swim to clean off before breakfast, cooking his own meal, playing some flying games with the weyrlings, rock climbing after lunch, a flower-picking expedition with some weyrbrats, then a warm rainstorm he could go jogging through, and fall asleep to its sounds once back at his weyr.
Z'eith's worst nightmare would be an unwashed subordinate starting a fight with him, refusing to stand down, besting him and making him eat spicy food (which he detests), then having the guy brag about what he'd just done to "the wannabe fruitcake." But those things would just make him angry, probably to the point of losing control. More horrifying would be a dream of His getting injured badly enough to want to go between, too badly to actually go there- and Z'eith unable to do anything to help...
During gold mating flights, Z’eith and His sometimes go elsewhere to relax, away from the heavy aura of communal passion. Greenflights are one of his favorite things for letting off steam, however. He never has “morning after” regrets. He does want to find a long term weyrmate, whether they’re bonded to a dragon or not, but so far he hasn’t formed any emotional attachment to any human since reaching adulthood. Most of his flings are exactly that: flings. He strongly feels that the dragon is his better half, and their shared loyalty is unwavering. Every new set of freshly-matched weyrlings brings the memory of his own Impression back with poignant, joyful clarity, though on a day-by-day basis, their bond is comfortably subconscious.
Z’eith would never regret the bond, no matter what else he may feel because of it, or what censure dragonriders face during this long Interval.
Family: Sire - Mortificai, Sun Ridge cotholder (south of High Reaches Hold)
Dam - Sulee, greenrider of Ista Weyr (formerly High Reaches)
Stepmother - Inariel, beastcrafter
Blood siblings - unknown
Step siblings - Aldren (M-1224)- Canine trainer
Background: Zuleith was born on a frigid night as winter clung to the land. Sulee, greenrider of High Reaches Weyr, named him with the "th" of dragons, hoping some sort of luck would find the boy with that sort of talisman attached to him. As she spoke the name, the midwife cut the umbilical cord, but her knife slipped and nicked him above the navel. Maybe that was why he was such a loud, demanding infant, insatiably curious, stubbornly opinionated, though quick to learn. When he took a dislike to someone- which was often- he would sit and glare at them, or crawl away, or if forced to endure being held spit up on them. In spite of these habits, his infancy was fairly uneventful, except that his mother took more notice of his doings than was common for dragonriders. Sulee was dressed down more than once for her decision to carry the baby to term instead of going between where termination was inevitable at an early stage; but the greenrider would hear nothing of it. Even if thread never came, dragons would need riders, riders would need cooks, cooks would need herdbeasts, and herdbeasts would need minders. In a Weyr, there was never a lack of things to be done.
Except when the Weyr was failing.
The leadership kept the information suppressed as well as they were able, feeling it unnecessary to worry their people, but those with any sort of wit could put two and two together. An aged Weyrwoman and queen dragon, who'd had few mating flights in the last decade; the lowest number of dragonriders in the records of the fourth Interval; the poorly hidden disdain of most common folk, who saw dragons as less and less necessary to their survival. None of it was pleasant to think on, but every time Sulee looked on her son, she thought of the future. How could she not, when he was near as precious to her as her dragon?
The toddler was finally turned over to others to mind at age three. He disliked this so vehemently that over the course of two months, he memorized an astonishingly large new vocabulary in order to complain loudly and often how much he missed his mother. After over half a Turn of hardly seeing his mother (and driving his minders to distraction), Sulee finally told him quite sternly that this was the way things must be, and that he would understand when he was older. The boy was devastated, and all but crumpled into a shell of himself. He thought at first that she no longer wanted him, and spent days crying silently, not speaking to anyone. Over the next month, Sulee did not come to him at all, on orders to "break him" of his dependency. Cheelith, his mother's green, took pity and bespoke him on several occasions to cheer him up, which worked wonders and settled him nicely. When Sulee finally visited her son on his fourth nameday, Zuleith was well adjusted, talkative, and delighted to see her - but not clingy.
That summer passed in a blur of play and growth. As summer transitioned into fall, tithe beasts from south of High Reaches Hold trickled into the Weyr according to schedule. Along with a moderate herd of seventeen fattened herdbeasts, his sire, Mortificai, came to the Weyr. It was his turn to bring the animals from the cotholds in his region, just as five Turns ago he had come (though that time the beasts were brought in spring, a full winter older than normal due to horrible weather preventing travel). At least nobody could say that High Reaches Hold shirked its duty to tithe the Weyr, though elsewhere on Pern such was happening. After turning the beasts loose in the feeding pens and receiving his tally page, Mortificai sought out Sulee, hoping to experience another sweet night of pleasures.
Of course she just had to tell him that he had a son... after they were done. The cotholder was shocked, then angry that she had never sent word, then hurt that she'd assumed he wouldn't have cared. "I would have taken the boy," he insisted. His request to meet the lad was denied, so he stayed at the Weyr, grimly determined to sway her one way or the other. Again, it was Cheelith's empathy that made things better: she bespoke Mortificai and gave him the image of his son.
They met in the infirmary, coincidentally, as Zuleith was there for a badly skinned knee. It was awkward, with the boy not quite understanding what Mortificai wanted from him with this knowledge. Many weyrbrats didn't know their fathers personally, or had little to do with them. Mothers too. It was just the way things were. Mortificai left, dissatisfied and still angry that his son- his son! His ONLY child!- was denied him. As a cotholder, he was duty bound; emotional connections came second, and he'd already delayed longer than he should've.
Though it was a day he remembered ever afterward, that first meeting didn't have much of an affect on young Zuleith. He'd felt that there was something more Mortificai had wanted- something he didn't know how to give, something he instinctively felt obligated to give. Recognition. Respect. Maybe even love. It was all confusing for a young child, and he put it out of his mind during the days of learning simple chores, saved the musings for at night after lights-out when all was quiet and there wasn't much to do but think.
Turns passed. Sulee continued to monitor his growth, and encouraged him to talk to crafters around the Weyr to see if there was some trade he could take up. He gravitated toward the healers eventually, mostly because of his ability to memorize, which was by now almost fully developed. And because of his tendency to need their services. At seven Turns of age, he broke his left leg badly in a fall as he tried to run down some icy stairs leading from the weyrbowl to the kitchens.
Recovery was slow, because he wanted to push his limits and be moving around before time, but he healed without a limp or any stiffness. The youth he'd grown to be chose to spend as much time around the other weyrbrats as possible, making friends and enemies with equal enthusiasm. His best friend, Jecia, was two Turns older and already studying herdbeasts. In order to spend more time with her, he decided to apprentice to the beastcrafters, though he still helped the healers whenever they needed the infirmary cleaned, or herbs gathered, or to occupy young patients.
Soon, it was time for his father to deliver tithe beasts again, and this time Zuleith was ready to greet him. What he wasn't ready for was the older lad accompanying his father. Aldren was already thickly muscled, with sharp brown eyes so light they were nearly tan, almost matching his close-cut hair. It was Mortificai's stepson. The two boys were polite to each other, but as they all settled down for a meal in the privacy of a guest room, Aldren seemed disinclined to speak unless addressed, so Zuleith let him alone. Instead, the boy talked at great length with his father, about hopes and dreams, and people. Serious things at first. He said that when he became a journeyman, he'd request to be stationed near Sun Ridge cothold. There was no response, but the silence wasn't strange, even with a stepbrother there. After Aldren went to sleep, the boy and the man shared funny stories of their disparate experiences, staying up quite late. This time when Mortificai left his son, he was impatient to see him again, and swore that he'd make the journey again soon, even if it meant bringing the tithe beasts by every Turn. Aldren said nothing. If anyone was disappointed with that visit, it was Sulee- her green Cheelith was getting proddy, and it would've been nice to relax. As a man newly married to a widow, unfortunately for Sulee, cotholder Mortificai was off the market.
The physical challenges of Zuleith's labor, along with the necessity of maintaining outward calm with the beasts he helped tend, meant that the scrawny boy developed muscle right alongside discretion. He became adept at submerging his aggravations with other weyrbrats, which meant less time being punished. There was another surprising bonus - as Zuleith got stronger, he discovered that some lads weren't able to keep up in tussles anymore. He finally stopped participating in fights altogether, choosing instead to remove himself from those situations.
The first stirrings of puberty came when in 1237, gold Neltioth had her last Mating Flight. The boy had known what to expect, because he'd been told stories by older weyrbrats- and his mother, disturbingly enough- but hadn't anticipated being caught up in it for Turns yet. He stayed out, away from the Weyr, while it was going on... afraid of what might happen if he was any nearer... wanting things that terrified him. It was a stroke of pure luck that he wasn't any older just then, or his willpower certainly wouldn't have been enough to keep him away from satisfying his curiosity.
The clutch was anticipated with fervor. The candidates just knew that Theirs would be in this particular clutch; the leadership hoped desperately for a queen egg to be laid, so the future of the Weyr would be assured. They'd kept it from everyone just how frail Kyana had become, though everyone knew on some level. It was a tragedy that she passed on in her sleep before her queen had even clutched. The dragons' dirge-like keening made for poor sleeping, and there was much grief for the next several days.
The months that followed did not improve. Zul and the other weyrbrats got over the death fastest, since they had known the old Weyrwoman only briefly, but their elders- from Weyrleader K'ven down to the lowest kitchen drudge- felt the hollowness of mourning as though there could be no relief.
There were joys mixed in with the sorrows though. Mortificai came once every season now, without fail, sometimes bringing Aldren along with him. The older boy was never very talkative, but he did smile for Zuleith, and sometimes could be coaxed to speak of his mother Inariel. The woman was apparently a beastcrafter who'd never taken formal study, who instead had learned from her father, who'd learned from his father, in a steady line to the sixth generation back. Aldren would, in fact, be learning from her as well. Now that Zul's friend Jecia had gone on to study with master beastcrafters- issues of breeding, details of health concerns, and other such details- Zuleith was almost lonely. The candidates had already been dispersed, to other Weyrs or in a few rare cases, back to their origins. Most of the weyrbrats he'd grown around were gone to apprenticeships. In truth, he would've been gone also were it not for Sulee's refusal to simply let him go. It was discussed at some length that perhaps he could go to study with Inariel, alongside Aldren, for a time.
That time came sooner than he expected, as news of High Reaches Weyr joining its remaining strength with that of Ista whispered through the halls and caverns. In preparation for this, Sulee took him to his father's cothold to drop him off, according to plan. She promised to visit soon, and signaled Cheelith to go between, and that was that.
Life at Sun Ridge cothold would've been an easy adjustment if it weren't so quiet there. By fifteen Turns, Zuleith was positively spoiling for some sort of adventure. Sulee had only visited once in the entire time he'd been living there. So, to fill the time, he hunted with Aldren and his father for supplemental meat for the table, learned some herbal remedies from the homely but kind Inariel, learned to swim and climb rocks. None of it was enough to dull the edge of his mangled homesickness. When the cure came, he wished it hadn't.
Aldren confessed to him that he loved him. Not like a brother. Like a lover. Their relationship to this point had evolved into warm companionship from a rather cold and quiet beginning, and now his stepbrother wanted to complicate things needlessly. But... there was some attraction, that lingering desire to conquer the unknown. And Aldren looked so shy and embarrassed, Zuleith couldn't tell him a definite no. Nothing happened between them the rest of that Turn, but the spring of Zul's sixteenth Turn was spent mostly in the grass. At eighteen Turns, Aldren was long since due to go take a season or two of formal training with a master beastcrafter, so when they were caught by Inariel, it was like pouring rum onto a fire. She hustled her son out of there so fast, Zul hardly had a chance to say goodbye. He wasn't sure how he felt about that: he knew he didn't love Aldren as his stepbrother seemed to love him, but he did care about him as the closest friend he'd ever had. When he had time to think about it, he felt guilty for rutting like that- letting the poor guy think it meant something just so he could get his kicks. Z'eith decided that he would have to do the honest thing, and explain himself when his stepbrother returned.
The entire debacle grew a rift between Inariel and Zul's father. Mortificai thought it was Aldren's fault, and Inariel thought it was Zuleith's fault. They spent hours every single night yelling about it, never seeming to realize that fault had nothing to do with it. Eventually word came that Aldren and the ship he had been passenger on were missing.
No hint of ship, passengers, or cargo was ever reported. Still, Zul refused to properly court every female his father tried to bring to meet him, except as quick tumbles he could bed, then forget about. He couldn't form an attachment on short notice, no matter how much his father and stepmother tried to push it on him, though they might've been relieved to know how much Zuleith came to prefer female attentions. Mortificai watched with growing horror and pain. His son might not be a fruitcake, and he might not be chasing other boys now, but he didn't look to be ready to settle down and breed the next generation of cotholders either. Perhaps hiring someone to help manage the place would be in order... Mortificai was getting weaker with every passing Turn, less able to perform the labors required of a cotholder. Eventually he wouldn't be able to do any of it.
Fast forward: Leading edge of winter, 1247. A bluerider from Fort Weyr came on Search to Sun Ridge cothold (now that High Reaches Weyr was no more, any Weyr could- and did- Search the High Reaches region). W'kel's blue Timith ate a herdbeast, studied Zuleith, and all but ordered his rider to bring the young man along. W'kel argued that at twenty-one Turns of age, this cotholder's son was bound to be rejected by the hatchlings, reach twenty-three Turns before the next clutch could come to be, and no longer be eligible to stand. Timith was adamant. Of course, Zul wasn't about to argue- he saw it as a possible way out from his unwanted fate of being locked in a boring life, without even Aldren to keep him company.
So it was that the adult Zuleith had grown to be stood in an ill-fitting candidate robe, feeling remarkably short compared to some of the other male candidates, waiting with bated breath now that the dragons were humming for the Fort Weyr Hatching. The eggs began to hatch, and he stopped paying attention to the Impressions early on - only hoping that there was a dragon here that would find him an adequate match. He stood there with his eyes shut, when something slammed into him from the side. He went sprawling, and the surprisingly heavy something stepped onto his chest. It was a tiny bronze hatchling, no larger than a big blue, staring down at him, asking, <<Why were you shutting me out, Z'eith? Your Rialth was looking for you.>> while rainbows swirled in his faceted eyes. Impression had been made. It was so incredible, Z'eith could barely call out the traditional introduction: "His name is Rialth!"
Rialth was a bright spot in Z'eith's life. The small bronze grew more rapidly than the other weyrlings, so at one point he was actually the largest dragon of his class. Shortly after reaching 32' of length, his growth seemed to grind to a halt, while the others continued steadily growing. At graduation measurement, when it is expected that dragons are fully grown, Rialth was recorded being 33' long... still only a little larger than big blues.
Graduation happened at the end of Z'eith's birth month, and to his surprise and delight, Sulee was there. She brought him a silver-plated brass earring along with her congratulations, and helped him to pierce his ear in the apex position, where the ornament wouldn't get caught on the riding helmet. They spent a good bit of time laughing together while Cheelith and Rialth sat companionably on the rim of the weyrbowl, but all too soon the visit drew to a close.
The next two Turns were full of inter-weyr games and rare, casual training, greenflights and booze. Now that alcoholic beverages were not restricted, it was one of Z'eith's favorite pastimes when off duty, to go to Ista Weyr to see his aging mother, get pleasantly buzzed and go for a swim on the Istan island shoreline. On his twenty-fifth nameday, he was at Ista to bring his mother a necklace, made from the teeth of some strange predatory fish (and to celebrate getting older), but she had something for him. Jokes that Thread was going to come back, and a letter from Aldren.
It felt like the rug had been pulled from under him. Rialth had to steady Z'eith before his knees gave way. The letter was short, tear-stained, and obviously had taken a hard journey to get to Sulee. It explained that the storm that sent the ship into a submerged rock had driven them to some continent with no human inhabitants. Disease, felines, and accidents had claimed a good half of the population of the survivors, but they had eventually managed to salvage enough wood, canvas and supplies to build another seaworthy vessel and return to civilization. Nine turns later. Aldren made no mention of how "close" they'd been before the incident, writing instead with stiff formality about his new profession training canines. He also made no mention of any desire to see Z'eith again.
It was heartrending, after so long simply burying the memories, but Rialth uplifted His and helped him feel a sense of closure instead of being overwhelmed again. He still felt a vague desire to find Aldren and apologize for his behavior as a horny teen, but it didn't interfere with his life. As long as dragon and rider were together the world couldn't faze them. Only a few months after receiving the letter, a terrible accident involving the Fort Weyrleader (and caused the suicide of his mate and her golden Hinjerath) and firestone resulted in the ban of firestone from training. Z'eith was so upset at what he saw to be a violation of tradition that he requested a transfer to Ista Weyr, so he could be near his mother again. If he'd realized that he was being hypocritical, clinging to this particular tradition just because he liked it, he might've resisted the impulse to leave- but he didn't, and neither did his bronze.
He wasn't the only rider to request a transfer over the ban, but their numbers were few, and Weyrleader Sk’oner figured it was better to let them go than persuade them. Rules were rules.
June of the next Turn, he was given the chance to go to High Reaches Weyr along with his mother, but he'd come to realize that they could not possibly live so near to each other. Cheelith was no relation to Rialth, after all, and in the way of dragons didn't understand why it mattered that Theirs were related. If her last greenflight hadn't ended so quickly, there might have been a very uncomfortable- not to mention utterly disgusting- turn of events.
So, Sulee left her son yet again, but with a warning: when talk of dragons leaving Weyrs became widespread, he must leave too, and seek out "the coalition." Actually, the coalition found him before anyone left but the legitimate transfers to High Reaches. As a young bronzerider, fit, level-headed, and discreet, he had much to offer them, and at his mother's behest didn't ask many questions. He wasn't certain he believed Thread was coming back, but he still had that thirst for adventure, and what was going on now was thrilling. Dangerous, maybe, if they were ever caught.
By the time Eastwatch was discovered, Rialth had proven himself quite the capable flier, in spite of his size. The pair had never risen above the rank of wingriders, and the chance to take part in the exploration of the western archipelago was too delicious to resist. They defected, without warning, from Ista Weyr, after "borrowing" a few necessary supplies they'd need.
During that time, the small bronze discovered to his astonishment that not only did he prefer the flesh of fish to that of wherries and herdbeasts, but he was good at catching them. Z'eith was envious because Rialth never really offered to share, and the rider had no skill at any sort of fishing, himself.
The influx of new riders to the coalition territory was the start of trouble for Z'eith. He was used to being in a position of action, but now was relegated to backup for other, more experienced riders. It was intolerable, but he kept his head down and his irritation to himself. They would realize their mistake and put him back in a proper position eventually. They just had to see that he was still keen to advance.
Eggs were successfully stolen, Z'eith was tired of waiting. He secured the weyrlingmaster position, so he could at least continue service for Hidden Weyr. It wasn't as exciting as egg raids, but it was better than hunting to supply the kitchen while everyone else had all the fun. Besides, after nine Turns as a rider, he had plenty of experience to draw on... enough for lessons at the very least.
Being involved with the weyrling classes after the stolen eggs hatched was more of a challenge than Z'eith could have expected. He tried to instill in them a sense that if Threadfall was coming, it was better to be trained traditionally, and if it didn't come there was no harm done. Losing out on Opheriath's mating flight due to the bronze's injury was quickly overshadowed by the arrival of Leviathan - and the more alarming (depressing) disappearance of a young bluepair from the ranks. Z'eith turned to alcohol to stiffen his spine. By the time the Northern riders attacked, he was ready for a break from training stubborn, willful weyrlings; fighting wasn't the sort of break he wanted, though. It hurt more to watch dragon fighting dragon than it had when one of his steadiest weyrlings had abandoned the coalition, seemingly without a backward glance. Realizing that Rialth had hidden an injury was even more painful.
Time has passed now, with South Run's population carving a home into the calderas just as they'd done in the beginning. Under Z'eith's nose, factions have started to form, without him catching on until very recently. There's been enough else to worry about without the added distraction of a split in the ranks. He still fully expects Thread. They don't have time for this crap!
As long as the factions are embryonic, Z'eith prefers to pretend they don't exist, for the most part. His most visible reaction is to travel as much as possible, keeping contact with the newest riders and offering support wherever he can.
Timeline:
Pets: N/A
Name:Rialth
Age: 10 Turns (Hatched simultaneously to gold Itwasath at Fort Weyr, 12. ? .1247)
Color:Bronze
Appearance: At 33' long, Rialth is one of the smallest bronzes on Pern. His body is built more like a feline than a canine, not bulked-up with layers of muscle, but deceptively sleek. This overall theme continues to the shape of his head- narrow like a runnerbeast's, though not quite delicate looking- to his wings, longer than proportionate but narrower than many other bronzes.' The shape of his wings means fewer opportunities to glide, but a markedly increased agility- compared to his bronze brethren in any case. That, paired with his small size, mean that his stamina isn't really any greater than a brown's, even if his speed and maneuverability are as good. On the ground, he stalks with a hint of sway, maybe even swagger, to his pace. Not graceful, exactly, but implying the strength his svelte form otherwise hides.
Rialth's coloration is unusual as well, the base bronze being a tawny sort of hue that leans more toward the sunny end of the bronze spectrum. Lighter streaks like vines curl up his forefeet and tail, though on the base of his tail up to his ribs (and, for that matter, across his wing arms) the streaks are more like the stripes on a feline than like vines. His neck ridges also have bands of this lighter shade between them, stretching briefly down his neck on each side. The only other place the light color appears is on his face- it stretches from his throat up in a slant past the middle of his jaw, curving up across the contour of his muzzle to flow between eyeridges and the top of his cheeks, narrowing to a point just past his headknobs. Darker, almost brownish swirls climb his head knobs.
His underbelly now has parallel scars where a Northern dragon tried to disembowel him, but the attempt failed to do more than part the flesh a bit.
Personality: Even as a young dragon, Rialth had an undefinable quality of friendliness about him. He always wanted to play with his clutchmates, unable to stay serious for any amount of time. At first he was a very clumsy sort who tripped over his own feet often: his rapid growth left him awkward and unused to his own size. His body language was always clear enough however- the few times he became upset, his stalk became that of a prowling demon. When happy, he pranced with wings held half-mantled above his back, head high. Sad, his head and wings drooped as though with the weight of the world, and his tail dragged the ground. His curiosity for the world around him never faded, though the sense of impending mischief has tamed down considerably. He is intelligent and intuitive; perhaps because of his direct link into Z'eith's brain, he usually has no problem reading human expressions. He has even learned to copy a few: the nod and the shrug most notably (this last by lifting his shoulders and wingshoulders simultaneously). If anything, this bronze is too trusting of others, and relies heavily on Z'eith's experience to discover when treachery is afoot. Quick warning was all that saved Rialth from disembowelment when the coalition was initially attacked. The bronze hates battles, seeing it as wasteful effort for both sides. It is with resignation, rather than fervor, that he will join a fight.
As an adult, he is patient; he's learned to wait for what he wants, even food or rest. He can be quite talkative, even to human strangers. To him, "lower colors" don't exist- everyone is a potential ally, friend, or - in rare cases - a potential confidante. He remembers favors and kind words, and is always prepared to forgive snubs, lectures, accidents, even arguments. Rialth can be quite a flirt, taking his hints from Z'eith, though his compliments may be humorous, they are always honestly meant. In spite of his friendliness, though, Rialth will never be a great leader. He just wouldn't deal well with the stress of trying to be the strength of an entire Weyr. He can catch golds- rarely- but he just never tries his hardest when he knows leadership of the Weyr is at stake.
Like His, mating flights are one of his greatest joys. He is a good flier, instinctively showing his power where it matters the most, though as yet Thread is only a whisper, not a certainty. His draconic nature ensures his readiness to fight it... if it ever comes. He will long to participate even when Z'eith's duties lead him elsewhere... or when His is injured.
The rare, almost unheard-of times that Rialth catches a queen, he will be a doting and consummate servant to his lady queen while she is with egg: bringing her food, keeping her company, anything she requires except when Z'eith needs him. As clutch-father, he will offer to guard the eggs while the gold stretches her wings or goes to feed- if she'll accept the assistance. But once the Hatching has come, he won't spend much time with the gold, except as a friendly acquaintance. He would rather be off catching a green, who can be counted on for a good time much more frequently than any haughty gold.
Rialth's bonded is his, but he doesn't mind sharing Z'eith's time. In fact, he takes trips to go fishing all by himself quite often; a dragon of his size doesn't have a very rapid metabolism, but it takes a lot of fish- even the bigger ocean-going fish- to satisfy his appetite. Utter independence is NOT his strong suite: the slightest hint that something is wrong with His will bring this bronze back from whatever venture, to anxiously stay nearby and make sure there is no danger to Z'eith.
Anything else?Rialth's mind voice is a soaring tenor, echoing with reverberations like a strummed guitar. It is expressive in its range, masculine, but young-sounding even as an adult. When he is angry, it sounds like discordant strings being plucked simultaneously, a dark sound that grates at whoever he speaks to in minor keys.
Speech hex color = CD950C
((Full size image here.))
((Edit 02/02/2011 - Fixed formatting error I missed.))
((Edit 12/27/2011 - Starting to update for the IC turn time-skip.))
Rider Application
“To wish you were someone else is to waste the person you are.”
“To wish you were someone else is to waste the person you are.”
Name: Z'eith
Age: 31 Turns (Born 2.2.1226)
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Straight (with bisexual past)
Rank: Weyrlingmaster; bronzerider
Appearance: Upon meeting Z’eith, the first thing you're likely to notice is his shock of unruly black hair. It springs from his head in clumps held together by static electricity, like blades of marsh grass. He often keeps it out of his face with a blackened leather cord, as much for style as convenience, but since his hair is kept fairly short he cannot tie it in a tail (though it is longer than the apparent “standard” for dragonriders). Equally obvious to the casual observer are intense brown eyes, so near to black in hue as to make no difference. These eyes often crinkle at the corners with humor; they seem luminous by any light, with a vague hint of animalistic eyeshine. Z'eith's brownish eyelashes are long but sparse, and his eyebrows - much the same hue as his hair – slant humorously above his eyes.
His face is thin and elfin, eternally beardless, the lips delicately colored along with the rest of him and often either curled mischievously or set in a stern scowl. His left ear is pierced at the helix position with a small silver-plated earring. His shoulders are broad, his waist narrow, giving him a rather girlish physique where contours are concerned. Since Z'eith is so short, being only around five and a half feet tall, he maintains good posture in a subconscious effort to be more imposing.
Two inches above his bellybutton, there is a small white scar he's had since birth where the midwife's surgical knife slipped when she cut his umbilical cord. As with his face, he has only the slightest touch of body hair anywhere but his head. He has long fingers, roughened by calluses though the rest of his skin is smooth and unbroken. He is thin, not just slender, but too wiry to be considered scrawny. His body doesn’t get bulky with muscle like many dragonriders though some definition can be seen; those who have judged his strength based on appearance have misled themselves miserably. Although Z’eith does not consider himself attractive, he is mindful of his rank and dresses accordingly in clean, well-kept clothes, completed with a belt hung at the hip with small pouches of supplies. Dark clothes are most often selected, for the sake of utility, though at Gathers or other feasts he used to walk out in style.
Personality: The ambidextrous Z'eith is a confident, bipolar sort of guy with a strange sense of humor. He sometimes tells jokes at his own expense, even the silliest sort of outrageous statements like "I am a woman today." Sometimes his jokes fall flat, which is awkward, but he certainly tries. He is a terrible flirt even with those who consider themselves straight (except, of course, for those who rank him - he has great respect for individuals of rank)- and even though he is now solidly straight, he enjoys wearing the occasional skirt... if only to incite comments. Commitment in a pair bond isn't really in his nature, though as a friend he is diligent, conscientious, and loyal. In point of fact, most of his real friends are women, because he feels safe commiserating with them over the follies of his fellows. He never quite achieves the same sense of comradeship with other guys.
Z’eith is rarely ever at a loss for words. His rumbling baritone is as much of a shock as his appearance; it seems like too much voice for such a short man. Z'eith is a graceful person with a great presence of mind and a talent for memorization. He has a sharp perception of emotions. While he might not appear to be watching anyone in particular, he can in truth be watching everyone. His sense of what is right and moral rarely fails to express itself, and he will not stand for bullying or pointless bickering if he can prevent it. He does not condone fighting except as a contest of skill, or for physical training purposes; when driven to the extreme edge of anger, however, he will prove that he is not a man to be taken lightly.
There is a darkness in Z'eith, as with everyone, that rarely gets aired. Usually its form is self-doubt (as when Kaycy and blue Winzerith defected, in spite of his best attempts to sway the weyrling class to loyalty), sometimes it is fear, very rarely it will be rage. He believes these feelings are weaknesses that he must work through and overcome. It takes him a lot of irritation to become angry, and it’s common that he will leave the conflict long before anger develops, whether by physically walking away or retreating into the fortress of his mind. He actually doesn’t much care for the more hidebound traditions of Pernese culture, when it comes right down to it, but that’s something he keeps to himself- except for mating flights, his proclivity for cooking, and where profanities are concerned. When he’s upset, words like “shards” and “flaming” tend to… err… round out his language. Fear of inadequacy can be a strength or a weakness. For Z'eith, it is both: sometimes he tries too hard to be all that he can for Pern and ends up overexerting himself, but it's better to try too hard than not at all, right?
At the opposite end of his emotional spectrum resides a wry sense of humor, appreciation of harmless pranks (that he nonetheless must punish!), and genuine delight in good music and good company. Though he is an alcoholic, Z’eith considers himself to be an easygoing fellow, except of course where duty is concerned. He has a deep capacity for patience and compassion that he usually conceals. He feels that he generally knows the best way to accomplish things, but except for students who must be instructed to the smallest detail, he would prefer to guide others to make a decision for themselves instead of just bossing them into the result he wants. His thirty-one Turns have led him to a rational view of the world; to Z’eith, every action has a motive, a price, and a consequence.
His perfect day would consist of waking for early morning exercise, finished with a swim to clean off before breakfast, cooking his own meal, playing some flying games with the weyrlings, rock climbing after lunch, a flower-picking expedition with some weyrbrats, then a warm rainstorm he could go jogging through, and fall asleep to its sounds once back at his weyr.
Z'eith's worst nightmare would be an unwashed subordinate starting a fight with him, refusing to stand down, besting him and making him eat spicy food (which he detests), then having the guy brag about what he'd just done to "the wannabe fruitcake." But those things would just make him angry, probably to the point of losing control. More horrifying would be a dream of His getting injured badly enough to want to go between, too badly to actually go there- and Z'eith unable to do anything to help...
During gold mating flights, Z’eith and His sometimes go elsewhere to relax, away from the heavy aura of communal passion. Greenflights are one of his favorite things for letting off steam, however. He never has “morning after” regrets. He does want to find a long term weyrmate, whether they’re bonded to a dragon or not, but so far he hasn’t formed any emotional attachment to any human since reaching adulthood. Most of his flings are exactly that: flings. He strongly feels that the dragon is his better half, and their shared loyalty is unwavering. Every new set of freshly-matched weyrlings brings the memory of his own Impression back with poignant, joyful clarity, though on a day-by-day basis, their bond is comfortably subconscious.
Z’eith would never regret the bond, no matter what else he may feel because of it, or what censure dragonriders face during this long Interval.
Family: Sire - Mortificai, Sun Ridge cotholder (south of High Reaches Hold)
Dam - Sulee, greenrider of Ista Weyr (formerly High Reaches)
Stepmother - Inariel, beastcrafter
Blood siblings - unknown
Step siblings - Aldren (M-1224)- Canine trainer
Background: Zuleith was born on a frigid night as winter clung to the land. Sulee, greenrider of High Reaches Weyr, named him with the "th" of dragons, hoping some sort of luck would find the boy with that sort of talisman attached to him. As she spoke the name, the midwife cut the umbilical cord, but her knife slipped and nicked him above the navel. Maybe that was why he was such a loud, demanding infant, insatiably curious, stubbornly opinionated, though quick to learn. When he took a dislike to someone- which was often- he would sit and glare at them, or crawl away, or if forced to endure being held spit up on them. In spite of these habits, his infancy was fairly uneventful, except that his mother took more notice of his doings than was common for dragonriders. Sulee was dressed down more than once for her decision to carry the baby to term instead of going between where termination was inevitable at an early stage; but the greenrider would hear nothing of it. Even if thread never came, dragons would need riders, riders would need cooks, cooks would need herdbeasts, and herdbeasts would need minders. In a Weyr, there was never a lack of things to be done.
Except when the Weyr was failing.
The leadership kept the information suppressed as well as they were able, feeling it unnecessary to worry their people, but those with any sort of wit could put two and two together. An aged Weyrwoman and queen dragon, who'd had few mating flights in the last decade; the lowest number of dragonriders in the records of the fourth Interval; the poorly hidden disdain of most common folk, who saw dragons as less and less necessary to their survival. None of it was pleasant to think on, but every time Sulee looked on her son, she thought of the future. How could she not, when he was near as precious to her as her dragon?
The toddler was finally turned over to others to mind at age three. He disliked this so vehemently that over the course of two months, he memorized an astonishingly large new vocabulary in order to complain loudly and often how much he missed his mother. After over half a Turn of hardly seeing his mother (and driving his minders to distraction), Sulee finally told him quite sternly that this was the way things must be, and that he would understand when he was older. The boy was devastated, and all but crumpled into a shell of himself. He thought at first that she no longer wanted him, and spent days crying silently, not speaking to anyone. Over the next month, Sulee did not come to him at all, on orders to "break him" of his dependency. Cheelith, his mother's green, took pity and bespoke him on several occasions to cheer him up, which worked wonders and settled him nicely. When Sulee finally visited her son on his fourth nameday, Zuleith was well adjusted, talkative, and delighted to see her - but not clingy.
That summer passed in a blur of play and growth. As summer transitioned into fall, tithe beasts from south of High Reaches Hold trickled into the Weyr according to schedule. Along with a moderate herd of seventeen fattened herdbeasts, his sire, Mortificai, came to the Weyr. It was his turn to bring the animals from the cotholds in his region, just as five Turns ago he had come (though that time the beasts were brought in spring, a full winter older than normal due to horrible weather preventing travel). At least nobody could say that High Reaches Hold shirked its duty to tithe the Weyr, though elsewhere on Pern such was happening. After turning the beasts loose in the feeding pens and receiving his tally page, Mortificai sought out Sulee, hoping to experience another sweet night of pleasures.
Of course she just had to tell him that he had a son... after they were done. The cotholder was shocked, then angry that she had never sent word, then hurt that she'd assumed he wouldn't have cared. "I would have taken the boy," he insisted. His request to meet the lad was denied, so he stayed at the Weyr, grimly determined to sway her one way or the other. Again, it was Cheelith's empathy that made things better: she bespoke Mortificai and gave him the image of his son.
They met in the infirmary, coincidentally, as Zuleith was there for a badly skinned knee. It was awkward, with the boy not quite understanding what Mortificai wanted from him with this knowledge. Many weyrbrats didn't know their fathers personally, or had little to do with them. Mothers too. It was just the way things were. Mortificai left, dissatisfied and still angry that his son- his son! His ONLY child!- was denied him. As a cotholder, he was duty bound; emotional connections came second, and he'd already delayed longer than he should've.
Though it was a day he remembered ever afterward, that first meeting didn't have much of an affect on young Zuleith. He'd felt that there was something more Mortificai had wanted- something he didn't know how to give, something he instinctively felt obligated to give. Recognition. Respect. Maybe even love. It was all confusing for a young child, and he put it out of his mind during the days of learning simple chores, saved the musings for at night after lights-out when all was quiet and there wasn't much to do but think.
Turns passed. Sulee continued to monitor his growth, and encouraged him to talk to crafters around the Weyr to see if there was some trade he could take up. He gravitated toward the healers eventually, mostly because of his ability to memorize, which was by now almost fully developed. And because of his tendency to need their services. At seven Turns of age, he broke his left leg badly in a fall as he tried to run down some icy stairs leading from the weyrbowl to the kitchens.
Recovery was slow, because he wanted to push his limits and be moving around before time, but he healed without a limp or any stiffness. The youth he'd grown to be chose to spend as much time around the other weyrbrats as possible, making friends and enemies with equal enthusiasm. His best friend, Jecia, was two Turns older and already studying herdbeasts. In order to spend more time with her, he decided to apprentice to the beastcrafters, though he still helped the healers whenever they needed the infirmary cleaned, or herbs gathered, or to occupy young patients.
Soon, it was time for his father to deliver tithe beasts again, and this time Zuleith was ready to greet him. What he wasn't ready for was the older lad accompanying his father. Aldren was already thickly muscled, with sharp brown eyes so light they were nearly tan, almost matching his close-cut hair. It was Mortificai's stepson. The two boys were polite to each other, but as they all settled down for a meal in the privacy of a guest room, Aldren seemed disinclined to speak unless addressed, so Zuleith let him alone. Instead, the boy talked at great length with his father, about hopes and dreams, and people. Serious things at first. He said that when he became a journeyman, he'd request to be stationed near Sun Ridge cothold. There was no response, but the silence wasn't strange, even with a stepbrother there. After Aldren went to sleep, the boy and the man shared funny stories of their disparate experiences, staying up quite late. This time when Mortificai left his son, he was impatient to see him again, and swore that he'd make the journey again soon, even if it meant bringing the tithe beasts by every Turn. Aldren said nothing. If anyone was disappointed with that visit, it was Sulee- her green Cheelith was getting proddy, and it would've been nice to relax. As a man newly married to a widow, unfortunately for Sulee, cotholder Mortificai was off the market.
The physical challenges of Zuleith's labor, along with the necessity of maintaining outward calm with the beasts he helped tend, meant that the scrawny boy developed muscle right alongside discretion. He became adept at submerging his aggravations with other weyrbrats, which meant less time being punished. There was another surprising bonus - as Zuleith got stronger, he discovered that some lads weren't able to keep up in tussles anymore. He finally stopped participating in fights altogether, choosing instead to remove himself from those situations.
The first stirrings of puberty came when in 1237, gold Neltioth had her last Mating Flight. The boy had known what to expect, because he'd been told stories by older weyrbrats- and his mother, disturbingly enough- but hadn't anticipated being caught up in it for Turns yet. He stayed out, away from the Weyr, while it was going on... afraid of what might happen if he was any nearer... wanting things that terrified him. It was a stroke of pure luck that he wasn't any older just then, or his willpower certainly wouldn't have been enough to keep him away from satisfying his curiosity.
The clutch was anticipated with fervor. The candidates just knew that Theirs would be in this particular clutch; the leadership hoped desperately for a queen egg to be laid, so the future of the Weyr would be assured. They'd kept it from everyone just how frail Kyana had become, though everyone knew on some level. It was a tragedy that she passed on in her sleep before her queen had even clutched. The dragons' dirge-like keening made for poor sleeping, and there was much grief for the next several days.
The months that followed did not improve. Zul and the other weyrbrats got over the death fastest, since they had known the old Weyrwoman only briefly, but their elders- from Weyrleader K'ven down to the lowest kitchen drudge- felt the hollowness of mourning as though there could be no relief.
There were joys mixed in with the sorrows though. Mortificai came once every season now, without fail, sometimes bringing Aldren along with him. The older boy was never very talkative, but he did smile for Zuleith, and sometimes could be coaxed to speak of his mother Inariel. The woman was apparently a beastcrafter who'd never taken formal study, who instead had learned from her father, who'd learned from his father, in a steady line to the sixth generation back. Aldren would, in fact, be learning from her as well. Now that Zul's friend Jecia had gone on to study with master beastcrafters- issues of breeding, details of health concerns, and other such details- Zuleith was almost lonely. The candidates had already been dispersed, to other Weyrs or in a few rare cases, back to their origins. Most of the weyrbrats he'd grown around were gone to apprenticeships. In truth, he would've been gone also were it not for Sulee's refusal to simply let him go. It was discussed at some length that perhaps he could go to study with Inariel, alongside Aldren, for a time.
That time came sooner than he expected, as news of High Reaches Weyr joining its remaining strength with that of Ista whispered through the halls and caverns. In preparation for this, Sulee took him to his father's cothold to drop him off, according to plan. She promised to visit soon, and signaled Cheelith to go between, and that was that.
Life at Sun Ridge cothold would've been an easy adjustment if it weren't so quiet there. By fifteen Turns, Zuleith was positively spoiling for some sort of adventure. Sulee had only visited once in the entire time he'd been living there. So, to fill the time, he hunted with Aldren and his father for supplemental meat for the table, learned some herbal remedies from the homely but kind Inariel, learned to swim and climb rocks. None of it was enough to dull the edge of his mangled homesickness. When the cure came, he wished it hadn't.
Aldren confessed to him that he loved him. Not like a brother. Like a lover. Their relationship to this point had evolved into warm companionship from a rather cold and quiet beginning, and now his stepbrother wanted to complicate things needlessly. But... there was some attraction, that lingering desire to conquer the unknown. And Aldren looked so shy and embarrassed, Zuleith couldn't tell him a definite no. Nothing happened between them the rest of that Turn, but the spring of Zul's sixteenth Turn was spent mostly in the grass. At eighteen Turns, Aldren was long since due to go take a season or two of formal training with a master beastcrafter, so when they were caught by Inariel, it was like pouring rum onto a fire. She hustled her son out of there so fast, Zul hardly had a chance to say goodbye. He wasn't sure how he felt about that: he knew he didn't love Aldren as his stepbrother seemed to love him, but he did care about him as the closest friend he'd ever had. When he had time to think about it, he felt guilty for rutting like that- letting the poor guy think it meant something just so he could get his kicks. Z'eith decided that he would have to do the honest thing, and explain himself when his stepbrother returned.
The entire debacle grew a rift between Inariel and Zul's father. Mortificai thought it was Aldren's fault, and Inariel thought it was Zuleith's fault. They spent hours every single night yelling about it, never seeming to realize that fault had nothing to do with it. Eventually word came that Aldren and the ship he had been passenger on were missing.
No hint of ship, passengers, or cargo was ever reported. Still, Zul refused to properly court every female his father tried to bring to meet him, except as quick tumbles he could bed, then forget about. He couldn't form an attachment on short notice, no matter how much his father and stepmother tried to push it on him, though they might've been relieved to know how much Zuleith came to prefer female attentions. Mortificai watched with growing horror and pain. His son might not be a fruitcake, and he might not be chasing other boys now, but he didn't look to be ready to settle down and breed the next generation of cotholders either. Perhaps hiring someone to help manage the place would be in order... Mortificai was getting weaker with every passing Turn, less able to perform the labors required of a cotholder. Eventually he wouldn't be able to do any of it.
Fast forward: Leading edge of winter, 1247. A bluerider from Fort Weyr came on Search to Sun Ridge cothold (now that High Reaches Weyr was no more, any Weyr could- and did- Search the High Reaches region). W'kel's blue Timith ate a herdbeast, studied Zuleith, and all but ordered his rider to bring the young man along. W'kel argued that at twenty-one Turns of age, this cotholder's son was bound to be rejected by the hatchlings, reach twenty-three Turns before the next clutch could come to be, and no longer be eligible to stand. Timith was adamant. Of course, Zul wasn't about to argue- he saw it as a possible way out from his unwanted fate of being locked in a boring life, without even Aldren to keep him company.
So it was that the adult Zuleith had grown to be stood in an ill-fitting candidate robe, feeling remarkably short compared to some of the other male candidates, waiting with bated breath now that the dragons were humming for the Fort Weyr Hatching. The eggs began to hatch, and he stopped paying attention to the Impressions early on - only hoping that there was a dragon here that would find him an adequate match. He stood there with his eyes shut, when something slammed into him from the side. He went sprawling, and the surprisingly heavy something stepped onto his chest. It was a tiny bronze hatchling, no larger than a big blue, staring down at him, asking, <<Why were you shutting me out, Z'eith? Your Rialth was looking for you.>> while rainbows swirled in his faceted eyes. Impression had been made. It was so incredible, Z'eith could barely call out the traditional introduction: "His name is Rialth!"
Rialth was a bright spot in Z'eith's life. The small bronze grew more rapidly than the other weyrlings, so at one point he was actually the largest dragon of his class. Shortly after reaching 32' of length, his growth seemed to grind to a halt, while the others continued steadily growing. At graduation measurement, when it is expected that dragons are fully grown, Rialth was recorded being 33' long... still only a little larger than big blues.
Graduation happened at the end of Z'eith's birth month, and to his surprise and delight, Sulee was there. She brought him a silver-plated brass earring along with her congratulations, and helped him to pierce his ear in the apex position, where the ornament wouldn't get caught on the riding helmet. They spent a good bit of time laughing together while Cheelith and Rialth sat companionably on the rim of the weyrbowl, but all too soon the visit drew to a close.
The next two Turns were full of inter-weyr games and rare, casual training, greenflights and booze. Now that alcoholic beverages were not restricted, it was one of Z'eith's favorite pastimes when off duty, to go to Ista Weyr to see his aging mother, get pleasantly buzzed and go for a swim on the Istan island shoreline. On his twenty-fifth nameday, he was at Ista to bring his mother a necklace, made from the teeth of some strange predatory fish (and to celebrate getting older), but she had something for him. Jokes that Thread was going to come back, and a letter from Aldren.
It felt like the rug had been pulled from under him. Rialth had to steady Z'eith before his knees gave way. The letter was short, tear-stained, and obviously had taken a hard journey to get to Sulee. It explained that the storm that sent the ship into a submerged rock had driven them to some continent with no human inhabitants. Disease, felines, and accidents had claimed a good half of the population of the survivors, but they had eventually managed to salvage enough wood, canvas and supplies to build another seaworthy vessel and return to civilization. Nine turns later. Aldren made no mention of how "close" they'd been before the incident, writing instead with stiff formality about his new profession training canines. He also made no mention of any desire to see Z'eith again.
It was heartrending, after so long simply burying the memories, but Rialth uplifted His and helped him feel a sense of closure instead of being overwhelmed again. He still felt a vague desire to find Aldren and apologize for his behavior as a horny teen, but it didn't interfere with his life. As long as dragon and rider were together the world couldn't faze them. Only a few months after receiving the letter, a terrible accident involving the Fort Weyrleader (and caused the suicide of his mate and her golden Hinjerath) and firestone resulted in the ban of firestone from training. Z'eith was so upset at what he saw to be a violation of tradition that he requested a transfer to Ista Weyr, so he could be near his mother again. If he'd realized that he was being hypocritical, clinging to this particular tradition just because he liked it, he might've resisted the impulse to leave- but he didn't, and neither did his bronze.
He wasn't the only rider to request a transfer over the ban, but their numbers were few, and Weyrleader Sk’oner figured it was better to let them go than persuade them. Rules were rules.
June of the next Turn, he was given the chance to go to High Reaches Weyr along with his mother, but he'd come to realize that they could not possibly live so near to each other. Cheelith was no relation to Rialth, after all, and in the way of dragons didn't understand why it mattered that Theirs were related. If her last greenflight hadn't ended so quickly, there might have been a very uncomfortable- not to mention utterly disgusting- turn of events.
So, Sulee left her son yet again, but with a warning: when talk of dragons leaving Weyrs became widespread, he must leave too, and seek out "the coalition." Actually, the coalition found him before anyone left but the legitimate transfers to High Reaches. As a young bronzerider, fit, level-headed, and discreet, he had much to offer them, and at his mother's behest didn't ask many questions. He wasn't certain he believed Thread was coming back, but he still had that thirst for adventure, and what was going on now was thrilling. Dangerous, maybe, if they were ever caught.
By the time Eastwatch was discovered, Rialth had proven himself quite the capable flier, in spite of his size. The pair had never risen above the rank of wingriders, and the chance to take part in the exploration of the western archipelago was too delicious to resist. They defected, without warning, from Ista Weyr, after "borrowing" a few necessary supplies they'd need.
During that time, the small bronze discovered to his astonishment that not only did he prefer the flesh of fish to that of wherries and herdbeasts, but he was good at catching them. Z'eith was envious because Rialth never really offered to share, and the rider had no skill at any sort of fishing, himself.
The influx of new riders to the coalition territory was the start of trouble for Z'eith. He was used to being in a position of action, but now was relegated to backup for other, more experienced riders. It was intolerable, but he kept his head down and his irritation to himself. They would realize their mistake and put him back in a proper position eventually. They just had to see that he was still keen to advance.
Eggs were successfully stolen, Z'eith was tired of waiting. He secured the weyrlingmaster position, so he could at least continue service for Hidden Weyr. It wasn't as exciting as egg raids, but it was better than hunting to supply the kitchen while everyone else had all the fun. Besides, after nine Turns as a rider, he had plenty of experience to draw on... enough for lessons at the very least.
Being involved with the weyrling classes after the stolen eggs hatched was more of a challenge than Z'eith could have expected. He tried to instill in them a sense that if Threadfall was coming, it was better to be trained traditionally, and if it didn't come there was no harm done. Losing out on Opheriath's mating flight due to the bronze's injury was quickly overshadowed by the arrival of Leviathan - and the more alarming (depressing) disappearance of a young bluepair from the ranks. Z'eith turned to alcohol to stiffen his spine. By the time the Northern riders attacked, he was ready for a break from training stubborn, willful weyrlings; fighting wasn't the sort of break he wanted, though. It hurt more to watch dragon fighting dragon than it had when one of his steadiest weyrlings had abandoned the coalition, seemingly without a backward glance. Realizing that Rialth had hidden an injury was even more painful.
Time has passed now, with South Run's population carving a home into the calderas just as they'd done in the beginning. Under Z'eith's nose, factions have started to form, without him catching on until very recently. There's been enough else to worry about without the added distraction of a split in the ranks. He still fully expects Thread. They don't have time for this crap!
As long as the factions are embryonic, Z'eith prefers to pretend they don't exist, for the most part. His most visible reaction is to travel as much as possible, keeping contact with the newest riders and offering support wherever he can.
Timeline:
- 02.02.1226 - Born at High Reaches Weyr.
- 04.17.1229 - Officially becomes a weyrbrat. (Age 3)
- 09.22.1230 - Father meets him for first time. (Age 4)
- 11.07.1233 - Breaks leg in fall from stairs. (Age 7)
- 07.12.1234 - Apprenticed to beastcrafters. (Age 8)
- 09.28.1235 - Meets his father's stepson Aldren. (Age 9)
- 03. ? .1237 - Neltioth Rises. (Zuleith was 11)
- 08. ? .1237 - WM Kyana dies. (11)
- 05.19.1239 - Sulee leaves him at father's cothold. (Age 13)
- 06. ? .1239 - High Reaches Weyr consolidates with Ista Weyr (13)
- 08.20.1241 - Aldren confesses love. (Zul was 15)
- 04.03.1242 - Zul loses virginity. (16)
- 07.12.1242 - Aldren leaves. (16)
- 11.08.1247 - Zuleith is Searched. (21)
- 12. ? .1247 - Impresses bronze Rialth. (21)
- 02.24.1249 - Weyrling graduation. (23 / Rialth 1)
- 02.02.1251 - Letter from Aldren. (25 / 3)
- 04. ? .1251 - Firestone training banned at Fort Weyr. (25 / 3)
- 09. ? .1252 - Coalition forms. (26 / 4)
- 08. ? .1254 - Eastwatch discovered. (28 / 6)
- 03. ? .1255 - Settlement of Western Archipelago begins. (29 / 7)
- 02. ? .1256 - Covert actions and preparations begin to shape the coalition into Hidden Weyr. (30 / 9)
- 03. ? .1256 - Z'eith becomes Weyrlingmaster in earnest, after most of the stolen eggs hatch. (30 / 9)
- 04. ? .1256 - The rest of the stolen eggs hatch. (30 / 9)
- 05. ? .1256 - Rialth tries, and fails, to Fly green Opheriath; he sustains a light muscle sprain. (30 / 9)
- 07. ? .1256 - Leviathan ship arrives: lands are split up. (30 / 9)
- 08. ? .1256 - Kaycy takes Winzerith to Harper Hall; Z'eith spends two days drinking. (30 / 9)
- 12. ? .1256 - Coalition riders defend against Northerners. Rialth discovers that he can fight, but hates it. (30 / 10)
- 02. ? .1257 - Relocation to South Run begins. (31 / 10)
- 07. ? .1257 - Z'eith finally realizes that factions have started to form, much to his disgust. (to present play period)
Pets: N/A
Dragon
Name:Rialth
Age: 10 Turns (Hatched simultaneously to gold Itwasath at Fort Weyr, 12. ? .1247)
Color:Bronze
Appearance: At 33' long, Rialth is one of the smallest bronzes on Pern. His body is built more like a feline than a canine, not bulked-up with layers of muscle, but deceptively sleek. This overall theme continues to the shape of his head- narrow like a runnerbeast's, though not quite delicate looking- to his wings, longer than proportionate but narrower than many other bronzes.' The shape of his wings means fewer opportunities to glide, but a markedly increased agility- compared to his bronze brethren in any case. That, paired with his small size, mean that his stamina isn't really any greater than a brown's, even if his speed and maneuverability are as good. On the ground, he stalks with a hint of sway, maybe even swagger, to his pace. Not graceful, exactly, but implying the strength his svelte form otherwise hides.
Rialth's coloration is unusual as well, the base bronze being a tawny sort of hue that leans more toward the sunny end of the bronze spectrum. Lighter streaks like vines curl up his forefeet and tail, though on the base of his tail up to his ribs (and, for that matter, across his wing arms) the streaks are more like the stripes on a feline than like vines. His neck ridges also have bands of this lighter shade between them, stretching briefly down his neck on each side. The only other place the light color appears is on his face- it stretches from his throat up in a slant past the middle of his jaw, curving up across the contour of his muzzle to flow between eyeridges and the top of his cheeks, narrowing to a point just past his headknobs. Darker, almost brownish swirls climb his head knobs.
His underbelly now has parallel scars where a Northern dragon tried to disembowel him, but the attempt failed to do more than part the flesh a bit.
Personality: Even as a young dragon, Rialth had an undefinable quality of friendliness about him. He always wanted to play with his clutchmates, unable to stay serious for any amount of time. At first he was a very clumsy sort who tripped over his own feet often: his rapid growth left him awkward and unused to his own size. His body language was always clear enough however- the few times he became upset, his stalk became that of a prowling demon. When happy, he pranced with wings held half-mantled above his back, head high. Sad, his head and wings drooped as though with the weight of the world, and his tail dragged the ground. His curiosity for the world around him never faded, though the sense of impending mischief has tamed down considerably. He is intelligent and intuitive; perhaps because of his direct link into Z'eith's brain, he usually has no problem reading human expressions. He has even learned to copy a few: the nod and the shrug most notably (this last by lifting his shoulders and wingshoulders simultaneously). If anything, this bronze is too trusting of others, and relies heavily on Z'eith's experience to discover when treachery is afoot. Quick warning was all that saved Rialth from disembowelment when the coalition was initially attacked. The bronze hates battles, seeing it as wasteful effort for both sides. It is with resignation, rather than fervor, that he will join a fight.
As an adult, he is patient; he's learned to wait for what he wants, even food or rest. He can be quite talkative, even to human strangers. To him, "lower colors" don't exist- everyone is a potential ally, friend, or - in rare cases - a potential confidante. He remembers favors and kind words, and is always prepared to forgive snubs, lectures, accidents, even arguments. Rialth can be quite a flirt, taking his hints from Z'eith, though his compliments may be humorous, they are always honestly meant. In spite of his friendliness, though, Rialth will never be a great leader. He just wouldn't deal well with the stress of trying to be the strength of an entire Weyr. He can catch golds- rarely- but he just never tries his hardest when he knows leadership of the Weyr is at stake.
Like His, mating flights are one of his greatest joys. He is a good flier, instinctively showing his power where it matters the most, though as yet Thread is only a whisper, not a certainty. His draconic nature ensures his readiness to fight it... if it ever comes. He will long to participate even when Z'eith's duties lead him elsewhere... or when His is injured.
The rare, almost unheard-of times that Rialth catches a queen, he will be a doting and consummate servant to his lady queen while she is with egg: bringing her food, keeping her company, anything she requires except when Z'eith needs him. As clutch-father, he will offer to guard the eggs while the gold stretches her wings or goes to feed- if she'll accept the assistance. But once the Hatching has come, he won't spend much time with the gold, except as a friendly acquaintance. He would rather be off catching a green, who can be counted on for a good time much more frequently than any haughty gold.
Rialth's bonded is his, but he doesn't mind sharing Z'eith's time. In fact, he takes trips to go fishing all by himself quite often; a dragon of his size doesn't have a very rapid metabolism, but it takes a lot of fish- even the bigger ocean-going fish- to satisfy his appetite. Utter independence is NOT his strong suite: the slightest hint that something is wrong with His will bring this bronze back from whatever venture, to anxiously stay nearby and make sure there is no danger to Z'eith.
Anything else?Rialth's mind voice is a soaring tenor, echoing with reverberations like a strummed guitar. It is expressive in its range, masculine, but young-sounding even as an adult. When he is angry, it sounds like discordant strings being plucked simultaneously, a dark sound that grates at whoever he speaks to in minor keys.
Speech hex color = CD950C
((Full size image here.))
