Post by Onyxaeon on Jan 18, 2009 0:58:07 GMT -5
Vsiasi & Isionyth
>~>Angel((of))Mercy<~<
Weyr: Solainoti
Name: Vsiasi
Gender: Female
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Rank: Weyrwoman, Wingleader of Queen's Wing
Age: Recently turned 26
Appearance: Tainted in graceful proportions, Vsiasi is a rather nimble being, with a dashing feline nature in that she has close to perfect balance. She's that certain kind of person most people tend to hate because they could eat just about anything they so wanted and not gain an ounce. But, what most people don't know is that this is only due to her fierce, strict workout routine. Not a day goes by that she isn't seen running along the slippery slopes in the early morning, and occasionally racing the messenger runners who come out from the Holds tied to Solainoti. She’ll go out of her way to get some form of running, jogging, or, when she’s terribly busy, walking in for at least an hour a day. It usually extends more toward a two and a half event, though, because running is her therapy: it allows her body to channel out all those negative vibes that occasionally cripple her as a body, no matter how trained and toned it is, can only cart so much emotional baggage. Athletic though she may be, it hasn't driven every ounce of fat from her body, as she's surprisingly adorned with a fairly lovely set of curves along her five foot six frame. Probably due to the fact she wasn't always so fixed on her health as she is now: she has to be fit and perfectly in shape to deal with Isionyth's inability to say something is impossible, a comment given when Vsiasi said staying in shape over the years was not feasible. Needless to say, she was proven wrong, and her dragon's persistent bickering on the issue has kept her firmly in the youthful shade of life. Her tanned flesh always bears a healthy glow due to a secret she has kept under lock and key: volcanic ash mixed in mud for mud bathes. She'll weekly visit these mud pits located in the back of the lower caverns, a few select drudges and the Headwoman the only users who know of its location besides her. This keeps her surprisingly rejuvenated, and helps to smoothen her generally wind resistant flesh from the many hours of running. With all this concern about health consuming her from Isionyth's nagging, it isn't surprising she bothers to take care of how her hair looks at any given moment. Even if it looks as though she's just pinned up the mid-length black curls, it somehow still manages to bring out the dashing hazel of her eyes, each stormy facet reflecting a different shade of her personality as they shift back and forth from a light gray, to a soft blue, or to a striking blue-gray combination.
Personality: Angel of Mercy,
How did you find me?
Where did you read my story?
Pulled from the papers,
Desperate and hardened,
Seeking a momentary fix.
The shadows have gradually crept up and alongside Vsiasi, slowing stretching out their mangled limbs in an attempt to pry her humanity from her. Countless times, she's plunged into a spiraling depression, her sanity threatening to burst like the pressured waters behind a too full dam and, always, something drags her back from the brink to remind her of everything that has come so far, and of the places she no longer stands among. She's never been the one to grow close to a small group of people; she's always been among the Weyr and everyone in it, the silent shadow who took it upon herself to listen to each plaguing thing another would tell her to find comfort. It may never show, but every aimless thought and uttering gets back to her, collecting inside until the swarthy, churning depths slosh out and splatter onto the soil. Isionyth's Impression has done nothing but shred her formerly sealed heart to innumerable pieces, throwing her onto the shores violently like a sea animal dragged ashore from a great tidal wave. She's floundering every moment she hears tail of pain in her Weyr, even outside of it and branching out to the Holds tied to Solainoti as well as the other Weyrs of Pern.
All I wanted to say,
All I wanted to do,
Is fall apart now.
All I wanted to feel:
I wanted to love.
Its all my fault now,
A tragedy, I fear.
Matters made worse, guilt seeps in through her subconscious like water soaks up into a sponge. She's never been the type to take it well-even in jest. And now...Now, it does nothing but lash at her like a merciless whip to bare flesh. She's burdened by the mindset that the world is her problem, that it all has to fall on solely her shoulders, and she'll never crack to share the weight. It will eventually drag her under, or crush her beneath the overwhelming weight and excruciating pain. But that never gets through to her, and only proves Isionyth's belief that the good among this world die for their nature, and that nothing so unbelievably compassionate could ever live for more than a moment in such a harsh and bloodthirsty environment. She's a constant caretaker, and would rather die than see suffering in another now that Isionyth has come into her world. Indeed, the sheltering nature was there before, but guarded by gates that could not fathom the agony the world could sputter from the depths of hell. Her beloved Brimstone took a battering ram to her gates, and brought down her walls for each emotion to stumble about like a newborn colt on its first legs. It was a better outcome in the end: had that not have taken place, she'd likely be a bitter creature, cursing life for the endless obstacles it threw before her.
Angel of Mercy,
How did you find me?
How did you pick me up again?
Angel of Mercy,
How did you move me?
Why am I on my feet again?
And I see you.
Whoa Whoa Whoa.
I feel you.
Whoa Whoa Whoa.
Suffering in silence is better for her. She'll take it all, and bear it forever so everyone else can live with a touch more beauty in their life. She's that mother dog taking the beating for its pups from its master for the younglings' trouble making, and never complaining. She'll struggle to her feet when those emotional beatings tear into her soul, and continue to soothe when she would rather nothing more than to fall and never stand again. Even the best break, though. She'll crumble when she runs, driving out all the pains she takes on and hoping to ground them into the rocky terrain with her feet, praying they'll flow from her body and allow her to take on more than she knows is possible. It never works. She'll stop in those early mornings, dropping to her knees and pounding at the earth with her fist, choked sobs struggling to make themselves known. Only Isionyth will hear her cries, but the queen never comes to the aid of Hers-she's learned it to be a truly losing fight to convince Hers that this is killing her and saying that about the queen whom no does not exist is a true testament to how stubborn Vsiasi can be when she sets her heart and mind to something. No, instead, Isionyth lets her have her peace, and has forbid anyone to be on the slopes during the time Hers can be found running: none yet has dared to cross the irate queen and disobey.
'Fortress, the daylight come,
And I stand by
Waiting to catch the quickest plane.
Fly me to nowhere,
It's better than somewhere:
That's where I've been and nothing's changed.
Being the emotional shoulder of the Weyr does take a toll on the one who rises to take the duty as their own. And, as one could guess, the price is crippling. But it hasn't stolen Vsiasi entirely. No, she's not the always emotional wreck her breakdowns make her out to be for, in truth, those actual moments are rare and few. They're just far too crippling when they do occur to ever be ignored. Yes, she lives a relatively normal life outside of her choked sobbing. But only as a facade. To everyone aside from her dear Isionyth, who knows the truth, she puts on a perfectly crafted mask to fool even the wisest to believe she's nothing more than a perfectly sane human being-though some would disagree with that notion seeing as how she is bonded with Isionyth. But, a mask is all lies, usually. This mask isn't. Her mask is the only chance her submissive traits get to surface and make themselves known, as with any other moment they fall like servants to a king without thought. Nothing will stand to conquer: not her clever tongue, not her delightful sense of humour when the mood so strikes her, nor her passionate love of being entirely random and impulsive to the point its endearing and almost adorable, making one want nothing more than to cradle the spirited woman and bottle that enthusiam and optimisim. Because, even though she has all these lovely quirks to make up the compounds of her saving grace, her compassionate nature still dominates her existence. She views her life as nothing more than a means for others to unload their problems on, for her to be the beast of burden, and make everyone elses lives a bit more bearable while hers crumbles to dust and withers away. It is a dear shame for she is far more than just a rag to be used when someone has problems of their own and she will graceously hear them out at her own expense.
All I wanted to say,
All I wanted to do,
Is fall apart now.
All I wanted to feel:
I wanted to love.
It's all my fault now,
A tragedy for sure
For all the agony and cruelty she sees, Vsiasi is so innocent to the world and all that she knows. She'll lay her heart and soul right in your hands like a child who knows no other choice than to simply give everything her absolute all. She doesn't see the joy in doing something halfway: can't even fathom doing a slipshod work. Because she's so hopelessly dedicated to whatever new concept has flown into her mind. Yes, she's terribly obsessive. To the point if you give her something new that grabs her attention, you'll regret it because she wont get out of it easily. She forms far too many hard to break habits. It's actually rather surprising this hasn't killed her yet. Vsiasi also has the curse of being rather open minded as well as obsessive. Talk about a bad combination. Unfortunately, it's not something that's going to go away, and will only space itself out to enclose more things within as time drags on and she gets the chance to see many other different concepts and beliefs.
Angel of Mercy,
How did you find me?
How did you pick me up again?
Angel of Mercy,
How did you move me?
Why am I on my feet again?
And I see you.
Whoa Whoa Whoa.
I feel you.
Whoa Whoa Whoa.
I'm so lost in you.
A tragedy seemed to be over now, oh now.
A tragedy it seemed to be over now.
Angel of Mercy,
How did you find me?
How did you pick me up again?
Angel of Mercy,
How did you move me?
Why am I on my feet again?
And I see you.
Whoa Whoa Whoa.
I feel you.
Whoa Whoa Whoa.
History: Originally from the lower caverns of Black Sands Weyr, Vsiasi was the end result of one of the many losers of a queen flight, her mother just happening to be the one grabbed by her father. The only real reason she even knew the both of them were her parents was entirely due to the healer who delivered her, other wise it was just a fading fact into her background. As soon as it was possible, Dasi left her babe with a foster family:
a pair of weavers who made the Weyr their permanent home with the readily available amount of work. Of course, she grew up to learn some of the trade of her parents, sometimes even helping out when the mood struck her, but she never pursued that line of work. It was just far easier to mend a rider's torn sleeve than to help out around the kitchens like the other weyrbrats had to.
Truth be told, that was the way it remained for a good many turns, because Vsiasi was never really plagued by the dragon craze that most who grew up in the Weyr were. She was content with her odd end repairs, and found no reason, really, to go out and about. That was until about eleven or so turns ago when Solainoti Weyr was founded. Without due cause, Vsiasi was plagued by the sudden urge to pack up and move, to get out of the Weyr she was born to and find something entirely different and new. Without warning, she convinced one of her elder Brownrider friends-more like her adopted big brother-to to secret her away to the new Weyr. S'dir was impossibly easy to persuade, though he hated to see his 'little sister' go, and he and his Brown Gionth secreted them away in the dead of the night to Solainoti. Of course there were matters that needed to be attended to, like how a new candidate suddenly appeared, but S'dir took care of all of that, and Vsiasi never questioned how. His reasoning with the Headwoman to give her a place to stay and rousing a Blue to Search her officially was all she knew aside from the lie she was from the newly brought in batch of candidates from the North which, technically, wasn't entirely a lie at all. She knew nothing of what all he had done to bring her to the one place she wanted to be, or the pain he had suffered when he had left her there only to later find out the suffering that had taken place in Solainoti. He could do nothing because he was not supposed to know where she had run off to, so he sat and prayed for something to keep her safe from the addiction plagued Weyr.
As S'dir fretted and worried over his 'little sister', Vsiasi began to settle in quite well for a newcomer. The eleven year old had come to find the lying about where she had come from easy enough-most was not actually a lie, she had grown up with Black Sands Weyr in her sight-and no one had noticed her entrance, so she could tell the truth and say she was a last minute candidate, brought in during the night. However, that idea soon dropped, dying the instant the Headwoman found out she was not yet even twelve turns. It was with a dampened spirit that Vsiasi took up mending clothes for riders again, though this time gaining some comforting solace in the fact that at least the company she would be keeping for another turn was new and foreign. It gave the long wait up until the hatching bearable, for the most part. That was how it had been for six turns. She would rise, work, eat, work, and then sleep, rising to the very same thing the next day unless another Hatching was to occur that day where she would turn up dragonless again. It never faltered from that path until other things began to flit into the daily Weyr life, and chaos soon coated the Weyr like a fine mist.
Yes, she was there in the beginning when the dragons first began to show signs of their serious addiction, hidden by choice and time only bringing it out into the open, and she had been there to stand by and watch helplessly as they fell, one by one, to their cravings. The Riosian dominated their lives and, for turns, it was allowed to strengthen and grow to a terrible, driving need for the mineral: so much so, it began to cripple the dragons who consumed it, each finding nothing more important than that sweet rush of relief once the stone hit their tongues. It blinded them from everything: food, mating, and even their own riders. Out of personal choice, Vsiasi steered clear of the thought of the Gold Feonelleth's next Rising, but that very same thing was the saving grace of the Weyr. After she had Risen and the massive clutch of fifty-two eggs had been laid, her symptoms cleared, as did those of her male chasers and then mate. It was clear what needed to happen to cease this endless addiction: and so consumption of Riosian was banned immediately, those females driven mad by their agony Rising and, soon after, finding themselves cured of their sickness as well as their chasers. Oh, but nothing could last forever. As the eggs began to weaken from the shell in, stores of Riosian were forcibly brought up from the sheds in the hopes of saving the clutch. When the thought proved its value and managed to save each egg, the theory that the unborns were still addicted rose up and nearly drove what remained of the Weyr mad as the clocks ticked onward and the days fell like lovers from a lost flight. The day of the Hatching came and, with it, a great bout of surprise.
As impossible as it sounds, not a single egg was left uncracked on those sands. Oh, yes, a few did not Impress because they ducked between, or were killed by their siblings, but each did break shell-though not all protruding beaks were those known to Pern. Several mutations sprung about from the effects of Riosian in their early stages of development: Dusks, Chromes, Solars, Tempests, and Brimstones. Of the five, it was later distinguished by various hatchings of the Brimstone queen the rank of each new color, and none, thankfully, dared to ingest their 'birthstones' once they claimed one for themselves. This was all met by a huge sigh of relief to the Weyr and, doubtlessly, to Vsiasi as well. By the time she had overcome her aversion to the mutants, though, it was almost too later for her to be a candidate, and with Naesth's last Rising, Vsiasi's dragon was clutched. There was nothing special about this clutch: it was entirely normal looking to any observer aside from the obvious queen in one corner, but it was the very last chance the elder candidate had to Impress and, with that thought in mind, she couldn't view this clutch as anything aside from a gift from Faranth.
When the day of the Hatching had finally come, Vsiasi could only stand waiting in uncomfortable sandals with the heat from the Sands scorching through to her feet. It didn't register, though. Nothing did: not the silliness of her Impression garments, or the awkward feeling of being the oldest candidate on the Sands, or even the still humming as the queen egg rocked back and forth, pulsing and claiming her attention. Naesth's younglings began to hatch, some finding their Mines almost immediately along with their birthstones, some taking their time to do both, and of course combinations of both of the two. A few dragonets had been shuffling aimlessly about, and Brown and a Solar having gotten into an argument that escalated into a fight, one Dusk sibling trying to get out of dodge but ending up in the crossfire as the three scrambled about in blind bickering. Everyone was too focused on the feuding dragons to catch sight of the queen egg having stopped its rhythmic swaying, pausing long enough to allow a crack down the center of its glossy, stone like surface. The quarreling siblings settled long enough to watch the egg spiderweb, and the young Dusk pulled himself away to stare curiously at the oddity of such a hatching-they usually chipped off portions and then burst free. But, as he would soon discover, the dragonet inside was nothing normality could dream in its wildest fantasies. With a faint prodding push of his snout, the egg lurched forward, shell splintering and egg fragments scattering over the sands and the fluid covered Brimstone lifted her head, watching with crimson orbs as the startled Dusk scrambled across the sands, making his way back to the safety of the group of formerly arguing siblings. Another hatchling, indecisive as she had been while trying to pick out a birthstone, snatched the first one she caught in sight and raced off the Sands with her Mine. The others were left all alone, sitting ducks, for they had waited too long to find Theirs and they knew there was nothing could be done to save them from the wrathful temper of the Brimstone whose space had been invaded.
Circling the group like a venomous, hissing snake, the Brimstone's wet wings spread wide to intimidate the three, her barbed tail lashing out at her Brown brother who had tried to make a break for it. Oh, you thought you were going off somewhere, didn't you? Her voice was honey soft, Vsiasi noted as her eyes half closed to the delicate tune, wondering why no one else seemed to bother to paying attention to such a beautiful sound. The dragonet flashed a cruel smile of ivory spears as she stared them down, the embered scales along her body glistening from the egg fluids and the light from the nearby glows along with the darker intentions in her eyes. Well, maybe you're wrong. Her barbed tail wrapped around his throat, the grip tightening as his struggles increased, and his flailing had allowed the other two to dart past her. No matter: they were too scared to find Theirs anyway. When the Brown fell to blood loss, the Brimstone queen released him, walking over the crippled body with her sights set on the Solar nosing his way through the male candidates in search of His, his yellow-orange hide clearly visible through the cluster of white tunics and breeches. A low, snarling roar thundered from the depths of her throat as she charged, ramming into several candidates and nicking others with her barbs before she met the Solar head on, the startled beast lifting up onto his back legs at precisely the wrong moment. Her straight head horns had roughed gored him through the stomach, the Solar male falling over onto his side and allowing the queen to gracefully slide her horns out of his body before she lapped gingerly, like a feline to milk, at the green ichor pooling from his puncture wounds. She did not remain long, however, for other matters plagued her frayed nerves aside from hunger. With deliberate slowness, she shoved aside the candidates frozen in place before her path of travel, not bothering to grace them a second thought as she caught the Dusk cowering desperately against the carved wall of the Hatching Grounds and whimpering for His to come closer, to save his Fuvinth. The lad never had a chance to get to his dragon for the angered Brimstone stalking him, watching in bitter amusement as the thing pleaded for his life where she had not spared the Brown and Solar's. Now why would I do that? She purred, Vsiasi shivering in place from the sheer sound of the dragonet's voice. Despite the gore she had brought about, she was still a marvelous creature, and she could not understand why none had taken the courage to step forward to show the beast they were worthy of Impression. Cowards, the lot of them were. Well, she wouldn't be caught backing down to such a challenge, wouldn't dare to breathe an instant longer if she succumbed to such a pitiful existence as shying away from the saviors of Pern, even though this one was a bit touchy in attitude.
My dear little brother, life isn't fair. The Solar was almost innocent, and he still fell. I enjoyed every ounce of blood I watched gush forth from his wounds, for he had not stood to fight as he should have. There is nothing I loathe more than a coward, and here I found three. That Brown was dead as soon as he had defied me, daring to break away, and so I put him, too, in his place. And you, well, you broke a cardinal rule. The Dusk gulped audibly as the Brimstone took a step closer, her tail curling around his throat but the barbs yet to pierce flesh. You invaded my space. A sickening gurgling entered the air as the Dusk's air supply was cut off, his limbs flailing about in all places to try for escape. He couldn't be met with it, though, for the instant the Brimstone loosened her grip around the column of his throat, her clawed foot had snatched one wing and jerked the bone out of socket, her tail fully releasing him as the pain deprived him of coherent thought, her horned head batting him away like a rag dog some few feet off with stab wounds in his side. When she wandered over to him, the poor dear was still alive, struggling to stand. He never rose as, with a single, curved barb, she slowly slit him from the base of his neck to the beginning of his tail, pulling out a collection of organs and watching the life fade from his eyes before she rolled her shoulders, the murderous, crimson hue fading to a relaxed shade of green-blue as she padded toward the female candidates finally. Come now, Vsiasi. You've known since I stabbed that Brown that you were Mine. Your Isionyth requires a feeding as well as a bath. -I'm none too fond of having the blood of idiots caked on me. Life was never truly the same after that moment. The Brimstone had picked up a healthy sized chunk of Riosian for herself, the star shaped mass dotted with what would appear to be shimmering, reflective spots where the pressure from the initial meteor impact was greatest. They fleck evenly over the entire surface of the stone, oddly enough and, when held up to Rukbat, the light shines out from each refelctive point to create rays. The two walked off the Sands after that and headlong into their weyrling training. There was never a moment where either had a chance to look back, because both were ploughing headlong into their destiny.
Memorizing tithe orders, records of past clutches and thread falls, formalities, and care of one's dragon: that had all been the easy part. She had expected it, because every queenrider before her went through the exact same thing and she knew it never wavered from that path. Graduation into the wings was nothing out of the normal: she stood as anyone did to receive her skin that declared her a wingrider, and soon after took up her duties that were brought about with Isionyth as her dragon. It was a fairly boring and easy beginning, though fate never allowed for something so perfect as peace to reign for longer than an instant before it was ripped rudely away from those starving for its touch. Isionyth had taken to calling that as truth for many months and, as needed, Vsiasi would push the prophetic words out from the forefront of her mind and go about taking care of what was immediately involved in her world at the time. It was a mistake she would not soon dare to make again, or ever, for that matter. Isionyth's words rang true in her first flight when her own clutchmother Rose to challenge the males of the Weyr for her affections at preciously the same moment: it proved the reality of life to the Brimstone, that nothing good would last because something would come along and pry its lifeless hands away from those it held dear.
As her mother Rose, Isionyth screamed her defiance and outrage, demanding to know how any could dare to look at another but her on her day. No, all of Pern had to know she was in the air, had to feel the glorious crescendo of lust scorching over their bodies, and they had to know it was only she who could invoke such a blistering feeling inside them. She would not stand for this insubordination, even from her own dear mother; the very reason for her existence. Without hesitation, she launched from her ledge after the smaller queen with jaws parted to allow an ear splitting roar through the confines of her vocal chords. Naesth barely had the chance to pivot her skull around before Isionyth struck her, the resounding, echoing thud the equivalent of two great marble slabs colliding. Naesth was taken by surprise, her wings furling in blind attempt to catch herself as she had been sent with her belly up to the other Brimstone, her back breaking the wind as they plummeted together. She couldn't move for the jaws wrapped around her throat, screaming in bitter agony as Isionyth's fangs dug deeper into her flesh with her barbs ripping through her wing membranes. Of course she tried to fight: her own barbed tail and claws trying desperately to rake across Isionyth, but the other queen never allowed it, kept twisting and turning her dying mother in the air to avoid the collision as she rake mercilessly across the soft underbelly before her. With the ground only three hundred feet below her, Isionyth disentangled herself from Naesth, watching as the fall killed her clutchmother, the life passing out of her eyes the moment her daughter landed beside her and gingerly began to blood the mangled corpse for her kill before taking back to the skies and finding her mother's previous mate now as her own.
So it has been for the last three turns and, as it has passed gradually with the patience of a saint, Isionyth's raging moods have calmed...somewhat. At least she hasn't harmed her two sired clutches like the Magmas she so takes after do. In truth, she's a very doting mother, and it's a side that only Vsiasi and her now mate have had the chance to see for, the moment they break shell, that delightful, caring nature vanishes as if never there. She's still bitterly realistic, though, and curt to the point that all conversation just about fails miserably with her. Oddly, though, she is growing softer: at the rate of rocks being weathered by the wind, but still. It is a change that everyone is more than happy to see, but it's not going to live until Isionyth stops fighting. On a more positive note, her rider has benefited from this softening taking place in the Brimstone. Vsiasi has tried to gather her composure and be more like the rock she takes on as a facade, yet only time will tell if she can hold herself strong without breaking again.
Isionyth's most recent venture into the sky brought Vsiasi with a condition she has seen twice before involving N'yx and the aftermath of a romp in the sheets. Twice before, the young were aborted. Now, however, the Weyrwoman is expecting. Ssh, though. It's a secret the Weyr has yet to discover.
Father: V'sin of Bronze Quilonth-Black Sands
Mother: Dasi of Green Cioanth-Black Sands
Siblings: None by birth. S'dir of Brown Gionth by personal adoption.
Offspring: Unborn-growing. =)
Pets: Alpha Cion, Asuka
Notables: S'dir of Brown Gionth (NPC), Unamed Solar, Unamed Brown, Dusk Fuvinth.
Songs: Mercy by One Republic-Vsiasi,
It Only Hurts by Default-Isionyth
*~*~*~*~*~*
Dragon Name: Isionyth
Dragon Color: Brimstone
Age: 4 & 1/2 turns
Personality: Isionyth is not what anyone could fathom to be a gentle creature: she has the appearance of something that crawled, snarling and spitting flames from birth out of an active volcano, and still strikes the eye as murderous without the intentions of a Magma at heart. And they are right, to an extent. Isionyth has a blistering temper when anyone trespasses on her finely divided nerves: she has the patience of a saint for close to damn near everything but, Faranth forbid you to ever step on a pet peeve or a tender nerve ending. Those lucky ones end up shredded from head to toe, left broken and bleeding with wounds too numerous to count in the festering bowels of some still active volcano. The last thing who stepped on her metaphorical tail was her clutchmother, the fellow queen plummeting thousands of feet through the air after being attacked during her mating flight, her stomach severed into slivers of flesh with Isionyth's curved tail spikes tearing into the other Brimstone's wing membranes to make flight impossible. She crashed into the earth, bones shattering from impact, and still Isionyth lingered to blood her mother for her kill before she herself took to flight to Rise for the very first time. Clearly, one of those already frayed nerves extends to her males: hers and hers alone: best not to muck with her when she's about to Rise. Another such peeve is her 'space'. Respect it, and don't get in her face; she tends to snap when you get too close without her consent. Others include; being punctual, back talking, rebellion, and cleanliness. For Faranth's sake, be on time, clean, and don't sass or fued with her. It's far easier to keep her...decently amused and on half-good terms than it is to deal with her in one of her moods.
Isionyth will never glimpse the optimistic shade of life that oh so many people seem to thrive in, because she refuses to see anything as that good in life. It's not so much a case of denial as it is the firm mindset of being a realist: that nothing good will last forever, that everything dies no matter how much we love them and nothing can be done to fix it. Ever with Hers, so unbearable close as she is to her, she knows that eventually something with drag them kicking and screaming apart, and a portion of her is always shut off: she's never fully open and will die shut off from at least some side of the love Hers gives her. Because of this harsh truth, she is damnably bitter to most of those she comes into contact with, and rarely bothers with being sociable unless it is absolutely necessary. When she is possessed by some talkative mood, and let the record show that it's fine cold day in hell when it occurs, she cannot 'sugar coat' any small sentence, preferring to be terribly direct and to the point, and would rather take being eaten alive by thread than dare to utter an untruth. Often times, people and dragons alike avoid her bitter tongue, which truly is ironic because she has a rather lovely, melodic voice for something so distant.
Regardless of whether she believes something to be a pointless battle or not, that doesn't stop her from pushing past the boundaries of her limits to prove something right. Because the words 'I can't' and 'no' and 'impossible' are not engraved in her mind. Even she with her quick wit and vast store of memory cannot define these words, cannot comprehend the meaning and, as such, they don't exist in her vocabulary: or, for that matter, anyone around her. Despite how gloomily she sees life-all the wretched sickness, poverty, cruelty, and unfairness creating a terribly thick shroud over her thoughts-she'd go against any foe, face any obstacle, and die trying to prove that something can happen if just given enough strength, enough willpower. Even though she may disagree with everything and every thought you utter, she will fight to the death your right to say it. And she never expects anything else than the same treatment.
The queen, with her most recent Flight, has taken to openly admitting her feelings for the Tempest Xanntorith. She is still very fledgling like in the sense her emotions are not yet under complete control; she is still rather unpredictable and certainly still holding her snark. She is quite amused with teh Weyr's reactions to seeing her in a nice mood, and often scares them by having mock "wars" with Xann.
Appearance: Like all Brimstones, Isionyth has a thick, yet soft, scaled hide that is coated with an ashen hue, looking as though she has rolled in the remains of a kitchen fire. Along her head, trailing down to her jaw and as a full mask around her eyes that makes them flare out to ensnare the attention of an onlooker, her scales are a glow, shimmering like the scales of a fish born in the lava of a volcano. This ember coating also rushes thinly down her spine to the very tip of her tail, finishing out by covering her clawed feet and her soft underbelly. Black ridges settle along her shoulder blades in a set of three, the middle ridge sticking out further than the other two and making it difficult for a traditional saddle to be used-a special one had to be crafted for each time Isionyth out grew her previous one. Riding on the line of ember scales lies a very small, trailing set of black ridges that end at the tip of her barbed tail, four curled spikes resting two on each side. Along the base of her tail rests another set of three columned ridges resembling those along her shoulder blades, and branching out from that are two twin sets of single lined ridges-slightly larger than the ones that dot her spine-that curve around her thighs. Finally, along the remaining untouched portions of her thighs and the very edge of her back heels, small black ridge bumps prod out, making this dragon about as cuddly as a cactus to look at. Her wing membranes, as well as the arm like limbs that hold them in place, are soot black, a metallic red tint appearing when the light hits them: as when a raven appears a glossy, deep purple when looking at it head on. Quite sturdily built, they are wide and, when landing, they can easily make it a hazard for other dragons to try to land unless they are very good at judging distances, and even then the more apparent, sharp spears atop her head could swerve at any moment to deter the thought of landing next to her. Resting between those two larger horns is a 'crown' of smaller ones, about five altogether, and about four smaller ones in front of those. To top it off, one horn like spike rests at teh tip of her nose, and another just under her chin. Definately a prickly face of beauty! She's almost perfectly proportioned: a flawless beauty when one gets past the intimidating appearance of something a touch larger than an Emerald at about fifty-one meters in full girth. As every other Solainoti dragon, she bears her birthstone around her neck, glistening for all to see. It is a star shaped mass dotted with what would appear to be shimmering, reflective spots where the pressure from the initial meteor impact was greatest. They fleck evenly over the entire surface of the stone oddly enough and when held up to Rukbat, the light shines out from each reflective point to create rays of light.
>~>Angel((of))Mercy<~<
Weyr: Solainoti
Name: Vsiasi
Gender: Female
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Rank: Weyrwoman, Wingleader of Queen's Wing
Age: Recently turned 26
Appearance: Tainted in graceful proportions, Vsiasi is a rather nimble being, with a dashing feline nature in that she has close to perfect balance. She's that certain kind of person most people tend to hate because they could eat just about anything they so wanted and not gain an ounce. But, what most people don't know is that this is only due to her fierce, strict workout routine. Not a day goes by that she isn't seen running along the slippery slopes in the early morning, and occasionally racing the messenger runners who come out from the Holds tied to Solainoti. She’ll go out of her way to get some form of running, jogging, or, when she’s terribly busy, walking in for at least an hour a day. It usually extends more toward a two and a half event, though, because running is her therapy: it allows her body to channel out all those negative vibes that occasionally cripple her as a body, no matter how trained and toned it is, can only cart so much emotional baggage. Athletic though she may be, it hasn't driven every ounce of fat from her body, as she's surprisingly adorned with a fairly lovely set of curves along her five foot six frame. Probably due to the fact she wasn't always so fixed on her health as she is now: she has to be fit and perfectly in shape to deal with Isionyth's inability to say something is impossible, a comment given when Vsiasi said staying in shape over the years was not feasible. Needless to say, she was proven wrong, and her dragon's persistent bickering on the issue has kept her firmly in the youthful shade of life. Her tanned flesh always bears a healthy glow due to a secret she has kept under lock and key: volcanic ash mixed in mud for mud bathes. She'll weekly visit these mud pits located in the back of the lower caverns, a few select drudges and the Headwoman the only users who know of its location besides her. This keeps her surprisingly rejuvenated, and helps to smoothen her generally wind resistant flesh from the many hours of running. With all this concern about health consuming her from Isionyth's nagging, it isn't surprising she bothers to take care of how her hair looks at any given moment. Even if it looks as though she's just pinned up the mid-length black curls, it somehow still manages to bring out the dashing hazel of her eyes, each stormy facet reflecting a different shade of her personality as they shift back and forth from a light gray, to a soft blue, or to a striking blue-gray combination.
Personality: Angel of Mercy,
How did you find me?
Where did you read my story?
Pulled from the papers,
Desperate and hardened,
Seeking a momentary fix.
The shadows have gradually crept up and alongside Vsiasi, slowing stretching out their mangled limbs in an attempt to pry her humanity from her. Countless times, she's plunged into a spiraling depression, her sanity threatening to burst like the pressured waters behind a too full dam and, always, something drags her back from the brink to remind her of everything that has come so far, and of the places she no longer stands among. She's never been the one to grow close to a small group of people; she's always been among the Weyr and everyone in it, the silent shadow who took it upon herself to listen to each plaguing thing another would tell her to find comfort. It may never show, but every aimless thought and uttering gets back to her, collecting inside until the swarthy, churning depths slosh out and splatter onto the soil. Isionyth's Impression has done nothing but shred her formerly sealed heart to innumerable pieces, throwing her onto the shores violently like a sea animal dragged ashore from a great tidal wave. She's floundering every moment she hears tail of pain in her Weyr, even outside of it and branching out to the Holds tied to Solainoti as well as the other Weyrs of Pern.
All I wanted to say,
All I wanted to do,
Is fall apart now.
All I wanted to feel:
I wanted to love.
Its all my fault now,
A tragedy, I fear.
Matters made worse, guilt seeps in through her subconscious like water soaks up into a sponge. She's never been the type to take it well-even in jest. And now...Now, it does nothing but lash at her like a merciless whip to bare flesh. She's burdened by the mindset that the world is her problem, that it all has to fall on solely her shoulders, and she'll never crack to share the weight. It will eventually drag her under, or crush her beneath the overwhelming weight and excruciating pain. But that never gets through to her, and only proves Isionyth's belief that the good among this world die for their nature, and that nothing so unbelievably compassionate could ever live for more than a moment in such a harsh and bloodthirsty environment. She's a constant caretaker, and would rather die than see suffering in another now that Isionyth has come into her world. Indeed, the sheltering nature was there before, but guarded by gates that could not fathom the agony the world could sputter from the depths of hell. Her beloved Brimstone took a battering ram to her gates, and brought down her walls for each emotion to stumble about like a newborn colt on its first legs. It was a better outcome in the end: had that not have taken place, she'd likely be a bitter creature, cursing life for the endless obstacles it threw before her.
Angel of Mercy,
How did you find me?
How did you pick me up again?
Angel of Mercy,
How did you move me?
Why am I on my feet again?
And I see you.
Whoa Whoa Whoa.
I feel you.
Whoa Whoa Whoa.
Suffering in silence is better for her. She'll take it all, and bear it forever so everyone else can live with a touch more beauty in their life. She's that mother dog taking the beating for its pups from its master for the younglings' trouble making, and never complaining. She'll struggle to her feet when those emotional beatings tear into her soul, and continue to soothe when she would rather nothing more than to fall and never stand again. Even the best break, though. She'll crumble when she runs, driving out all the pains she takes on and hoping to ground them into the rocky terrain with her feet, praying they'll flow from her body and allow her to take on more than she knows is possible. It never works. She'll stop in those early mornings, dropping to her knees and pounding at the earth with her fist, choked sobs struggling to make themselves known. Only Isionyth will hear her cries, but the queen never comes to the aid of Hers-she's learned it to be a truly losing fight to convince Hers that this is killing her and saying that about the queen whom no does not exist is a true testament to how stubborn Vsiasi can be when she sets her heart and mind to something. No, instead, Isionyth lets her have her peace, and has forbid anyone to be on the slopes during the time Hers can be found running: none yet has dared to cross the irate queen and disobey.
'Fortress, the daylight come,
And I stand by
Waiting to catch the quickest plane.
Fly me to nowhere,
It's better than somewhere:
That's where I've been and nothing's changed.
Being the emotional shoulder of the Weyr does take a toll on the one who rises to take the duty as their own. And, as one could guess, the price is crippling. But it hasn't stolen Vsiasi entirely. No, she's not the always emotional wreck her breakdowns make her out to be for, in truth, those actual moments are rare and few. They're just far too crippling when they do occur to ever be ignored. Yes, she lives a relatively normal life outside of her choked sobbing. But only as a facade. To everyone aside from her dear Isionyth, who knows the truth, she puts on a perfectly crafted mask to fool even the wisest to believe she's nothing more than a perfectly sane human being-though some would disagree with that notion seeing as how she is bonded with Isionyth. But, a mask is all lies, usually. This mask isn't. Her mask is the only chance her submissive traits get to surface and make themselves known, as with any other moment they fall like servants to a king without thought. Nothing will stand to conquer: not her clever tongue, not her delightful sense of humour when the mood so strikes her, nor her passionate love of being entirely random and impulsive to the point its endearing and almost adorable, making one want nothing more than to cradle the spirited woman and bottle that enthusiam and optimisim. Because, even though she has all these lovely quirks to make up the compounds of her saving grace, her compassionate nature still dominates her existence. She views her life as nothing more than a means for others to unload their problems on, for her to be the beast of burden, and make everyone elses lives a bit more bearable while hers crumbles to dust and withers away. It is a dear shame for she is far more than just a rag to be used when someone has problems of their own and she will graceously hear them out at her own expense.
All I wanted to say,
All I wanted to do,
Is fall apart now.
All I wanted to feel:
I wanted to love.
It's all my fault now,
A tragedy for sure
For all the agony and cruelty she sees, Vsiasi is so innocent to the world and all that she knows. She'll lay her heart and soul right in your hands like a child who knows no other choice than to simply give everything her absolute all. She doesn't see the joy in doing something halfway: can't even fathom doing a slipshod work. Because she's so hopelessly dedicated to whatever new concept has flown into her mind. Yes, she's terribly obsessive. To the point if you give her something new that grabs her attention, you'll regret it because she wont get out of it easily. She forms far too many hard to break habits. It's actually rather surprising this hasn't killed her yet. Vsiasi also has the curse of being rather open minded as well as obsessive. Talk about a bad combination. Unfortunately, it's not something that's going to go away, and will only space itself out to enclose more things within as time drags on and she gets the chance to see many other different concepts and beliefs.
Angel of Mercy,
How did you find me?
How did you pick me up again?
Angel of Mercy,
How did you move me?
Why am I on my feet again?
And I see you.
Whoa Whoa Whoa.
I feel you.
Whoa Whoa Whoa.
I'm so lost in you.
A tragedy seemed to be over now, oh now.
A tragedy it seemed to be over now.
Angel of Mercy,
How did you find me?
How did you pick me up again?
Angel of Mercy,
How did you move me?
Why am I on my feet again?
And I see you.
Whoa Whoa Whoa.
I feel you.
Whoa Whoa Whoa.
History: Originally from the lower caverns of Black Sands Weyr, Vsiasi was the end result of one of the many losers of a queen flight, her mother just happening to be the one grabbed by her father. The only real reason she even knew the both of them were her parents was entirely due to the healer who delivered her, other wise it was just a fading fact into her background. As soon as it was possible, Dasi left her babe with a foster family:
a pair of weavers who made the Weyr their permanent home with the readily available amount of work. Of course, she grew up to learn some of the trade of her parents, sometimes even helping out when the mood struck her, but she never pursued that line of work. It was just far easier to mend a rider's torn sleeve than to help out around the kitchens like the other weyrbrats had to.
Truth be told, that was the way it remained for a good many turns, because Vsiasi was never really plagued by the dragon craze that most who grew up in the Weyr were. She was content with her odd end repairs, and found no reason, really, to go out and about. That was until about eleven or so turns ago when Solainoti Weyr was founded. Without due cause, Vsiasi was plagued by the sudden urge to pack up and move, to get out of the Weyr she was born to and find something entirely different and new. Without warning, she convinced one of her elder Brownrider friends-more like her adopted big brother-to to secret her away to the new Weyr. S'dir was impossibly easy to persuade, though he hated to see his 'little sister' go, and he and his Brown Gionth secreted them away in the dead of the night to Solainoti. Of course there were matters that needed to be attended to, like how a new candidate suddenly appeared, but S'dir took care of all of that, and Vsiasi never questioned how. His reasoning with the Headwoman to give her a place to stay and rousing a Blue to Search her officially was all she knew aside from the lie she was from the newly brought in batch of candidates from the North which, technically, wasn't entirely a lie at all. She knew nothing of what all he had done to bring her to the one place she wanted to be, or the pain he had suffered when he had left her there only to later find out the suffering that had taken place in Solainoti. He could do nothing because he was not supposed to know where she had run off to, so he sat and prayed for something to keep her safe from the addiction plagued Weyr.
As S'dir fretted and worried over his 'little sister', Vsiasi began to settle in quite well for a newcomer. The eleven year old had come to find the lying about where she had come from easy enough-most was not actually a lie, she had grown up with Black Sands Weyr in her sight-and no one had noticed her entrance, so she could tell the truth and say she was a last minute candidate, brought in during the night. However, that idea soon dropped, dying the instant the Headwoman found out she was not yet even twelve turns. It was with a dampened spirit that Vsiasi took up mending clothes for riders again, though this time gaining some comforting solace in the fact that at least the company she would be keeping for another turn was new and foreign. It gave the long wait up until the hatching bearable, for the most part. That was how it had been for six turns. She would rise, work, eat, work, and then sleep, rising to the very same thing the next day unless another Hatching was to occur that day where she would turn up dragonless again. It never faltered from that path until other things began to flit into the daily Weyr life, and chaos soon coated the Weyr like a fine mist.
Yes, she was there in the beginning when the dragons first began to show signs of their serious addiction, hidden by choice and time only bringing it out into the open, and she had been there to stand by and watch helplessly as they fell, one by one, to their cravings. The Riosian dominated their lives and, for turns, it was allowed to strengthen and grow to a terrible, driving need for the mineral: so much so, it began to cripple the dragons who consumed it, each finding nothing more important than that sweet rush of relief once the stone hit their tongues. It blinded them from everything: food, mating, and even their own riders. Out of personal choice, Vsiasi steered clear of the thought of the Gold Feonelleth's next Rising, but that very same thing was the saving grace of the Weyr. After she had Risen and the massive clutch of fifty-two eggs had been laid, her symptoms cleared, as did those of her male chasers and then mate. It was clear what needed to happen to cease this endless addiction: and so consumption of Riosian was banned immediately, those females driven mad by their agony Rising and, soon after, finding themselves cured of their sickness as well as their chasers. Oh, but nothing could last forever. As the eggs began to weaken from the shell in, stores of Riosian were forcibly brought up from the sheds in the hopes of saving the clutch. When the thought proved its value and managed to save each egg, the theory that the unborns were still addicted rose up and nearly drove what remained of the Weyr mad as the clocks ticked onward and the days fell like lovers from a lost flight. The day of the Hatching came and, with it, a great bout of surprise.
As impossible as it sounds, not a single egg was left uncracked on those sands. Oh, yes, a few did not Impress because they ducked between, or were killed by their siblings, but each did break shell-though not all protruding beaks were those known to Pern. Several mutations sprung about from the effects of Riosian in their early stages of development: Dusks, Chromes, Solars, Tempests, and Brimstones. Of the five, it was later distinguished by various hatchings of the Brimstone queen the rank of each new color, and none, thankfully, dared to ingest their 'birthstones' once they claimed one for themselves. This was all met by a huge sigh of relief to the Weyr and, doubtlessly, to Vsiasi as well. By the time she had overcome her aversion to the mutants, though, it was almost too later for her to be a candidate, and with Naesth's last Rising, Vsiasi's dragon was clutched. There was nothing special about this clutch: it was entirely normal looking to any observer aside from the obvious queen in one corner, but it was the very last chance the elder candidate had to Impress and, with that thought in mind, she couldn't view this clutch as anything aside from a gift from Faranth.
When the day of the Hatching had finally come, Vsiasi could only stand waiting in uncomfortable sandals with the heat from the Sands scorching through to her feet. It didn't register, though. Nothing did: not the silliness of her Impression garments, or the awkward feeling of being the oldest candidate on the Sands, or even the still humming as the queen egg rocked back and forth, pulsing and claiming her attention. Naesth's younglings began to hatch, some finding their Mines almost immediately along with their birthstones, some taking their time to do both, and of course combinations of both of the two. A few dragonets had been shuffling aimlessly about, and Brown and a Solar having gotten into an argument that escalated into a fight, one Dusk sibling trying to get out of dodge but ending up in the crossfire as the three scrambled about in blind bickering. Everyone was too focused on the feuding dragons to catch sight of the queen egg having stopped its rhythmic swaying, pausing long enough to allow a crack down the center of its glossy, stone like surface. The quarreling siblings settled long enough to watch the egg spiderweb, and the young Dusk pulled himself away to stare curiously at the oddity of such a hatching-they usually chipped off portions and then burst free. But, as he would soon discover, the dragonet inside was nothing normality could dream in its wildest fantasies. With a faint prodding push of his snout, the egg lurched forward, shell splintering and egg fragments scattering over the sands and the fluid covered Brimstone lifted her head, watching with crimson orbs as the startled Dusk scrambled across the sands, making his way back to the safety of the group of formerly arguing siblings. Another hatchling, indecisive as she had been while trying to pick out a birthstone, snatched the first one she caught in sight and raced off the Sands with her Mine. The others were left all alone, sitting ducks, for they had waited too long to find Theirs and they knew there was nothing could be done to save them from the wrathful temper of the Brimstone whose space had been invaded.
Circling the group like a venomous, hissing snake, the Brimstone's wet wings spread wide to intimidate the three, her barbed tail lashing out at her Brown brother who had tried to make a break for it. Oh, you thought you were going off somewhere, didn't you? Her voice was honey soft, Vsiasi noted as her eyes half closed to the delicate tune, wondering why no one else seemed to bother to paying attention to such a beautiful sound. The dragonet flashed a cruel smile of ivory spears as she stared them down, the embered scales along her body glistening from the egg fluids and the light from the nearby glows along with the darker intentions in her eyes. Well, maybe you're wrong. Her barbed tail wrapped around his throat, the grip tightening as his struggles increased, and his flailing had allowed the other two to dart past her. No matter: they were too scared to find Theirs anyway. When the Brown fell to blood loss, the Brimstone queen released him, walking over the crippled body with her sights set on the Solar nosing his way through the male candidates in search of His, his yellow-orange hide clearly visible through the cluster of white tunics and breeches. A low, snarling roar thundered from the depths of her throat as she charged, ramming into several candidates and nicking others with her barbs before she met the Solar head on, the startled beast lifting up onto his back legs at precisely the wrong moment. Her straight head horns had roughed gored him through the stomach, the Solar male falling over onto his side and allowing the queen to gracefully slide her horns out of his body before she lapped gingerly, like a feline to milk, at the green ichor pooling from his puncture wounds. She did not remain long, however, for other matters plagued her frayed nerves aside from hunger. With deliberate slowness, she shoved aside the candidates frozen in place before her path of travel, not bothering to grace them a second thought as she caught the Dusk cowering desperately against the carved wall of the Hatching Grounds and whimpering for His to come closer, to save his Fuvinth. The lad never had a chance to get to his dragon for the angered Brimstone stalking him, watching in bitter amusement as the thing pleaded for his life where she had not spared the Brown and Solar's. Now why would I do that? She purred, Vsiasi shivering in place from the sheer sound of the dragonet's voice. Despite the gore she had brought about, she was still a marvelous creature, and she could not understand why none had taken the courage to step forward to show the beast they were worthy of Impression. Cowards, the lot of them were. Well, she wouldn't be caught backing down to such a challenge, wouldn't dare to breathe an instant longer if she succumbed to such a pitiful existence as shying away from the saviors of Pern, even though this one was a bit touchy in attitude.
My dear little brother, life isn't fair. The Solar was almost innocent, and he still fell. I enjoyed every ounce of blood I watched gush forth from his wounds, for he had not stood to fight as he should have. There is nothing I loathe more than a coward, and here I found three. That Brown was dead as soon as he had defied me, daring to break away, and so I put him, too, in his place. And you, well, you broke a cardinal rule. The Dusk gulped audibly as the Brimstone took a step closer, her tail curling around his throat but the barbs yet to pierce flesh. You invaded my space. A sickening gurgling entered the air as the Dusk's air supply was cut off, his limbs flailing about in all places to try for escape. He couldn't be met with it, though, for the instant the Brimstone loosened her grip around the column of his throat, her clawed foot had snatched one wing and jerked the bone out of socket, her tail fully releasing him as the pain deprived him of coherent thought, her horned head batting him away like a rag dog some few feet off with stab wounds in his side. When she wandered over to him, the poor dear was still alive, struggling to stand. He never rose as, with a single, curved barb, she slowly slit him from the base of his neck to the beginning of his tail, pulling out a collection of organs and watching the life fade from his eyes before she rolled her shoulders, the murderous, crimson hue fading to a relaxed shade of green-blue as she padded toward the female candidates finally. Come now, Vsiasi. You've known since I stabbed that Brown that you were Mine. Your Isionyth requires a feeding as well as a bath. -I'm none too fond of having the blood of idiots caked on me. Life was never truly the same after that moment. The Brimstone had picked up a healthy sized chunk of Riosian for herself, the star shaped mass dotted with what would appear to be shimmering, reflective spots where the pressure from the initial meteor impact was greatest. They fleck evenly over the entire surface of the stone, oddly enough and, when held up to Rukbat, the light shines out from each refelctive point to create rays. The two walked off the Sands after that and headlong into their weyrling training. There was never a moment where either had a chance to look back, because both were ploughing headlong into their destiny.
Memorizing tithe orders, records of past clutches and thread falls, formalities, and care of one's dragon: that had all been the easy part. She had expected it, because every queenrider before her went through the exact same thing and she knew it never wavered from that path. Graduation into the wings was nothing out of the normal: she stood as anyone did to receive her skin that declared her a wingrider, and soon after took up her duties that were brought about with Isionyth as her dragon. It was a fairly boring and easy beginning, though fate never allowed for something so perfect as peace to reign for longer than an instant before it was ripped rudely away from those starving for its touch. Isionyth had taken to calling that as truth for many months and, as needed, Vsiasi would push the prophetic words out from the forefront of her mind and go about taking care of what was immediately involved in her world at the time. It was a mistake she would not soon dare to make again, or ever, for that matter. Isionyth's words rang true in her first flight when her own clutchmother Rose to challenge the males of the Weyr for her affections at preciously the same moment: it proved the reality of life to the Brimstone, that nothing good would last because something would come along and pry its lifeless hands away from those it held dear.
As her mother Rose, Isionyth screamed her defiance and outrage, demanding to know how any could dare to look at another but her on her day. No, all of Pern had to know she was in the air, had to feel the glorious crescendo of lust scorching over their bodies, and they had to know it was only she who could invoke such a blistering feeling inside them. She would not stand for this insubordination, even from her own dear mother; the very reason for her existence. Without hesitation, she launched from her ledge after the smaller queen with jaws parted to allow an ear splitting roar through the confines of her vocal chords. Naesth barely had the chance to pivot her skull around before Isionyth struck her, the resounding, echoing thud the equivalent of two great marble slabs colliding. Naesth was taken by surprise, her wings furling in blind attempt to catch herself as she had been sent with her belly up to the other Brimstone, her back breaking the wind as they plummeted together. She couldn't move for the jaws wrapped around her throat, screaming in bitter agony as Isionyth's fangs dug deeper into her flesh with her barbs ripping through her wing membranes. Of course she tried to fight: her own barbed tail and claws trying desperately to rake across Isionyth, but the other queen never allowed it, kept twisting and turning her dying mother in the air to avoid the collision as she rake mercilessly across the soft underbelly before her. With the ground only three hundred feet below her, Isionyth disentangled herself from Naesth, watching as the fall killed her clutchmother, the life passing out of her eyes the moment her daughter landed beside her and gingerly began to blood the mangled corpse for her kill before taking back to the skies and finding her mother's previous mate now as her own.
So it has been for the last three turns and, as it has passed gradually with the patience of a saint, Isionyth's raging moods have calmed...somewhat. At least she hasn't harmed her two sired clutches like the Magmas she so takes after do. In truth, she's a very doting mother, and it's a side that only Vsiasi and her now mate have had the chance to see for, the moment they break shell, that delightful, caring nature vanishes as if never there. She's still bitterly realistic, though, and curt to the point that all conversation just about fails miserably with her. Oddly, though, she is growing softer: at the rate of rocks being weathered by the wind, but still. It is a change that everyone is more than happy to see, but it's not going to live until Isionyth stops fighting. On a more positive note, her rider has benefited from this softening taking place in the Brimstone. Vsiasi has tried to gather her composure and be more like the rock she takes on as a facade, yet only time will tell if she can hold herself strong without breaking again.
Isionyth's most recent venture into the sky brought Vsiasi with a condition she has seen twice before involving N'yx and the aftermath of a romp in the sheets. Twice before, the young were aborted. Now, however, the Weyrwoman is expecting. Ssh, though. It's a secret the Weyr has yet to discover.
Father: V'sin of Bronze Quilonth-Black Sands
Mother: Dasi of Green Cioanth-Black Sands
Siblings: None by birth. S'dir of Brown Gionth by personal adoption.
Offspring: Unborn-growing. =)
Pets: Alpha Cion, Asuka
Notables: S'dir of Brown Gionth (NPC), Unamed Solar, Unamed Brown, Dusk Fuvinth.
Songs: Mercy by One Republic-Vsiasi,
It Only Hurts by Default-Isionyth
*~*~*~*~*~*
Dragon Name: Isionyth
Dragon Color: Brimstone
Age: 4 & 1/2 turns
Personality: Isionyth is not what anyone could fathom to be a gentle creature: she has the appearance of something that crawled, snarling and spitting flames from birth out of an active volcano, and still strikes the eye as murderous without the intentions of a Magma at heart. And they are right, to an extent. Isionyth has a blistering temper when anyone trespasses on her finely divided nerves: she has the patience of a saint for close to damn near everything but, Faranth forbid you to ever step on a pet peeve or a tender nerve ending. Those lucky ones end up shredded from head to toe, left broken and bleeding with wounds too numerous to count in the festering bowels of some still active volcano. The last thing who stepped on her metaphorical tail was her clutchmother, the fellow queen plummeting thousands of feet through the air after being attacked during her mating flight, her stomach severed into slivers of flesh with Isionyth's curved tail spikes tearing into the other Brimstone's wing membranes to make flight impossible. She crashed into the earth, bones shattering from impact, and still Isionyth lingered to blood her mother for her kill before she herself took to flight to Rise for the very first time. Clearly, one of those already frayed nerves extends to her males: hers and hers alone: best not to muck with her when she's about to Rise. Another such peeve is her 'space'. Respect it, and don't get in her face; she tends to snap when you get too close without her consent. Others include; being punctual, back talking, rebellion, and cleanliness. For Faranth's sake, be on time, clean, and don't sass or fued with her. It's far easier to keep her...decently amused and on half-good terms than it is to deal with her in one of her moods.
Isionyth will never glimpse the optimistic shade of life that oh so many people seem to thrive in, because she refuses to see anything as that good in life. It's not so much a case of denial as it is the firm mindset of being a realist: that nothing good will last forever, that everything dies no matter how much we love them and nothing can be done to fix it. Ever with Hers, so unbearable close as she is to her, she knows that eventually something with drag them kicking and screaming apart, and a portion of her is always shut off: she's never fully open and will die shut off from at least some side of the love Hers gives her. Because of this harsh truth, she is damnably bitter to most of those she comes into contact with, and rarely bothers with being sociable unless it is absolutely necessary. When she is possessed by some talkative mood, and let the record show that it's fine cold day in hell when it occurs, she cannot 'sugar coat' any small sentence, preferring to be terribly direct and to the point, and would rather take being eaten alive by thread than dare to utter an untruth. Often times, people and dragons alike avoid her bitter tongue, which truly is ironic because she has a rather lovely, melodic voice for something so distant.
Regardless of whether she believes something to be a pointless battle or not, that doesn't stop her from pushing past the boundaries of her limits to prove something right. Because the words 'I can't' and 'no' and 'impossible' are not engraved in her mind. Even she with her quick wit and vast store of memory cannot define these words, cannot comprehend the meaning and, as such, they don't exist in her vocabulary: or, for that matter, anyone around her. Despite how gloomily she sees life-all the wretched sickness, poverty, cruelty, and unfairness creating a terribly thick shroud over her thoughts-she'd go against any foe, face any obstacle, and die trying to prove that something can happen if just given enough strength, enough willpower. Even though she may disagree with everything and every thought you utter, she will fight to the death your right to say it. And she never expects anything else than the same treatment.
The queen, with her most recent Flight, has taken to openly admitting her feelings for the Tempest Xanntorith. She is still very fledgling like in the sense her emotions are not yet under complete control; she is still rather unpredictable and certainly still holding her snark. She is quite amused with teh Weyr's reactions to seeing her in a nice mood, and often scares them by having mock "wars" with Xann.
Appearance: Like all Brimstones, Isionyth has a thick, yet soft, scaled hide that is coated with an ashen hue, looking as though she has rolled in the remains of a kitchen fire. Along her head, trailing down to her jaw and as a full mask around her eyes that makes them flare out to ensnare the attention of an onlooker, her scales are a glow, shimmering like the scales of a fish born in the lava of a volcano. This ember coating also rushes thinly down her spine to the very tip of her tail, finishing out by covering her clawed feet and her soft underbelly. Black ridges settle along her shoulder blades in a set of three, the middle ridge sticking out further than the other two and making it difficult for a traditional saddle to be used-a special one had to be crafted for each time Isionyth out grew her previous one. Riding on the line of ember scales lies a very small, trailing set of black ridges that end at the tip of her barbed tail, four curled spikes resting two on each side. Along the base of her tail rests another set of three columned ridges resembling those along her shoulder blades, and branching out from that are two twin sets of single lined ridges-slightly larger than the ones that dot her spine-that curve around her thighs. Finally, along the remaining untouched portions of her thighs and the very edge of her back heels, small black ridge bumps prod out, making this dragon about as cuddly as a cactus to look at. Her wing membranes, as well as the arm like limbs that hold them in place, are soot black, a metallic red tint appearing when the light hits them: as when a raven appears a glossy, deep purple when looking at it head on. Quite sturdily built, they are wide and, when landing, they can easily make it a hazard for other dragons to try to land unless they are very good at judging distances, and even then the more apparent, sharp spears atop her head could swerve at any moment to deter the thought of landing next to her. Resting between those two larger horns is a 'crown' of smaller ones, about five altogether, and about four smaller ones in front of those. To top it off, one horn like spike rests at teh tip of her nose, and another just under her chin. Definately a prickly face of beauty! She's almost perfectly proportioned: a flawless beauty when one gets past the intimidating appearance of something a touch larger than an Emerald at about fifty-one meters in full girth. As every other Solainoti dragon, she bears her birthstone around her neck, glistening for all to see. It is a star shaped mass dotted with what would appear to be shimmering, reflective spots where the pressure from the initial meteor impact was greatest. They fleck evenly over the entire surface of the stone oddly enough and when held up to Rukbat, the light shines out from each reflective point to create rays of light.
