Character type: HealerFace
Rank: Journeyman, Senior
Age: 34
Gender: Female
Sexual Preference: Heterosexual


It’s the one avenue where Sarada took her cue from her father instead of her mother, which was a lucky thing considering his family was known for producing willowy harpists and her mother’s for… ‘able’ farmgirls. As it happened, the robust genes of her maternal line were thrashed in the playground of inheritance by the artistic ennui of her paternal side— the one and only venue where they could win out.

So Sarada matured into a blueblooded elegance, fine-boned in the truest sense, with slim wrists and artful hands. Acutely feminine in all the typical ways, all the physical ways. There’s a fragile finesse to the sculpted symmetry of her features, very angular, very precise— the high curve of her jaw, the arc of the cheekbone, accented against the long column of her neck— only her expression softens the severe delicacy of the design.

She looks gentle, she looks caring. She looks like some ministering angel, here to nurse the wounded to health. It’s her expression that does it, the sad, sweet melancholy of it. Those eyes, so very soft and calm, so very soulfully blue under the dark sweep of her lashes. The quiet smile resting just there on her lips. It’s all very statuesque, set with a sheer style of strength— like porcelain, like glass.

Undoubtedly an émigré from the north, it shows in her coloring. Sarada’s hair is as dark as many an island native, yet it’s a foreign breed of black, the difference between raven and jet. Long and fine, she invariably wears it up while working. The starker contrast is in her complexion, all ivory and rose without a touch of tan. Excessively fair, it’s her great vanity at Ista— and a sore trial to maintain.

She speaks in a murmur at almost any volume. It’s a softness inherent in her tone, in the way she shapes the sounds, mellow and clear. A voice that, on any other class of woman, might be called sultry.


There are those who go into medicine to serve the needy— and there are those that go into it because they’re smart, inquiring fuckers who know that knowledge is their way up in a world where they weren’t born to the aristocracy. Not that they’re bitter. Crowns, after all, are by far inferior to brains.

Though Sarada most certainly went into medicine for the most mundane of reasons (a simple case of a daughter growing up to mimic her mother) she undoubtedly belongs to the latter group of practitioners in terms of both goal and sentiment. She is deeply, deeply passionate and committed when it comes to her craft, but that's just it: it’s the craft that stirs her devotion, not the people, not the patients. It is the divining of the unknown that attracts her, the mysterious world of infection and disease that is the invisible, unfathomable constant in every-man’s life.

And she’s good at it.

She’s confident, even vain, of her talents and it is from that position of comfort and assurance that she engages with the rest of the world. Sequestered by first her studies and then her duties, Sarada is equitably aware that she isn’t best versed in everything, but since she is so securely versed in what is certainly one of the most important things she usually seems content to observe whatever else comes her way with bemused tolerance.

Of course, tolerance has it’s limits. All things considered, she had a fairly traditional hall upbringing. The weyr and its ways are still rather foreign to her. While cosmopolitan enough to have accepted and appropriate some of the island culture (the opal jewelry, the breezy light fabrics) she remains skeptical of culture of the weyr at large. The casual camaraderie across ranks, the very physical and sexual way of life for citizens young and old… She may have accepted the local rum, but she doubts she’ll ever go so Native as to accept half the things the weyrfolk get up to at Ista.

Common Knowledge

( ಠ)ʃ ┻┻


Birthdate: 11.1
Birthplace: Healer Hall, Fort Hold

Born to the purple. The healer purple.

Sarada. Her father named her, not because he was the pater and took priority over his wife, but because he was the one with an ear for pretty sounds— and his wife was an ambitious career woman who had been hard at her research until the onset of labor forced her off her feet. Sarada. He named her in waltz-time and danced her to the sound of it.

Her parents were a curious match. Her mother, Marwyn, was a 1st generation crafter whose brilliance was matched only by the chip on her shoulder. Her father, Kairus, was a harper who, for all that he never amounted to much, was from one of the oldest blueblood lines. They met during their apprenticeship, their halls abutting one another in Fort Hold, and handfasted soon after walking the tables. While Marwyn rapidly moved on to a promising mastery, Kairus never progressed beyond journeyman, which would be normal enough were it not for his pedigree and formidable spouse. Kairus bore up placidly against the snide remarks, the insinuations; solid in the face of criticism. He was content to support his ambitious wife and teach the hold youngsters their elementary ballads. He was already fulfilled, professionally and emotionally, Sarada's birth only compounded his happiness and he soon settled into the role of mother and father both for the child.

Yet there was no doubt as to which hall she was meant to join.

By the time she was eight she was running errands and odd jobs for her mother’s research unit. When she was around 10, and could be trusted around the various delicate and sharp implements of the craft, she was apprenticed. She never really considered another way of life— no one ever asked. She was Master Marwyn’s daughter, of course she was going to become a hall-healer. She was going to study medicinal plants and the craft of new treatment procedures for Pern. She was, like so many Pernese children, unquestioningly grow up to do exactly what her parent had done. The small mercy, in her case, was that it was something interesting.

Her apprenticeship was hard, as much for the material as for the constant pressure to do her mother proud. The crafthall was a relatively small community, she’d known every master and most apprentices all her life, and they knew her. Little failures reflected on Marwyn as well as herself. Sarada’s father was her greatest support during those early years. Besides being outside the politics of Healerhall (as much as a spouse could be) he the excellent and patient teacher that Marwyn was not, crafting catchy teaching tunes out of Sarada’s notes to help his daughter learn the material by rote.

Of course, it wasn’t all study and stress. The First Hold, at the end of the Interval, was a hive of activity. People and sights and sounds. Every turn seemed to be more festive than the last as the Lord of Fort hosted gather upon gather in the sunset of peacetime. Soon they would be at war again with the sky itself, but those last turns, the turns of Sarada’s youth, were celebrations of life and bounty as more and more of the province reaped their far flung holdings and drew in to the capital for the Pass.

She enjoyed that time and was almost sad to leave when she walked the tables, but as much as she enjoyed the charged, fatalistic gaiety of Fort society, she had grown honestly interested in her studies. Diseases, illnesses, they were puzzles for her to solve, armies to conquer. As expected, she specialized in pathology and so her first placement as journeyman took her to Nerat Hold to work with the Farmcrafthall. There, she collaborated with the JMs and Masters of the hall, comparing notes on the medicinal plants and their uses, speculating on custom crossbreeds. She spent around a decade there, longer than originally planned, serving as a general practitioner and patching up the occasional injury, but working mostly with the farm crafters to design and plant a test field that might one day produce new cures for Pern. The project was her opus and she cried when, turns later, she heard that Thread had decimated the young hybrids.

After her work in Nerat she returned to the Healerhall in Fort where it was assumed, even by Sarada herself, that she would continue her research under the auspice of her mother and work towards an early mastery. However, her time away and work in Nerat had accustomed Sarada to more professional and personal freedom than she could ever expect working alongside her mother. Quietly, she began search for an alternate assignment where she could practice her research and her craft in peace. There were a few openings in some of the minor holds, but none in any of the major. She had been about to settle for Halicarn Hold in north Fort, steeling herself for rural tedium, when a missive arrived from Ista Weyr requesting a new healer for the apothecary there.

A weyr, she hadn’t considered a weyr, but it fulfilled her criteria. She would have her own space and say, and a population large enough not to be bored stiff. Besides, after hearing so many harper ballads extolling the grace and bravery of dragons in air, she couldn't help but be a little curious to be at the forefront of it all when Thread came at last.

How naive she was then…



Mother: The Master Marwyn, Healer — A Fortian hallmaster of certain renown. Steel haired maven of medicine.
Father: Journeyman Kairus, Harper — A Fortian hallharper of zero renown. Dashing shepherd of small children.
Brother: Journeyman Abro, Healer — A disappointing son and scion. Producer of The Grandchildren.


DaigrienShadow. Protégé. Caretaker. Maker of delicious sandwiches.
24ish. Weyrborn. Stood for some time before deciding there were better things to do than wait around for a dragon.


Jayess BraughanThat Man.
Jayess HawlsenChildhood partner in crime and cramming. Brother.
Jayess NesseleyFemale colleague camaraderie. Drinking buddy.
Jayess SudajeNesseley's lezfriend. Stands up to Braughan and can move crates.


A few discreet romances in her past. (Exclusively with fellow craft-types). One at present.


Jayess BraughanThat Man.

A few academic rivals and enemies as well.
(They don’t just hold hands and sing in the Halls)


Rank: Journeyman, Senior
Specialty: Pathology and Pharmaceuticals
Experience: Born to the Purple (~24 tns)
Harperhall, Fort Hold - The Master Marwyn
Farmcrafthall, Nerat - Journeyship

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