Character type: Weyrling
Rank: Weyrling
Age: 19
Gender: Male
Sexual Preference: Homosexual


S'bran's appearance isn't usually what people imagine it would be. He's sort of a punkish kid, with unruly brown hair and an overgrown collie-dog awkwardness that he hasn't grown out of just yet. On top of that he's neither tall nor muscular, instead having the kind of frame that inspires nosy old women to try and feed him more. On his chin sits a very persistent soul patch which seems to be his only success in the world of facial hair, so he lets it remain. His complexion is fair but tanned, having the kind of islander look of many Istans; it's clear at first glance that he's a native.

He lacks in any sort of fashion sense; he just takes and takes whatever he finds appealing, and it doesn't always match or even fit him. Sure enough, it's discarded the next day, replaced with something better. He really enjoys jewelry making, though he hasn't really any great amount of skill in it. The best he can do is piece together some hemp pieces with shells and baubles woven into them.


One would assume that someone with S'bran's history would turn out to be meek, shy, and unassuming, but quite the opposite is true with him. He's loud, boisterous, and in everybody's face. The room turns when he enters it because he has the charisma and the presence to steal attention, and he likes it that way.

Rather than roll over and let the world walk over him, he chooses to bide his time and play his part, smiling brightly in public and quietly plotting in private. While there may be some positive, redeeming traits to him, S'bran is really a manipulative young man who wants nothing less than the absolute best out of life; he's had his fair share of drudgery and second-hand clothes, and he has no intention of reliving such a horrid time. He's part of the Weyr now, he's a dragonrider. He's not someone who should be pushed around or settle for second best, and he will not ever again. There are no qualms when it comes to pursuing things that he wants, and he's not afraid to use any tactic that he can to get it. He'd cry in front of his Wingleader if he thought it would get him the position.

Naturally he does have a long, long selfish streak, the kind that doesn't play nice with others and expects everyone else to do his bidding. Part of the problem with S'bran is that he already played the part of the town servant boy (of course he shared that responsibility but don't try to tell him that) so he refuses to participate in anything that sounds remotely like work, making him a real piece of trouble when it comes to both lessons and, in the future, drills.


Birthplace: Lado Hold, 8.434.3.22

The youngest of his family and a fostered child to boot, Siebrand had a lot of expectations to which he never really truly lived up. He grew up a lamb among wolves: his father and older brothers were all broad, rugged men who felled great trees and got their kicks from wrestling each other. Even his foster mother was a strict parent who defaulted to tough love rather than coddling him. He never made the same bulk as his family nor did he show any great strength or skill for their crafts. That lent itself to constant torture and teasing by the other kids in his holding; frequently, his brothers would roughhouse and push him around, and his parents would laugh boisterously and tell him it was all in good fun. It was never all in good fun for Siebrand.

Relentlessly his foster father urged him to pursue some sort of craft that would let him work with his hands. They tried all manner of things from woodworking to metalworking and everything in-between, so long as the job description was suitably masculine. When all else failed he was set to the lowest social rung, a whipping boy kicked into doing whatever task Whether through natural talent or the need to rebel against such strongly drawn gender roles, Siebrand leaned towards the softer, more feminine crafts, such as sewing and cooking, and as soon as his voice had broken it was learned that he had a nice, pleasant tenor with which he could sing quite well. Completely at a loss, his foster father allowed him to apprentice with one of the journeyman at their hold, though any time not spent training his vocal talent was filled with a full regiment of chores.

The word of the Weyr's tragedy at first Threadfall did very little to him. It wasn't that he didn't care, per se, but he was too involved with himself and his own world to pay it much thought. He found it nigh impossible to sympathize with dragonriders who seemed thousands of miles away from him while he was enduring the same old torturous nonsense day in and day out. If anything, it left him wondering if his brothers would be eaten by Thread any time soon.

It was not until recently, when word of a clutch on the Weyr sands reached their holding, that Siebrand thought he might have had a chance to get away. He was surprised when no Searchdragon would turn their eye on him; he was equally devastated when they left his holding, leaving him behind. Refusing to take that as a final answer, Siebrand took it upon himself to get to the Weyr. He lied his way out of his holding and boarded a caravan bound for Ista Weyr, where he immediately set himself up as a "new Candidate", lying and manipulating his way into a cot. It wasn't his fault that the paperwork got lost, but he doesn't blame anyone for it. No, it's all fine, he'll take whatever cot you have for him.

But once he got in, he was afraid that someone would find him out and send him packing back home. He had successfully fooled his parents into believing he'd taken up an apprenticeship at the Weyr but he didn't know if the dragonriders would be so fooled, much less the other candidates. It became imperative that he Impressed a dragon.

Fortunately for him, his security blanket came. Chamralth was the most perfect dragon he'd ever seen for so many reasons, the most important of which was the deep, intimate connection between them, but coming in at a close second was the knowledge that with a dragon, they could never truly kick him out of the Weyr…or so he likes to believe. Now he can focus on merely becoming the best dragonrider that he can — failing that, at least sucker a few people into doing it for him.



NPC foster family (open for play)

S'bran's Dragon: Green Chamralth

Dragon Name: Chamralth
Colour: Green
Age: >1
Weyr of Origin: Ista


From the moment she steps from her egg, it's obvious that Chamralth is going to be a beauty of a green. Overall, she's small but not tiny, with a nice form that won't need to shift much as she grows – she's not quite delicate, exactly, or even what you'd call sleek, but she's muscled in all the right places, with just enough flesh to give just the right smooth curves. Her face has just a bit of that roundness to it, too, a soft curve to her cheeks and muzzle that make it seem a bit friendlier and more inviting than those dragons with more harsh features. She has a way of curving her neck, cocking her head just-so, so that her big eyes seem more innocent and adorable. A hide of brilliant jade, which pales somewhat down her throat and underbelly, contrasts beautifully with shimmering dark emerald wingsails and neckridges. Her hocks constrast sharply in the other direction, painted a pale, almost icey green-white, only to give way to feet and dainty claws of emerald once more.


It's a little unfair that Chamralth is so pretty. Oh, there's nothing wrong with being pretty in and of itself, no, or anything wrong with knowing it, or even anything inherently wrong with knowing how to use it. The problem is that Chamralth uses it for all the wrong reasons. After all, why should she expend any effort to do anything she doesn't want to do, when there's always someone else ready and willing to do it for her? She'll discover early on that all she has to to is bat her pretty little eyes at the right person (and she'll have the instincts of a shark when it comes to homing in on just the right one), say just the right sweet words, and she can have almost anything she wants. And she wants a lot of things. Not all at once, exactly. She's ambitious in a vague sort of way; she doesn't really think or plan ahead, there's no specific goal in mind, she just wants better. A warmer sunning spot than this one. A bigger weyr. That pretty rock that she saw down by the beach. What does she plan on doing with it, exactly? Well, that doesn't matter – what matters (she'll say with a little stamp of her foot) is that she wants it.

It's unfortunate that she seems able to focus so intently on what she wants – that she'll put so much effort into getting it (or, more accurately, put five minutes into coaxing someone into getting it for her, but then five minutes is an eternity and a lot of effort in Chamralth's skewed perception), because it'll be like pulling teeth to get her to put any real effort into anything else. It isn't really that Chamralth is lazy. When she's honestly excited by and engaged by something she'll hop right up and go for it with gusto. The problem is that it's tricky to get her actually interested in anything resembling work. She's not the most intelligent green, and perhaps she knows that, too – her memory is particularly poor, and lessons and drills may be a struggle for her… so she would rather just not do them than to try and fail. It's easier to just focus on pretty things, to do what she's actually good at, and avoid the things that she may be lacking in, than it is to take a chance.

Her sweet personality, at least, isn't all an act. She may be a bit self-centered, much the same way that a child is, from time to time, and her short-sightedness may occasionally cause her to be stubborn or even have little fits, but she's quite a brave dragon when it really matters. She's fiercely protective of her friends, and no one will ever expect Chamralth, of all dragons, to jump up out of nowhere with teeth and claws bared if someone insults or threatens someone she loves. She's very social and very friendly most of the time, and she's not selfish with the things she obtains – in fact, she'll gladly give her neighbor her old shiny rock as soon as she obtains a new one. (Poor ugly neighbor – he could use something attractive in his life. Such is Chamralth's charity.)

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