Post by kira on Aug 18, 2010 13:25:47 GMT -5
What would you like to be called OOC? Kira
Recruited by: Thorne & Kaemi <3
Email: KiraKattRP@gmail.com
Character Info:
Name: Z'ech (Ziridech)
Age: 17
Gender: Male
Rank: Farmboy,Musician!, Candidate
Family:
Desia (Deceased at 40t, would be 49t) – Mother
Zalil (Deceased at 46t, would be 54t) – Father
~Khades (42t) – Uncle (Mother’s younger brother; cotholder and farmer.)
~~~~Belindra (38t) – Aunt (Farmer’s wife; takes care of the house.)
~~~~---Bhenda (19t) – Female Cousin (Training to be a cook.)
~~~~---Desdrin (15t) – Male Cousin (Will take over cothold; farmboy.)
Appearance: It’s hard to believe that Zir isn’t quite finished growing yet, as he already stands at a willowy height of 5’11” – and will likely top six feet by an inch or two once he’s done. He’s very lean, but has a bit of muscle to him from growing up as a farmboy.
His hair is cut short and messily, and usually looks like it’s been unbrushed and tossed around by the wind for ages. The half-boyish, half-roguish grin that usually adorns his features couples with this to give him a mischievous air. His eyes are a warm klah-brown, and are almost always twinkling in merriment. His nose has a little bit of a point to it, as does his chin, and his cheekbones are perhaps a little too high to be masculine. His jaw is still somewhat smooth – having grown very little hair there as of yet – and he has very little body hair elsewhere. His shoulders are broad, and his legs long. He tends to walk with a sprightly step, as if only just restraining himself from breaking out into a jaunty dance as he traipses along. On the whole, his features make an odd mix of not-quite-masculinity and not-quite-femininity. While not the most attractive of young men, he has a charm to him and in his demeanor that draws the eye to him more often than not.
With clothing, he doesn’t really have much preference. As long as it fits for the most part and he doesn’t look too ridiculous then he doesn’t mind. More neutral colors like whites, tans, and browns make up a good portion of his wardrobe, as he enjoys letting his personality be the flair that draws others to him rather than any brash, bright, and eye-catching coloring – like a bird who’d rather draw a mate by song and dance than by plumage. He does have a few pieces of clothing that border on the ridiculous – like one rather ruffly shirt – but he generally reserves them for when he thinks he needs to inject a bit of silliness into someone’s life. He tries to keep himself clean, and his teeth have been kept a nice shade of white, but he doesn’t really take much time with his grooming – as can be seen from his wild mess of hair.
Personality: Zir has taken a rather happy-go-lucky attitude toward life. There isn’t much that can get him down, as he can usually find both the good and bad in any situation, and prefers to focus more on the good. Focusing on the bad aspects will only stifle a person, and every situation should be used to grow. When something does manage to get to him, he will usually try to put those emotions into music – or, sometimes, written, poetic words – and quickly drains himself of his sorrow that way. He therefore spends most of his time happy, but even when he put his happiness to tune it thankfully doesn’t leave him.
He takes responsibility for his own actions, and grew up on the idea that one only gets to have fun once the necessary work is done – unless one can also make the work fun. He’ll work as hard as necessary to accomplish whatever task he’s assigned, and even try to make it amusing for himself and others as he does it.
Though he is unable to speak, he is surprisingly loud in personality. Every motion and every sound that he can make around him is carefully measured (except when he’s accidentally fumbling over his over-long limbs in general teenage gawkiness). He’ll dress up or dress down to fit a situation, and has no problem with taking a few laughs at his attire as long as it brings smiles to others’ faces. He’s become exceptionally adept at expressing himself through motions and facial expressions, often mixing in a few whistles and the occasional note from an instrument.
Making others’ smile and laugh is what he considers his greatest accomplishment. Making them feel through his music is a very close second. He takes his own music and the study of music seriously, and delights in any texts he might be able to locate and procure to further his studies. It is his truest passion, and he loves sharing that passion with any who care to have a listen.
His one shyness is in regards to potential significant others, though one would never guess it from his flirtatious tendencies. He will flirt with anyone and anything if he thinks it will make someone smile and brighten a day. He’ll often carry around a little flower to tuck behind a random person’s ear, and has been known to sweep random people into exaggerated dances on a whim. But…deeper relationships are somewhat unknown to him, and he will blush and shuffle his feet if he finds himself honestly ‘conversing’ with someone he might have an attraction to. The fact that sometimes his eyes don’t always stick to the girls…and sometimes drift to the boys…also confuses him a bit. He’s heard of people who are like that, but doesn’t really think that he might be. …Mostly. …Sort of.
Hobbies/Skills:
• Skilled with various simple instruments. A simple flute is still his best, but has dabbled with various other woodwind and percussion instruments. He CAN whistle, and if he doesn’t/can’t have an instrument, he will usually be either whistling or tapping his fingers or feet in a beat.
• Can mimic many of the wherry and darter whistles he hears.
• Excellent scribe.
• Developed a hand-signal pseudo-language with his family that he’s taught the basics of to some friends, and would happily teach any who wanted to learn.
Pets: None, but he is completely enthralled by the idea of fire-lizards! ♥
History: Ziridech was born after a very hard, twenty-seven-hour labor on a relatively cold winter night(it is the South, after all) in the tiny Wind-Glade Cothold. Though it became apparent that Desia could bear no more children after him, his parents took Zir as his own miracle and swore to do their best by their beautiful baby boy. It was after only a few months, however, that they realized that something was wrong. He would certainly cry like every other babe they knew of...but his crying never made a sound save for the hiccoughing breaths. When he was nearing a turn and still had yet to even make the mumbles that most children would as the prelude to speech, his worried parents took him to one of the healers. After some observation and a few tests, it was finally settled that he was indeed mute. His parents were borne of hardy people, so instead of shunning him for his disability they became more determined to find a way around it. Desia’s younger brother Khades and his wife Belindra agreed to help as well, as they lived right next door on their small cothold and he’d be growing up with their own children. His intellect was found to be unaffected by his condition, and so it became almost a game to think up ways to teach him to communicate. Gestures of the hand were deemed best, and small whistles to gain attention once he learned how.
Desia was an avid storyteller, and one of her favorite stories that had been passed down in their family was of when the North and the South were one, and the ancestor who had started their cothold made his living on the trade of a Harper. Despite the centuries of time, their family still valued literacy and being well-spoken. The children were taught their letters, and what few texts they had were free to be read again and again (so long as they were careful with them). Leaning against his mother’s side listening to her stories was possibly the fondest memory of Zir’s childhood, as he would listen wide-eyed to the tales of Holders and Dragonmen and the Crafters of old. He would secretly dream of being a Harper, though he knew it would never be possible. Who had ever heard of a mute Harper? But on the morning of his fourth turn birthing day he received a small, simple pipe – and it quickly became his greatest treasure. He’d spend hours piping random melodies that were as fleeting and structured as the wind, and sometimes after a Gather that his family had traveled to attend he would try to recall the songs played and sung so that he could try to figure them out on his little pipe.
A child’s creativity knows no bounds, and to the bemusement of his parents Zir managed to turn every object he could find into an instrument of some sort. Banging on this jug made that noise, those two buckles would clinkle like so if knocked together, and if you swished a stick just like this it made the most interesting sound. More complicated pipes and flutes were cobbled together out of random pieces of wood found around the cothold, as were larger percussion pieces. So long as Zir kept to the proper studies and finished all the chores he was assigned, his affection toward music was encouraged as a hobby.
When Zir was eight-turns-old, tragedy struck. A lantern had been left lit on the table downstairs, and a strong gust through the open windows blew some papers onto it. Within minutes, a fire had started and was quickly spreading. Khades and Belindra were woken by the crackling flames next-door, and quickly sent their son Desdrin running to the nearest neighbors for help. Bhenda and Belindra began pumping water into buckets to throw on the fire, while Khades wrapped a drenched blanket around himself and ran in to save his relatives. He got to little Ziridech first, who had been kept asleep by the billowing smoke. When they got outside, Ziridech was quickly shaken awake as he coughed in the clean air. Just as Khades was making to run back in for his sister and brother-in-law, there was an explosive sound – the sound of fire erupting into the air of a previously enclosed room.
And then the screaming began.
It was only for a minute – maybe two – but for Ziridech the screams of his dying parents would seem to echo for hours. By the time the family and various neighbors managed to quell the blaze, two-thirds of the house had been charred. The support beams had stayed, but much of the walls and the décor had become ashes. Most of the texts were still salvageable, as were many of Ziridech’s childish instruments. Desia and Zalil’s remains were buried two days later next to a large willow tree that often had multitudes of flowers around it in the spring. Ziridech watched them lowered into the ground with eyes that felt as if the fire had taken all the tears from them.
Ziridech became a shell of the child he had been. Though he had always been unable to speak, there was now a desolate quietude about him that was disconcerting to most others. He had no interest in the books that had captivated him so, and he refused to even look at any of his instruments or gather them from the shell of the old house. Khades and Belindra worried for their nephew, putting him up in the same room as Desdrin in hopes that the presence of the other boy would drag him out of his melancholy. He carried on for eight months that way, completing all of his assigned tasks and the like with a wooden manner to him and distant eyes.
One afternoon in Spring, he was struck by an odd sound. Following it, he found his steps carrying him to his old home. No one in the family had the heart to tear it down. The sound stopped as he approached, but he felt an odd compulsion to keep going. He entered through the hole that had been the front door and walked to the middle of the house. It wasn’t nearly as dark as he expected, fire-eaten holes in the walls and ceiling providing intersecting shafts of light all over. A few weeds and flowers had taken root in the floorboards and piles of rubble and ash. They began to bend in the breeze–
And then the sound began again.
It was a wistful sound. Almost like a keening. It echoed all around him, surrounding him. The sound of the wind finding its way through the various cracks and holes in the house, blending into a melody that he thought he could hear just beyond his grasp. Closing his eyes and turning in a circle in order to soak in the mourning song of his old home, he nearly tripped over a pile of rubble. When he opened his eyes, he found that the object he’d almost tripped over…was his first pipe.
He practically fell to his knees, tears overflowing from his eyes as he reached out to pick it up and cradle it close to him. He sat there crying silently while the wind played its song and died off again and again. When the wind didn’t seem to be blowing anymore, it seemed like too soon to end the song. So he brought the pipe back to his lips and began to play. First he played the sound the wind had made, and then gradually began to add to it. He put into it every ounce of his grief and every drop of his sorrow. When he finally finished his mourning ballad, he turned at the sound of sniffles – to find the rest of his family gathered in the doorway, listening and crying.
He stood and went to embrace them, remembering then something that his mother once told him. Harpers were the bringers of joy and teaching, yes, but not all of their songs had a jaunty tune. Some sorrow couldn’t be described with words, but music could maybe come close in the way it touched the soul. What kind of Harper would he have made if he didn’t understand that music was meant to express all aspects of one’s soul – not just the happy parts.
And with that thought, he began to live again. He would never forget the ballad of mourning that he’d woven that day, and would play it for his parents’ graves every year on the anniversary of their deaths. But he didn’t let his sorrow rule him. Like the ruined house with the new flowers growing up through the floorboards, he wouldn’t be broken – just changed. He had a much deeper appreciation for life, and would never take those he cared about for granted again.
He regained his jovial nature and his love of learning, and would play his music for any who asked. He did his work and worked hard, and eventually found an old text that explained musical notation that gave him an idea of how to record the various songs he played. The next eight years would pass in relative happiness, and he would flourish into a bright young man who loved life and every aspect of it. Even when it got him down, he’d put his feelings to music and all would be settled in his world. He laughed and caroused with his cousins, and made a great many friends amongst the other young people neighbor to his family or in the nearby Hold – or, at least, from among those not put off by his muteness.
One day, a rider from the nearer Weyr showed up to his cothold on Search, looking for Candidates for the clutch that was soon to be on the sands. Bhenda had no interest in dragonriding, and Desdrin wasn’t sensed to have the mental empathy necessary. Zir stayed off to the side, not really thinking he would even be considered. A mute Harper who could still write and play was perhaps possible, but a mute dragonrider? Hah! That was a lark. They had to be perfect, didn’t they?
But then, a voice came in his head. Hello there, the blue dragon bespoke him, and he couldn’t help but stare with wide eyes in wonder. To speak…without the use of one’s mouth. He walked closer to the dragon in awe, fighting within his mind both disbelief and the idea that maybe… …Hello? Unconsciously, he made the motion that his family had developed to mean ‘hello’ with his hands.
The dragon bugled happily, and Zir smiled. Just maybe, maybe there could be mute dragonmen too? The Searchrider wasn’t so sure, but his curious blue was, and he gave into his dragon’s assurance. They gave Zir a day to pack and make his rounds for goodbyes, and then they were winging off to Refuge Weyr adragonback.
Candidate lessons passed rather uneventfully for the few weeks he was there, but he applied himself to every lesson. If- no, when he Impressed (good to keep it positive), he would need every bit of the information he was given. And, well, even if he didn't, it was interesting. Chores were boring, but he was used to working for his keep. The Touching was an amazing experience that left him buoyed with a song in his heart. He'd been reassured by Aeriath that his inability to speak audibly in no way hindered him to the dragons, and he'd made a friend of Merielle to boot.
The night/morning of the Hatching found him tangled helplessly in his bedclothes, almost falling out of bed to get himself free. He made his way quickly to the Hatching Stands, linking arms with Merielle part of the way there. Happily watching as a few others Impressed,
Color Preference Your choice! <3 Leeeeeeeet’s just say I don’t think he’d be a good bronzer. *grin* Probably brown or blue? …Maybe green?
Name: Morpheunth (More-phay-unth)
Color: Blue
Age: Newly Hatched
Description: There is only a single thing that is average about this blue, and that is his size. Unremarkable in build or stature, there is nothing to set him apart from his brothers in this aspect. A typical height and body, Morpheunth is neither stronger nor more agile than any standard blue. However, the mundane aspects of this dragon end there. Upon that average, unremarkable build is a brilliant coloring that sets him apart instantly. A mottled variation of shades play across his hide in a dazzling dance of shifting hues, ranging from midnight blue all the way to cerulean. His wingsails are a vivid, rich sapphire, and his talons are a light, sky-blue in color. His face is dominated by a patch of lighter hue, so his eyes appear large and expressive.
Personality: With coloring that is loud and explosive, Morpheunth could have not possess a more contradictory personality to his appearance. Though his hide is flashy, the dragon himself is calm and easy going, tending to get excited over absolutely nothing. Cool even in the most extreme of circumstances, there are few things on Pern that could ever get him riled up. Though not exactly a flirt, this composed blue tends to be rather successful with the ladies, for he is mild and suave. There will likely never be a dragon that could ever ruffle his feathers. No matter what insult or excitement is thrown his way, Morpheunth will respond with a serene voice and even temper.
Seeming almost wistful at times, this blue is a very thoughtful dragon and tends to lose himself in his deep, philosophical contemplations on occasion. Really, he just thinks too much. Because of this, many will call him a daydreamer, and he may even allow his mind to wander off during drills. His wingleader is not going to be pleased with this tendency of his, but his bonded will be able to help with this. His rider will find Morpheunth to be a wonderful mindmate, for his presence will be a soothing one at all times. This blue will also be particularly sensitive to his chosen’s plight, and will readily bespeak anyone Ziridech requests of him. From the Weyrwoman all the way to the last drudge, he will never refuse to talk to anyone else if His asks. Because of this, Morpheunth will become extremely intelligent and sensitive to others, and will make one of the best Searchdragons to be found one day.
History: "With all the commotion started by the blue who had Impressed to a girl, the next egg was nearly done hatching by the time all eyes had moved to it. The Twisting Dreams Egg was already broken by countless fractures running across the surface, dancing among the swirling colors of the shell. Suddenly, pieces of the egg began to flake off, broken from within by measured, careful movements. Unlike it’s clutchmates, this dragonet did not fight to scrabble out of his shell, but rather applied pressure methodically until large chunks of egg just began falling off. With the Twisting Dreams Egg so weakened, the hatchling within merely stretched mightily, effectively pulling the entire shell apart with a few pieces sticking to his hide.
A collective gasp was heard as this new dragonet revealed himself, many looking upon him with awe. It was a blue hide, certainly, but unlike one they had ever seen. If Shivath was beautiful and lovely, then this blue was nothing less than extraordinarily handsome. Although he was quite the normal size for his color, his hide was nothing less than dazzling. Rich hues chased across his body, dancing along his hide in too many different shades to name. As he moved, colors shifted and rippled along his skin, creating a strange effect of almost shimmering quality. Standing easily, the hatchling flared his wings and stretched out his body, muscles bunching silkily under that remarkable hide. Striding forward, the blue exhibited a slow, easy gait that was rarely seen in hatchlings, his movements more like a feline’s than a dragon’s. He padded easily with a graceful step, rather than stumbling about. Moving smoothly towards the awaiting Candidates, the blue passed each one carefully, certain that he did not injure anybody in his search for His.
While the blue moved easily among the candidates, two more eggs began shaking violently, cracks spreading along the different surfaces. The Wind and Dawn Egg shuddered constantly, strange, starburst-like crevices appearing along the shell. An unhurried shifting could be heard from within, as if the dragonet was taking it’s time hatching. Meanwhile, the Law of War Egg also began rocking in earnest, large breaks appearing along the dull white-grey of the surface. Even as these two moved, the blue hatchling was nearing the edge of the male Candidates, yet he did not seem worried or frustrated in the least. Finally, he paused, then glanced upward in satisfaction. I knew I would find you, ZiridechMine. The soft, calm voice entered the boy’s mind as the blue gazed at his new bonded, stepping forward to gently pushed his nose against the boy’s hand. Your Morpheunth has come for you. Do not be sad, I am here."
((WIP))
Clutch: Gold Aeriath's 4th by Bronze Zorometh
Hatching Order: 4th, From The Twisting Dreams Egg
Text Color: 00BBF9
Mind Voice: Jim Caviezel www.youtube.com/watch?v=zDJ7TRCU7bM
Recruited by: Thorne & Kaemi <3
Email: KiraKattRP@gmail.com
Character Info:
Name: Z'ech (Ziridech)
Age: 17
Gender: Male
Rank: Farmboy,
Family:
Desia (Deceased at 40t, would be 49t) – Mother
Zalil (Deceased at 46t, would be 54t) – Father
~Khades (42t) – Uncle (Mother’s younger brother; cotholder and farmer.)
~~~~Belindra (38t) – Aunt (Farmer’s wife; takes care of the house.)
~~~~---Bhenda (19t) – Female Cousin (Training to be a cook.)
~~~~---Desdrin (15t) – Male Cousin (Will take over cothold; farmboy.)
Appearance: It’s hard to believe that Zir isn’t quite finished growing yet, as he already stands at a willowy height of 5’11” – and will likely top six feet by an inch or two once he’s done. He’s very lean, but has a bit of muscle to him from growing up as a farmboy.
His hair is cut short and messily, and usually looks like it’s been unbrushed and tossed around by the wind for ages. The half-boyish, half-roguish grin that usually adorns his features couples with this to give him a mischievous air. His eyes are a warm klah-brown, and are almost always twinkling in merriment. His nose has a little bit of a point to it, as does his chin, and his cheekbones are perhaps a little too high to be masculine. His jaw is still somewhat smooth – having grown very little hair there as of yet – and he has very little body hair elsewhere. His shoulders are broad, and his legs long. He tends to walk with a sprightly step, as if only just restraining himself from breaking out into a jaunty dance as he traipses along. On the whole, his features make an odd mix of not-quite-masculinity and not-quite-femininity. While not the most attractive of young men, he has a charm to him and in his demeanor that draws the eye to him more often than not.
With clothing, he doesn’t really have much preference. As long as it fits for the most part and he doesn’t look too ridiculous then he doesn’t mind. More neutral colors like whites, tans, and browns make up a good portion of his wardrobe, as he enjoys letting his personality be the flair that draws others to him rather than any brash, bright, and eye-catching coloring – like a bird who’d rather draw a mate by song and dance than by plumage. He does have a few pieces of clothing that border on the ridiculous – like one rather ruffly shirt – but he generally reserves them for when he thinks he needs to inject a bit of silliness into someone’s life. He tries to keep himself clean, and his teeth have been kept a nice shade of white, but he doesn’t really take much time with his grooming – as can be seen from his wild mess of hair.
Personality: Zir has taken a rather happy-go-lucky attitude toward life. There isn’t much that can get him down, as he can usually find both the good and bad in any situation, and prefers to focus more on the good. Focusing on the bad aspects will only stifle a person, and every situation should be used to grow. When something does manage to get to him, he will usually try to put those emotions into music – or, sometimes, written, poetic words – and quickly drains himself of his sorrow that way. He therefore spends most of his time happy, but even when he put his happiness to tune it thankfully doesn’t leave him.
He takes responsibility for his own actions, and grew up on the idea that one only gets to have fun once the necessary work is done – unless one can also make the work fun. He’ll work as hard as necessary to accomplish whatever task he’s assigned, and even try to make it amusing for himself and others as he does it.
Though he is unable to speak, he is surprisingly loud in personality. Every motion and every sound that he can make around him is carefully measured (except when he’s accidentally fumbling over his over-long limbs in general teenage gawkiness). He’ll dress up or dress down to fit a situation, and has no problem with taking a few laughs at his attire as long as it brings smiles to others’ faces. He’s become exceptionally adept at expressing himself through motions and facial expressions, often mixing in a few whistles and the occasional note from an instrument.
Making others’ smile and laugh is what he considers his greatest accomplishment. Making them feel through his music is a very close second. He takes his own music and the study of music seriously, and delights in any texts he might be able to locate and procure to further his studies. It is his truest passion, and he loves sharing that passion with any who care to have a listen.
His one shyness is in regards to potential significant others, though one would never guess it from his flirtatious tendencies. He will flirt with anyone and anything if he thinks it will make someone smile and brighten a day. He’ll often carry around a little flower to tuck behind a random person’s ear, and has been known to sweep random people into exaggerated dances on a whim. But…deeper relationships are somewhat unknown to him, and he will blush and shuffle his feet if he finds himself honestly ‘conversing’ with someone he might have an attraction to. The fact that sometimes his eyes don’t always stick to the girls…and sometimes drift to the boys…also confuses him a bit. He’s heard of people who are like that, but doesn’t really think that he might be. …Mostly. …Sort of.
Hobbies/Skills:
• Skilled with various simple instruments. A simple flute is still his best, but has dabbled with various other woodwind and percussion instruments. He CAN whistle, and if he doesn’t/can’t have an instrument, he will usually be either whistling or tapping his fingers or feet in a beat.
• Can mimic many of the wherry and darter whistles he hears.
• Excellent scribe.
• Developed a hand-signal pseudo-language with his family that he’s taught the basics of to some friends, and would happily teach any who wanted to learn.
Pets: None, but he is completely enthralled by the idea of fire-lizards! ♥
History: Ziridech was born after a very hard, twenty-seven-hour labor on a relatively cold winter night
Desia was an avid storyteller, and one of her favorite stories that had been passed down in their family was of when the North and the South were one, and the ancestor who had started their cothold made his living on the trade of a Harper. Despite the centuries of time, their family still valued literacy and being well-spoken. The children were taught their letters, and what few texts they had were free to be read again and again (so long as they were careful with them). Leaning against his mother’s side listening to her stories was possibly the fondest memory of Zir’s childhood, as he would listen wide-eyed to the tales of Holders and Dragonmen and the Crafters of old. He would secretly dream of being a Harper, though he knew it would never be possible. Who had ever heard of a mute Harper? But on the morning of his fourth turn birthing day he received a small, simple pipe – and it quickly became his greatest treasure. He’d spend hours piping random melodies that were as fleeting and structured as the wind, and sometimes after a Gather that his family had traveled to attend he would try to recall the songs played and sung so that he could try to figure them out on his little pipe.
A child’s creativity knows no bounds, and to the bemusement of his parents Zir managed to turn every object he could find into an instrument of some sort. Banging on this jug made that noise, those two buckles would clinkle like so if knocked together, and if you swished a stick just like this it made the most interesting sound. More complicated pipes and flutes were cobbled together out of random pieces of wood found around the cothold, as were larger percussion pieces. So long as Zir kept to the proper studies and finished all the chores he was assigned, his affection toward music was encouraged as a hobby.
When Zir was eight-turns-old, tragedy struck. A lantern had been left lit on the table downstairs, and a strong gust through the open windows blew some papers onto it. Within minutes, a fire had started and was quickly spreading. Khades and Belindra were woken by the crackling flames next-door, and quickly sent their son Desdrin running to the nearest neighbors for help. Bhenda and Belindra began pumping water into buckets to throw on the fire, while Khades wrapped a drenched blanket around himself and ran in to save his relatives. He got to little Ziridech first, who had been kept asleep by the billowing smoke. When they got outside, Ziridech was quickly shaken awake as he coughed in the clean air. Just as Khades was making to run back in for his sister and brother-in-law, there was an explosive sound – the sound of fire erupting into the air of a previously enclosed room.
And then the screaming began.
It was only for a minute – maybe two – but for Ziridech the screams of his dying parents would seem to echo for hours. By the time the family and various neighbors managed to quell the blaze, two-thirds of the house had been charred. The support beams had stayed, but much of the walls and the décor had become ashes. Most of the texts were still salvageable, as were many of Ziridech’s childish instruments. Desia and Zalil’s remains were buried two days later next to a large willow tree that often had multitudes of flowers around it in the spring. Ziridech watched them lowered into the ground with eyes that felt as if the fire had taken all the tears from them.
Ziridech became a shell of the child he had been. Though he had always been unable to speak, there was now a desolate quietude about him that was disconcerting to most others. He had no interest in the books that had captivated him so, and he refused to even look at any of his instruments or gather them from the shell of the old house. Khades and Belindra worried for their nephew, putting him up in the same room as Desdrin in hopes that the presence of the other boy would drag him out of his melancholy. He carried on for eight months that way, completing all of his assigned tasks and the like with a wooden manner to him and distant eyes.
One afternoon in Spring, he was struck by an odd sound. Following it, he found his steps carrying him to his old home. No one in the family had the heart to tear it down. The sound stopped as he approached, but he felt an odd compulsion to keep going. He entered through the hole that had been the front door and walked to the middle of the house. It wasn’t nearly as dark as he expected, fire-eaten holes in the walls and ceiling providing intersecting shafts of light all over. A few weeds and flowers had taken root in the floorboards and piles of rubble and ash. They began to bend in the breeze–
And then the sound began again.
It was a wistful sound. Almost like a keening. It echoed all around him, surrounding him. The sound of the wind finding its way through the various cracks and holes in the house, blending into a melody that he thought he could hear just beyond his grasp. Closing his eyes and turning in a circle in order to soak in the mourning song of his old home, he nearly tripped over a pile of rubble. When he opened his eyes, he found that the object he’d almost tripped over…was his first pipe.
He practically fell to his knees, tears overflowing from his eyes as he reached out to pick it up and cradle it close to him. He sat there crying silently while the wind played its song and died off again and again. When the wind didn’t seem to be blowing anymore, it seemed like too soon to end the song. So he brought the pipe back to his lips and began to play. First he played the sound the wind had made, and then gradually began to add to it. He put into it every ounce of his grief and every drop of his sorrow. When he finally finished his mourning ballad, he turned at the sound of sniffles – to find the rest of his family gathered in the doorway, listening and crying.
He stood and went to embrace them, remembering then something that his mother once told him. Harpers were the bringers of joy and teaching, yes, but not all of their songs had a jaunty tune. Some sorrow couldn’t be described with words, but music could maybe come close in the way it touched the soul. What kind of Harper would he have made if he didn’t understand that music was meant to express all aspects of one’s soul – not just the happy parts.
And with that thought, he began to live again. He would never forget the ballad of mourning that he’d woven that day, and would play it for his parents’ graves every year on the anniversary of their deaths. But he didn’t let his sorrow rule him. Like the ruined house with the new flowers growing up through the floorboards, he wouldn’t be broken – just changed. He had a much deeper appreciation for life, and would never take those he cared about for granted again.
He regained his jovial nature and his love of learning, and would play his music for any who asked. He did his work and worked hard, and eventually found an old text that explained musical notation that gave him an idea of how to record the various songs he played. The next eight years would pass in relative happiness, and he would flourish into a bright young man who loved life and every aspect of it. Even when it got him down, he’d put his feelings to music and all would be settled in his world. He laughed and caroused with his cousins, and made a great many friends amongst the other young people neighbor to his family or in the nearby Hold – or, at least, from among those not put off by his muteness.
One day, a rider from the nearer Weyr showed up to his cothold on Search, looking for Candidates for the clutch that was soon to be on the sands. Bhenda had no interest in dragonriding, and Desdrin wasn’t sensed to have the mental empathy necessary. Zir stayed off to the side, not really thinking he would even be considered. A mute Harper who could still write and play was perhaps possible, but a mute dragonrider? Hah! That was a lark. They had to be perfect, didn’t they?
But then, a voice came in his head. Hello there, the blue dragon bespoke him, and he couldn’t help but stare with wide eyes in wonder. To speak…without the use of one’s mouth. He walked closer to the dragon in awe, fighting within his mind both disbelief and the idea that maybe… …Hello? Unconsciously, he made the motion that his family had developed to mean ‘hello’ with his hands.
The dragon bugled happily, and Zir smiled. Just maybe, maybe there could be mute dragonmen too? The Searchrider wasn’t so sure, but his curious blue was, and he gave into his dragon’s assurance. They gave Zir a day to pack and make his rounds for goodbyes, and then they were winging off to Refuge Weyr adragonback.
Candidate lessons passed rather uneventfully for the few weeks he was there, but he applied himself to every lesson. If- no, when he Impressed (good to keep it positive), he would need every bit of the information he was given. And, well, even if he didn't, it was interesting. Chores were boring, but he was used to working for his keep. The Touching was an amazing experience that left him buoyed with a song in his heart. He'd been reassured by Aeriath that his inability to speak audibly in no way hindered him to the dragons, and he'd made a friend of Merielle to boot.
The night/morning of the Hatching found him tangled helplessly in his bedclothes, almost falling out of bed to get himself free. He made his way quickly to the Hatching Stands, linking arms with Merielle part of the way there. Happily watching as a few others Impressed,
Name: Morpheunth (More-phay-unth)
Color: Blue
Age: Newly Hatched
Description: There is only a single thing that is average about this blue, and that is his size. Unremarkable in build or stature, there is nothing to set him apart from his brothers in this aspect. A typical height and body, Morpheunth is neither stronger nor more agile than any standard blue. However, the mundane aspects of this dragon end there. Upon that average, unremarkable build is a brilliant coloring that sets him apart instantly. A mottled variation of shades play across his hide in a dazzling dance of shifting hues, ranging from midnight blue all the way to cerulean. His wingsails are a vivid, rich sapphire, and his talons are a light, sky-blue in color. His face is dominated by a patch of lighter hue, so his eyes appear large and expressive.
Personality: With coloring that is loud and explosive, Morpheunth could have not possess a more contradictory personality to his appearance. Though his hide is flashy, the dragon himself is calm and easy going, tending to get excited over absolutely nothing. Cool even in the most extreme of circumstances, there are few things on Pern that could ever get him riled up. Though not exactly a flirt, this composed blue tends to be rather successful with the ladies, for he is mild and suave. There will likely never be a dragon that could ever ruffle his feathers. No matter what insult or excitement is thrown his way, Morpheunth will respond with a serene voice and even temper.
Seeming almost wistful at times, this blue is a very thoughtful dragon and tends to lose himself in his deep, philosophical contemplations on occasion. Really, he just thinks too much. Because of this, many will call him a daydreamer, and he may even allow his mind to wander off during drills. His wingleader is not going to be pleased with this tendency of his, but his bonded will be able to help with this. His rider will find Morpheunth to be a wonderful mindmate, for his presence will be a soothing one at all times. This blue will also be particularly sensitive to his chosen’s plight, and will readily bespeak anyone Ziridech requests of him. From the Weyrwoman all the way to the last drudge, he will never refuse to talk to anyone else if His asks. Because of this, Morpheunth will become extremely intelligent and sensitive to others, and will make one of the best Searchdragons to be found one day.
History: "With all the commotion started by the blue who had Impressed to a girl, the next egg was nearly done hatching by the time all eyes had moved to it. The Twisting Dreams Egg was already broken by countless fractures running across the surface, dancing among the swirling colors of the shell. Suddenly, pieces of the egg began to flake off, broken from within by measured, careful movements. Unlike it’s clutchmates, this dragonet did not fight to scrabble out of his shell, but rather applied pressure methodically until large chunks of egg just began falling off. With the Twisting Dreams Egg so weakened, the hatchling within merely stretched mightily, effectively pulling the entire shell apart with a few pieces sticking to his hide.
A collective gasp was heard as this new dragonet revealed himself, many looking upon him with awe. It was a blue hide, certainly, but unlike one they had ever seen. If Shivath was beautiful and lovely, then this blue was nothing less than extraordinarily handsome. Although he was quite the normal size for his color, his hide was nothing less than dazzling. Rich hues chased across his body, dancing along his hide in too many different shades to name. As he moved, colors shifted and rippled along his skin, creating a strange effect of almost shimmering quality. Standing easily, the hatchling flared his wings and stretched out his body, muscles bunching silkily under that remarkable hide. Striding forward, the blue exhibited a slow, easy gait that was rarely seen in hatchlings, his movements more like a feline’s than a dragon’s. He padded easily with a graceful step, rather than stumbling about. Moving smoothly towards the awaiting Candidates, the blue passed each one carefully, certain that he did not injure anybody in his search for His.
While the blue moved easily among the candidates, two more eggs began shaking violently, cracks spreading along the different surfaces. The Wind and Dawn Egg shuddered constantly, strange, starburst-like crevices appearing along the shell. An unhurried shifting could be heard from within, as if the dragonet was taking it’s time hatching. Meanwhile, the Law of War Egg also began rocking in earnest, large breaks appearing along the dull white-grey of the surface. Even as these two moved, the blue hatchling was nearing the edge of the male Candidates, yet he did not seem worried or frustrated in the least. Finally, he paused, then glanced upward in satisfaction. I knew I would find you, ZiridechMine. The soft, calm voice entered the boy’s mind as the blue gazed at his new bonded, stepping forward to gently pushed his nose against the boy’s hand. Your Morpheunth has come for you. Do not be sad, I am here."
((WIP))
Clutch: Gold Aeriath's 4th by Bronze Zorometh
Hatching Order: 4th, From The Twisting Dreams Egg
Text Color: 00BBF9
Mind Voice: Jim Caviezel www.youtube.com/watch?v=zDJ7TRCU7bM
