Location Ista Weyr
Position Weyrling
Birthdate 8.436.4.1 (18)
Birthplace Ista Weyr
Sexuality Bisexual
Played-By n/a
Player Siarna

Tayva might have grown from an awkward teenager into a lovely young lady, if she put any solid effort into it. If she bothered to stylize her long black hair instead of pulling it up into a messy bun or braids (never tightly, never severe, less she look too much like her mother). If she had someone cut it for her instead of hastily doing it herself, making it look jagged and rough. If her hazel eyes and thick eyebrows weren’t naturally pulled into a glare, if her lips weren’t naturally pushed into a frown (never pursed, less that look more like Tavayna’s brand of disapproval). If her wardrobe had some nice skirts or dresses instead of breeches and jackets and heavy boots, if she didn’t stomp or slouch or kick her feet up like some sort of holdless with no manners to speak of-!

She’s on the lower side of average height, about 5’4’’, but carries enough fire and personality (is that what you kids are calling it these days?) to make some forget that she’s rather short and slight. She’s grown into a fairly athletic build in the last few turns from working with the guards, and that’ll give her a running start than some other, smaller girls that could have Impressed. She won’t be told that she can’t do something- but she’s more likely to come in swinging over that kind of accusation than to try and prove she can.


It’s a lot easier to say you’re mad than to admit you’re hurt

There is a lot of anger roiling on the surface. It radiates, it gives her a force that doesn’t fit her small frame, that almost seems to be a force of it’s own as much as Tayva herself is a presence, a force to be reckoned with, the storm that breaks upon the Istan shore after a calm, clear day. It rushes as fast as a surprise squall, a darkened expression, a scowl, a glare, the only clouds to give way before the torrent arrives.

Tayva is naturally a force; a strong personality coupled with a stubbornness and a drive to be active and doing in a way her siblings aren’t; she’s much more physical, much less adept to her mother’s harper background than the other three and more adept, as it’ll turn out, to the rigors of dragonriding (like her father, if her mother or sister ever dare tell her). She doesn’t sit well, doesn’t take to rote learning and memorization in the same way, much preferring the hands-on, get-yourself-dirty, hard work that keeps her from thinking too hard or dwelling too much on anything. She’s too tired to be angry if she’s worked herself to the bone.

Emotional. She will swing at anyone who suggests it, but she wears her heart on her sleeve. She never developed a filter, both verbal and mental, and it gets her in more than enough trouble. She doesn’t stop to think before she acts, doesn’t bother to study a situation before she talks shit and goes in swinging, doesn’t bother to think about the consequences or the fallout. All that matters to her is justifying her rage and making sure that everyone else feels it, too.

I know that I should let go but I can’t

Her smart mouth and attitude make a show of affecting disinterest, of simply not caring (or caring about, literally, anything else). She knows that she’s been mired in this anger and this grief for four turns now, longer than she cares to think about and certainly longer than she really realizes- how do you even start to realize that? How do you realize that every day is exhausting because you’re carrying rage and a grudge for so long that you can hardly remember what it’s like to feel really, truly happy?- and anyone who tries to pass on that message is going to get a firm smack in the mouth for their efforts. She knows that she doesn’t really need to pick fights or snap insults or pretend that nothing and nobody can touch her, but it makes her feel better. It makes her feel a little less angry and a little more smug and hey, even negative attention is good attention, right?

She doesn’t know how to use any other pieces of her. She doesn’t know how to address the grief that’s been burning inside for so long that it’s manifested into rage. She doesn’t understand how everyone else seems to truck along just fine, unhurt and unfazed by devastation four turns ago that has only continued with each passing ‘Fall. Loved ones still die. How does anyone move on, when their families are in the Skies defending them and no one knows who will come back alive and well? And of course, here she is, pretending to be ready to take on that menace herself, to join the rest of her family in fighting the enemy and dying in the process.

There is a lot of anger, lying dormant on the surface. There’s a lot of grief, a lot of hurt, a lot of fear, roiling beneath, locked away, deep down, where no one else can see.

Once in a while there is a glimmer of her old self, a reflection of what eighteen-turn-old Tayva could have been. A happy, smiling, empathetic, dreadfully sarcastic teenager. It lasts only a second: a double take finds it gone again, replaced by the all-too familiar scowl, buried underneath everything else, crushed under the weight.


Tayva might be the third child of four but she grew up without any middle child complex. L’vari and Vayna loved their children equally, and doted on them all whenever they could. They tried to instill a sense of family and duty to them, and that worked with varying success. Tavya grew up prim and proper, taught to speak when spoken to, and doing her chores and lessons with a smile on her face. The L’vari/Tavayna clan grew up close knit, though moreso because of parental influence and age differences than similar personalities. Despite their differences, the eldest three were the closest knit. Tayva’s rough and tumble personality often clashed with Vayari’s sweet one, but her and Tavaren were cut from the same cloth and the two were often inseparable.

Out of all their children, L’vari bonded the most with Tayva. She was his little girl as much as Vayari was Vayna’s. She was the one child that looked like him, and she took joy in the little things like he did. Tayva grew up hero-worshipping both her parents, but idolized her father the most. To her they were invincible, the saviors of Pern. Their dragons were perfect, the fastest and most agile of Ista. Aoideth and Uterpeth were even sweet enough to talk to her once in a while. Tavya cherished those moments when Uterpeth chattered to her or Aoideth supplied her with quiet confidence. Despite Vayna’s not-so-subtle push into the Harpercraft, at twelve Tayva joined Tavaren in candidacy, excited and hopeful after Vayari walked off the Sands with sweet little Taryketh. Hatchings came and went leaving the two of them still without dragons. The two didn’t lose their enthusiasm; they still had plenty of turns ahead of them to Stand. Some of their crèche-mates didn’t impress until they were twenty-three, after all!

Then First Fall shook the Weyr to its core. L’vari and Aoideth were scored badly. Aoideth jumped between and left L’vari to fend for himself. It was a tortuous few days. While Vayna and Vayari had dragons to tend and more threadfall to fly, Tayva never once left her father’s bedside. Tavaren and Lavyar came a few times to say their goodbyes, but neither to stand to see their father as he was. Tayva stayed, hardly sleeping or eating. She cried and begged for him to get through this, to live and see her and her brothers impress strong dragons. To make sure her mother and Uterpeth made it through Falls. L’vari even had a few moments of clarity that brought her hope. He succumbed to his injuries few days later.
Vayari looked haunted after that First Fall. She had seen the deadly threadscore. She walked through the motions after that, and never really snapped back until the Outsiders starting coming in and relieving the tired riders. Tayva is too scared to talk to her about it. Part of her doesn’t want to know. Her mother, though steady and firm, had despair behind her eyes. It hit Tayva hard (the hardest, in her opinion). Things stopped mattering. She fell behind in her candidate classes, stopped attending chores and guard lessons. She distanced herself from family and friends. There was a period of about a turn and a half where she left candidacy entirely.

It took a lot of visits and coaxing from Vayari before she realized she still wanted to be a rider. With her sister’s support, she swallowed her pride, apologized, and threw herself back into her training. It was a few months after that before she mustered the courage to ask D’gulas for permission to give candidacy another shot. She’ll be rushing to catch up in lessons with her age-mates that stayed, but she’s determined more than ever to prove everyone wrong. She’ll impress a dragon that will make her father proud.

Recently, Tavaren (or T'vren, now) took her along in some attempt at sibling bonding (or as 'hired muscle') to stake out a firelizard clutch. After some squabbling with Liles, she took the two biggest eggs for herself and her brother. These hatched into a bronze for T'vren and a gold for Tayva. She can't wait to rub it in the smug bitch's face.




H’nalarn of Taralth, grandfather
Talvaya of Cerialth, grandmother
Tavayna of blue Uterpeth, Mother
L’vari of green Aoideth, deceased in First Fall
Vayari of green Taryketh, sister
T'vren, of green Lulaboth, brother
Lavyar, apprentice Harper, brother
Jalnala of green Lurinlith, Aunt
J'nahvi, weyrling of brown Ardolanth, cousin


Does Tayva have friends, or people she doesn't threaten to fight too often?

B'nurlos, weyrling to green Galzrath
J'nahvi, weyrling to brown Ardolanth…?
S'chian, weyrling to bronze Morakath…?
K'varin, weyrling to green Rhosgyth
R'fali, weyrling to brown Byrnioth


Color Blue
Birthplace Ista
Birthdate 9.4.Something
Wing Judgemental Assholes Wing

Though he’ll always be somewhat on the small side for his color, Jomurnth will be one of the first of his clutch to begin showing signs of the well-formed adult that he will someday become. His bone structure is solid, his frame packed with muscle, with well-proportioned limbs — he’s not bulky, but he’s clearly a powerful blue, built to perform, with the strength to get up to speed quickly and the agility to maneuver sharply no matter how fast he’s going. His neck is a bit on the short side, his head wide at the back of the jaw but tapering quickly to a short, rounded muzzle. His bright sky blue hide is relatively uniform in color, save for the lighter, almost dusty-looking blue of his wingsails, and a single dark blaze right down the center of his nose from his headknobs to nose-tip, circling both nostrils.


Does this dragon ever stop? Jomurnth is full of energy, both physical and emotional. He runs on all cylinders all the time, always looking for something else to do, somewhere else to go, someone new to play with. It might be for the best that he has such a deep well of energy to pull from, since he doesn’t seem to understand the concept of conserving at all. If he’s interested in something, he’s going for it: he rarely looks before he leaps, fears almost nothing, and he’ll stubbornly fight sleep (perhaps unsuccessfully, especially as a hatchling) just because, well, what if he misses something?

He can be a temperamental dragon, ready to play one second and ready to fight the next. Part of this is because he’s passionate and just tends to feel things strongly, though his relatively short attention span probably factors in, too… as well as his tendency to draw from his rider and enthusiastically attempt to support her in whatever she happens to be feeling at the time. He is deeply devoted to Tayva, even beyond what one expects of a dragon, and if she is comfortable enough with his mental presence, they could develop a particularly close bond. If she is not, however, Jomurnth might suffer for it, because he is almost naively trusting when it comes to his rider: he naturally believes she is right about everything, and though he himself is not a particularly deep thinker, he will certainly begin to internalize any rejection he feels from her over time. It is this same trust, however, that enables him to support her so solidly in everything, and ultimately his development will hinge a lot on Tayva’s own. He picks up on her emotions and then reacts with complete solidarity; if she’s angry, he will encourage that (even if she’s trying to hide it — Jomurnth will have a lot of trouble understanding why anyone would hide what they’re really feeling or act contrary to those feelings), but if she is calm, he’ll be more receptive to exercise restraint, himself. If Tayva can master herself, she’ll have the key to mastering Jomurnth, too, because he trusts her gut before even his own, and they have the potential to be a real force to be reckoned with in the skies. If not, though, she can at least be content in the knowledge that she has an absolutely devoted, steadfast partner who will never run out of patience with her and never turn his back on her.

Gold Firelizard Rukka

Age: 2 turns (same age as Dreamchasers)


Rukka is a pale yellow, reminiscent of jasmine, with light streaks and highlights of darker gold, giving the illusion of wispy blonde hair. She’s a little on the large side, not through height or any particular amount of muscle, but through just how long she is, with an elegant neck and tail. Her wings are positively enormous and she doesn’t like to keep them folded against her back. She loves to move them to preen, to posture, to gesture, much like a person would with their lands. Her little ‘fingers’ on her forefeet are nimble, and since she has a penchant for using them. People should not leave stray items or trinkets alone when she is nearby, as she likes to touch, grab, and examine. Sometimes, if it’s interesting enough, she’ll hide them in a little hoard under Tayva’s pillow or bed.

For all that she is a gold, she doesn’t look very authoritative. She likes to lounge; in bed, on a ledge, and across Tayva’s shoulders, usually half asleep or dozing in her place. Rukka is laid-back and generally relaxed. Nothing phases her, which is certainly good that such an emotional character like Tayva Impressed her. While she’ll certainly defend Tayva, Rukka has the common sense to look and see if the girl’s ire is from a perceived slight or an actual one before jumping into the fray. The only time Rukka ever breaks out of her lethargy is from the sound of music- much to Tayva’s chagrin. She’s quite the musical diva, intent on singing the loudest and the most, and will stop in on the harpers during practise or performance. She’ll take a particular liking to Tayva’s family of harpers. She’s very much a vocal gold as it is, content to communicate with squeaks, chirps, tweets, bugles, honks, and roars. She likes to add in as if she knows exactly what the others are talking about, and enough so to make Tayva worry.

Rukka doesn’t like to stray very far from Tayva.

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