Character type: Dragon rider
Rank: Wingrider
Age: 42
Gender: Male
Sexual Preference: Heterosexual (with the occasional forays into bisexuality. He’s not opposed, he just prefers the ladies)


As a youth of nineteen, N’mor was pretty enough to turn heads. As a man in his forties, much of that beauty has faded. His features are still sharply drawn and remarkably even, his eyes the same brilliant green, rarely seen this far south, and his smile as bright as ever. But somehow it doesn’t quite work. The stress of twenty turns of riding shows, in crow’s feet, liver spots, laugh lines, shallow wrinkles with no particular name and the dark rings that never entirely disappear from beneath his eyes. N’mor has shaved his once jet black hair, as it began falling out and turning grey, and without it, his features are too sharp and hard, more reminiscent of a vulture than the attractive boy he once was. He is now minus his right arm and while the stump isn’t particularly gruesome (and he was left-handed anyway), he looks like a rider who has seen battle. He is still a striking man, in a way, with the leanly muscled build of a rider, a respectable height of 6’2 and an almost exotic tilt to his eyes, but handsome? Not really.
N’mor favors finely made clothes, in black or dark brown, with a single silver chain around his neck and an opal ring on his left ring finger. He‘s always in respectable leathers come drill time, of course, he has a reputation to maintain, but he sees nothing wrong with dressing nicely the rest of the time. He’s an Istan dragon rider, after all.


You wouldn’t think it upon meeting him, but N’mor has always been prone to dramatics. Indulged beyond good sense as a child, and athletic and clever enough to do well at nearly everything he bothered to try, he had little practice in managing every day frustrations before turning twelve turns old. These days, he no longer cries or screams and has even given up the drink, but, when there is no one around to see, N’mor broods. And broods. And broods. Until Quraveth comes along to slap him back to his senses and remind him that he is a rider of Ista and has a duty to fulfill.

Because, while N’mor has never gained much tolerance for setbacks, what he has gained is a perspective beyond himself. He no longer frets over his own ambitions (or not only over his own ambitions, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t fret a little over said ambitions, as would any other man riding bronze or brown, he likes to think), but over the future of his friends, fellow Istans and most of all his dragon. All riders love their dragons, of course, but few dote upon them as thoroughly as N’mor does Quraveth. Perhaps some of this is born of delusion, the deep-seated belief that Quraveth is a fragile, precious thing that should not be broken, but the result is the same. Quraveth has but to imply he wants something and N’mor will move the world to make it happen.

While many of his former wingmates would describe N’mor as charming, he has no particular gift for people. What he does have is good-enough social skills to feign charming, particularly when compared with his not-always-pleasant former Wingleader, and once best friend, T’rian. He also has a gift for taking an idea and reframing it, with a keen eye for detail and a surprising talent for verbal acrobatics. While he’s not manipulative in the traditional sense, he is very, very good at making friends with the right people and puzzling out what makes them tick and how to bring them over to his side of things. And most importantly, he genuinely enjoys having a good time, a definition he applies very broadly. N’mor considers himself an equal opportunity hedonist, although he has crossed alcohol off his list of now mostly harmless vices, which now includes good food, entertaining company, vulgar songs and games of no educational value whatsoever. He knows better than to indulge to excess, Quraveth wouldn’t like that, but indulge he does and frequently when things are good. And N’mor is not shy about sharing his indulgences. Generous beyond reason, N’mor is more than happy to buy dinner for the entire party, if it ensures he doesn’t have to drink alone. Perhaps predictably, in his wilder days, N’mor could often be found without a mark in his pocket.

N’mor hasn’t changed as much from his early days as one would think. He’s just gotten better at hiding it. He’s still self-absorbed and he never conquered his temper. He merely learned to hide his flash of anger behind an easy smile and a confident chuckle and to channel his self-interest into the interest of wing and weyr, whose success is in his interest, as he’s not exactly planning on leaving.

Common Knowledge

N’mor was a wingsecond for many turns and one of Weyrleader T’rian’s chief advisors. After the First Fall, N’mor pretty much vanished from weyr politics. Now he’s back, kind of, but it’s a little late for that as the Outsiders got there first.

N’mor is fun, likeable, charming and much more approachable than T’rian. He also knows everyone whose anyone, or at least he used to.
N’mor’s not a mover and shaker in his own right, but if you need someone to put an upbeat marketing spin on something, or to find the right ear to whisper the right words in, N’mor just may be your man.

N’mor can’t fly thread properly since his injury. And what place is there in a working Weyr for a rider
who cannot fight?


Birthdate: 6.12
Birthplace:Ista Weyr

Nemor was fairly typical weyrbrat, born to a greenrider mother and an unknown father, perhaps in the aftermath of a Flight, perhaps from just a passing attraction. Nemor never took much interest in the issue and his mother never showed any particular fondness for him, but the weyr staff saw to it he wanted for nothing. Always a pretty child, and just charming enough to get his way, Nemor grew up a bit spoiled, but not so spoiled that anyone but Nemor took notice.

Nemor stood for the first the time at the tender age of twelve. He wanted a bronze of course (didn’t everybody?) but figured he would walk off with something by turn’s end. He had no particular reason for assuming this, as he had no more rider blood in his veins than the average weyrbrat and no dragon had ever pointed him out as a Candidate of exceptional potential, but well…He was a rider’s son, and an Istan, and he’d always gotten what he’d wanted before, so of course he’d Impress! Any dragon would be lucky to have him.

But when two turns went by without a dragon sparing Nemor so much as a glance, the boy began to worry. He’d been so confident he would Impress, he never even bothered choosing a Craft, spending his time doing light work around the Lower Caverns. Nemor still had his pride, however, and rider or no, he was not going to live out his life as a glorified drudge. At the too-old age of fourteen, Nemor began an apprenticeship in dragon healing. He didn’t show any great aptitude, or much true interest, in all honesty, but he had steady hands and made a passable showing of himself.

More turns went by without a dragon stumbling in Nemor’s direction and Nemor went from disappointed to sad to pissed off to just plain bitter, as one friend after another Impressed and left him behind. He withdrew into himself, lashing out at anyone who tried to help him with cutting sarcastic remarks and a hair-trigger temper. He continued with his Candidate training, but his heart wasn’t in it and his efforts were half-hearted at best. He had to miss a few Hatchings, as punishment for shirking off, but generally did the bare minimum to squeak by. And then, at 19, at a hatching like any other, to the surprise of everybody, including N’mor, a tiny brown stumbled over to him and announced himself as Quraveth.

Suddenly N’mor found himself thrust back into the world he had distanced himself from. He was one of the oldest in his class, but it didn’t matter. He was in the class. Finally. His behavior didn’t change, however, until a month into Candidacy, when he snapped at the (very young) Quraveth. Seeing how utterly terrified his dragon was, N’mor started pulling himself back together. He didn’t quite lose the chip on his shoulder, but he decided to do things properly, in a way that wouldn’t jeopardize Quraveth’s safety. He’d work hard, follow the rules and be a good wingrider, that was how he’d move up in the world. Fortunately, N’mor had known his manners at one point and, with Quraveth’s help, his people skills quickly came back. By the end of the turn, N’mor was on good terms with his classmates. If he couldn’t quite bring himself to truly befriend a fifteen turn old, well he had no problem acting as the cool uncle figure. And, when a group of younger weyrlings started causing trouble, well he’d gotten into some trouble in his weyrbrat days. He wasn’t about to go around dumping water on twelve turn olds or anything but if another twelve turn old wanted to know how one would theoretically go about dumping said water…Or if said weyrling needed an alibi…There are many degrees of non-involvement.

Much to the surprise of his former teachers, N’mor graduated, if not at the top of his class, shockingly close it. Upon entering the wings, him and Quraveth continued to excel. Thanks to Quraveth’s innate athleticism and N’mor’s fearlessness while flying, the pair stood out enough in drills to be tapped for wingsecond. And from the moment he was given the knots, N’mor shone. He had a nice way about him, easy-going and approachable, and was intelligent and creative enough to contribute ideas of his own, but not insolent enough to interfere with his Wingleader. He hadn’t done anything particularly special to get there, just performed his duty competently and avoided mouthing off to the wrong people, but he made it there all the same.

As a Wingsecond, N’mor began making a (admittedly small) name for himself in weyr politics. He was never one of the loudest voices in the room, preferring to act behind the scenes, negotiating deals, smoothing out relationships and whispering a few words in the right ear. Fortunately his wingleader was T'rian, who had the whole "distant leader" thing down-pat and left plenty of room for N'mor to play approachable messenger for the rest of the wing. And when innovation was needed, N'mor was more than delighted to throw out some notions of his own. Just because he wasn’t in a position to act himself didn’t mean he had any shortage of ideas. Him and T’rian made a good team and, in time, the two men became close friends and confidants, united in their desire for the good of wing and weyr, which conveniently involved gaining power for T’rian (and, consequently, N’mor). While it could have been an ugly, complicated relationship, with N’mor’s position intrinsically linked to T’rian’s, they managed to forge a genuine, and honest, friendship that N’mor valued beyond T’rian’s consequence. N’mor had never been the sort for confidants, but he found he rather liked having a best friend.

And then T’rian became Weyrleader. While N’mor had long had a minor presence in weyr politics, suddenly no door was closed to him. It was well-known he was one of T’rian’s most trusted advisors and there were no shortage of riders, from bronze to green and even a junior weyrwoman once, who wanted N’mor to advocate on their behalf. T’rian quickly developed a reputation for being fair, but there was no denying he was intimidating, where N’mor was one of the people through and through. N’mor didn’t abuse his power, in large part because he valued T’rian’s friendship, but acted as a liaison for anyone who asked and clued T’rian in to the needs and wants of ordinary weyrfolk when he was too busy with his weyrleader duties to keep tabs on popular sentiment. It was a good life. N’mor’s ambition was satisfied, but beyond that, he found himself truly and deeply happy, with good friends, a dragon he loved beyond belief and a job he thoroughly enjoyed.

Until Thread fell. It was the nightmare that consumed half the weyr, lost T’rian his job and robbed N’mor of his right arm. The weyr fell into chaos in the aftermath, but N’mor was too lost in fellis-induced slumber to pay the proceedings much mind. What he couldn’t forget was the sight of wingmate after wingmate, good riders all, being consumed by thread, the feel of the burning strands of it worming into his own arm, the cold of between a merciful balm. When he finally returned to full consciousness, the weyr was full of strangers, including his once best friend. Not only had T’rian not visited him once during his illness, he had turned cold and distant, with no time to spare for N’mor. Even N’mor’s once cherished position had been snatched from him. A one armed rider could not ride in a proper fighting wing, let alone serve as a wingsecond. N’mor spent months relearning how to ride, only to find the best he could hope for was a spot in the Queen’s wing and a chance to fight thread in lighter Falls. Robbed of everything he had once valued, N’mor turned to drink. He retained enough dignity to show up sober and on time for drills and meetings with T’rian’s remaining advisors, but spent the rest of his days in his weyr, mourning all he had lost.

It was no surprise when T’rian lost the wingleadership and N’mor was too lost in his personal tragedy to be overly upset by the corresponding drop in his own status. He was shaken from his stupor only after harshly reprimanding Quraveth (his own beloved dragon!) for daring to remind him that he needed sleep more than he needed alcohol. N’mor foreswore further drinking and began making tentative overtures to his former friends and allies. Most were uninterested, now that N’mor was no longer even a proper rider, but N’mor retained enough contacts he seemed to be on the road back to power…And then those damn Outsiders took over.



None that he knows of. He probably has a few bastards floating around the Lower Caverns, but N’mor’s never bothered to check.


His wingmates pre-shuffle
Some other people who once held some importance, before that damned Wherryleader came in


No shortage, but nothing particularly serious


Outsiders, all Outsiders. Yes, even the Candidates.
Pretty much anyone who opposed T’rian’s policies, as N’mor was always a loyal wingsecond

N'mor's Dragon: Brown Quraveth

Dragon Name: Quraveth
Color: Brown
Age: 23
Weyr of Origin: Ista
Weyrling Class: 8.429.2.19


Quraveth’s coloring is as striking as his rider’s. A deep dark brown, he is speckled with patches of pale beige, about the color of a Northerner’s skin, which fade into softer, almost feathery lines. In form, Quraveth is nearly perfect, all lean lines and graceful movements. On the large side of average, with wings just a touch too large for his frame, he glides with ease and can turn nearly as fast as some of the slower blues. He’s a remarkably skilled flier, shockingly agile for a brown his size, but a mediocre flamer, with a short reach and indifferent aim. It wasn’t much of a problem during the interval, when the only thing he had to burn was literal thread, but nearly got him and N’mor killed during the First Fall, as they had to fly dangerously close to thread to get in a decent shot. Quraveth’s aim has improved greatly, but his reach remains depressingly short and it is unlikely Quraveth will ever be able to flame thread from a T’rian-approved distance. Not that it matters now that they’re stuck in the Queen’s Wing. But it’s the principle of the thing.


Sweet, easy-going and eager to please, Quraveth just wants to be friends with everyone. Not the sort to take no for an answer, Quraveth has badgered N'mor out of his own head twice. Perpetually cheerful, Quraveth isn't actually all that easily offended, but he's not above faking it if that's what it take to pull N'mor out of a funk. Eager to see the best in everybody and everything, Quraveth is a very easy dragon to like, and an even easier one to underestimate.

See, Quraveth isn't a mean dragon per say, or even a particularly ambitious one. What he is, however, is excessively well-meaning and thoroughly convinced that he always knows best. And, when it comes to improving the world, Quraveth has few scruples. His intentions are always good, sure. But his methods can range from the questionable to the downright diabolical. Manipulative? Hell yeah. But manipulation is such an ugly word. And Quraveth knows full well it is all for their own good.

Blessed with the brief memory of dragonkind, Quraveth is hard to keep down. Oh sure, he misses he now gone wingmates, when he can remember who they were. But he rarely remembers and there are plenty of new friends to be made!

Common Knowledge

Quraveth just may be the nicest dragon on Pern. It’s been said he apologizes to herdbeasts before eating them and he is rarely heard uttering an unkind word.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License