Katya of Silver Basionath |

[Lyrikitty]

((Note to anyone with trouble making a character. Despite my muse being Calliope, if I can haul out a bio that is over 10000 wors, you can make at least a reasonable effort to pass 1000. It isn't much, if you work on details and get to know the character 1000 is nothing at all.))

Angel, I hear you,
Speak, I listen
Stand by my side, guide me
Angel, my soul is weak, forgive me
Enter at last, Master.

[/i]

Weyr:[/color] Skrull Island Weyr

Name: Katya
Gender: Female
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Rank: Wingrider
Age: Just recently hit 29 turns

Appearance: Katya is not the most attractive of women, something about her seeming slightly off, strange, just short of being right, though she is not unattractive to most. Her hair is dark, a rich, glossy black that swirls around her head pertetually, often shadowing her dark eyes mysteriously, temptingly. There is no real wave or curl to the tresses, they do as they pelase it would seem, trickling down her neck and over her shoulders, reaching just past the mid-back level that most wear, at least those who don't spend hours a-dragonback. She ties it back in a runnertail, a leather thong knotted with hopes of allowing her to see, all in vain. Too easy it is for her hair to escape it's confines, spilling back into place to fall over her ears, to sweep across her eyes and sheild them from veiw, a constant frustration for her that seems to have no end in sight. Her eyes are twin pool of mysterious water, dark, so very dark a shade of blue, one that seems almost impossible, and extremely hard for most to look away from. The inner rim, that which touches the pupil, is darkest, the gradiation from the black to the blue so slight that it is almost unnoticable. Slowly it lightens, until at the outer rim of the ring it is a middling blue, one found commonly in the eyes of Pern. Along the outer rim are flecks of grey, looking very close to silver, as if trying to match Basionath's hide shade for shade. Her eyes are rimmed with bristly lashes, thick and sooty, which are used to the every advantage of Katya, as she batts them shamelessly or while looking up from beneath them subduely.

Beneath her entrancing pools are dark rings, as if the skin is perpetually bruised, spawned from a lack of sleep that she will never regain, and from memories she would rather forget. Where the skin is not darkened or discolored otherwise, it is a golden hue, tawny, like the golden sands that stretch the endless beaches of the South Continent. She carries almost no scars, and were it not for the single one that is placed across her ribcage. Winding it's way over the smooth skin like a nasty, vile snake is a scar, the width of a finger, starting just above her navel and swinging upward as it travels over her side to her back, the very end reaching just sourt of her shoulderblade.

She is not built to stand out, but saved from blending in by a the width of a hair. Her height is common to many woman, nothing shocking, but a dull and typical 5'5". In the crowd it is hard to pick her head out from the rest, at first. She is not toned and hard as many women of the Weyr are, nor is she a soft pile of indolence. She falls nicely between, when held in the arms of a man she is pliant, her body not a rock, not some hardened thing that could easily be mistaken for a feminine man. Her curves are not large, not standing out wildly and getting in the way, but rather subtle. Not over defined, but not lacking. Her hips are rounded, the sort that could easily birth numerous children someday were the desire to strike her, her breats rounded, full, not so large that they would sag from their own weight.

Her features are odd, something about them seeming almost off. Her lips are a little thin, the upper lip unever as the right side is slightly larger than the left, but when she smiles a dimple appears that wipes away any attention that might be drawn to the lips. Her nose is tiny, a button nose as some might call it, her brows thin and shapely, arching coyly over her dark eyes and bring her face to life. Also, not that anyone would be seeing it, there is a scar on the inside of her cheek, from when she was attacked by a Misery, and refused to give the pleasure to others of hearing her scream. Instead, she had clenched her teeth shut, biting into the soft flesh and breaking the skin deeply. It is well healed, but if you looked into her mouth you would still be able to see the twin white lines, slightly raised, from her teeth.

But that life seems almost false, for rarely does her smile, no matter how joyous it be, reach her eyes, rarely does her frolicking reflect in those dark pools, and when no one is looking even her false smiles are wiped away, replaced by a feirce scowl and hooded brows. Her actions are often not so graceful as Basionath's, not so elegant or fluid, though she envies that, and has tried to cultivate that same grace, a grace which can only be acheived through birth, not practice, she has failed every time. The best she can manage is an air of cold dignity, which she will willingly use anyway.

Her clothing is fitted to her body, the curves accented by each stitch, by each color. Dressing seems to be almost a work, a great masterpeice which must be perfected, no matter what she may want to do otherwise, she won't leave her weyr until her look is perfect. Her colors of choice are reds, blues, browns, golds, blacks, and white when she can get her hands on it.

Personality: The is something unmistakably off with Katya. No matter what she does, no matter what she says, there is no denying that she is thinking something else, that somewhere in her mind she is lying, that she is hiding something important.

A shameless flirt, she wallows in the attention of men, thriving on it, always finding new things, new ways to charm men to her side. Her tongue is as silver as Basionath's hide, quick to drown a man in compliments, to smother him with words that are nearly irresistable. She could charm the anger out of a Cyan, some say in whispered voices behind her back.

Where in the world have you been hiding?
Really, you were perfect!
I only wish I knew your secret,
Who is your great tutor?

[/i]

Katya is a master of guile, of trickery, and had she remained for her turns as a candidate in Black Sands she would have undoubtably been suited perfectly for a Wildfire. Her true thoughts are never shown, and to openly display them is a high crime in her eyes. She may well hate someone with a passion that burns her throat to quell, but so long as even one set of eyes that do not belong to either Monte or Basionath are atching, she'll not let any hint of it show, if anything, the crafty woman will msile all the more, will laugh more, and make herself seem just as friendly as possible.

As soon as Katya sees an emotion, a reaction, anything, that she doesn't approve of in another, she fights herself to near destructive points to curb it in herself, to eventually remove it entirely, to strip it from the side of her that the public sees, digging a deep hole in her mind to bury it, and only allowing it to resurface around her beloved weyrmate, her heart and soul.

Father once spoke of an angel
I used to dream he'd appear
Now as I sing, I can sense him
And I know he's here.

[/i]

There are few things in life to make Katya's heart beat wildly, fanatically. Few things that could spark new hope in her life, save for the tender, undying love of Basionath.

The Silver is an angel for Katya, a beacon of light that pulled her from her darkest days and bathed her in a light unmatched. Nothing could compare to the adoration Katya has for the dragon, all pales miserably in comparison.

Basionath is Katya's balance, her anchor, the one thing that can solve any problem erase any trouble. There are times when Katya thinks herself silly, for running to Basionath's side and begging the Silver to help her, to offer comfort as only a being so closely bound to her could. When Katya cannot bear to hold up her guise, to keep up the towering walls around herself, when her heart is ready to crack, and send all her charm, her forced wit vanish, it is to Basionath that she turns, for in the Silver dragon Katya finds acceptance and love, a being who she doesn't have to trick, a creature who will accept her for who she is, and love her unconditionally for it.

Angel of music, guide and guardian
Grant me to your glory.

[/i]

Despite her love of the Silver, Katya fears in her heart she did not truely Imprss the Silver, fears herself unworthy of the love and comfort she is showered with.

An when she looks back, she knows it is true. she doesn't deserve the wonderful Silver, for she didn't Impress through the normal way, didn't even belong on thos sands. She looks back constantly, wondering, thinking, trying desparately to find some sense to it all, though she never can nor will she ever.

Much of Katya has been changed in the turns by the very presence of Basionath, not to mention the many other things the Silver provided, though one part of the woman has not changed, and it likely never will. The part of her that belongs in Black Sands, the part that hasn't been stolen away, or banished to some other realm. The part of her mind that is cold and sadistic, the part that should have kept Basionath at bay.

That part of Katya is cold, calculating. The part of her that has an unquenchable thirst for power. It is not so animalistic as some of the residents of the Weyr, those hwo barely conceal their true selves under a thin veil of humanity and civility, people like D'myn, but rather, the mind that on Terran might have easily belonged to a killer, not a psychopathic one, but a paid one. The sort of mind that works out the details in a flash, that sees potential problems and avoids them easily, long before most even think there might be a problem. Katya is the sort of woman who could kill easily, and not rgret it later, who could steal the life of another, slowly torturing them, and then walk away wityh a faint smile on her lips so long as she thought it was in her best interest. So long as she was sure that she was taking care of herself, nothing else would matter.

For a long time Katya had thought no other part of her existed, and that she would always be that way, destined to Impress to a Widfire, to manipulate the world around and hide away, a puppetmaster in every aspect, but she was saved from that fate by the Silver who was able to see past it all.

Just as Basionath is protective of her, she will tend to gravitate to the Silver when uncomfortable in an area. When her gut tells her something is wrong, she turns to stand near the Silver, for she knows that no matter what happens, Basionath will let nothing happen to her so long as there is air in her lungs, a drop of blood in her veins, or a single beat left in her heart. For that Katya is eternally grateful, another trait of the dragon that the woman adores and cherishes.

As odd as their bond seems to those on the outside, it runs deeper than most might think, for though their matching was not destined or pre-ordained by fate, and in the early days they were at odds, through the turns of strife with none but eachother to truely lean on. Who else did they have through the tough spots? In a Weyr that had seemed entirely against them, they'd been unable to place all their trust in any one place, and it had stretched them both, being on thin ice, tiptoing about to avoid stepping on the wrong toes. Only when they were alone with eachother had they beed able to toss aside any masks and let go of it all, and so through that, they grew to know more about eachother than some pairs who have an instinctual bond, than those who never had to work away to keep their sanity and have one thing untouched and undamaged by the darkness that swarmed around them. Katya knows that without her Basionath, without her angel, her savior, she never have made it. Knows that without her guide and her guardian she would have lasted not a day in her life once she'd returned to Black Sands, alone, nodragons, and thrown onto the sands to Impress to a wretched Wildfire, who's sole purpose in life was to gain power, and to be the one who pulled all the strings in the end.

Another bond that both share is the dislike of Miseries, for both have suffered at their paws before, and neither cherish the idea of having another round with one of those vile creatures. There are exceotions to that rule, but they are few, as it is hard to be sure which Misery is controlled by which Wildfire, and which Misery is utterly free and under her own power and will. The few Misery friends they have are only trusted to a small extent, for to overcome the pain they suffered would be hard, though Basionath deals with it better, and is closer to the Miseries than Katya will ever be. [/color]

History: Katya's hstory is an odd one, that few know of, and even fewer speak of. Many think there is a death sentence placed on the heads of anyone foolish enough to ask about it, for she holds many secrets for many people. Secrets that should never be told, should never be whispered into the ears of another, a trusted heart, for surely once her secrets were out, once she revealed all she knew about the many Weyrs, death would fall swiftly on her own hed to protect Pern itself from greedy hands.

K'layn was never a loving man, never was the sort to spend hours with his child and play with her, teach her. His Brown Masioniayth was much like him, both were cold to the very core, both were well suited to their Weyr. They were responsible for many things of dark natures, and were prized for their skill at raiding caravans, for never was so much as a single dragons under their lead recognized.

Taolien was the opposite, a sweet woman, caring, who would have given a beggar the shirt off her back if she had nothing more to offer. She had been born to a drudge as well, and though she'd stood on the sands in her youth she never Impressed. Reluctant to leave her home, she'd remained on as a drudge, fathfully working in the lower caverns, faithfully doing what was asked of her, which unfortunately including offer her body to the men who's dragons lost mating flights.

It wasn't that she hated the action, exactly, but that she had wanted something more of life, wanted to have what she saw in thye lives of others. One man who loved her more than anything else, who would care for her, tend to her. Some of the men who used her did treat her well, birthing friendships between them at least, but when she was visited by K'layn the first time, she hated him. Oh how she hated him, for he showed no compassion to her before or after the waces of dragonlust ruled him, he used her forcefully, taking what he wanted without ever asking even the smallest of requests. When he was done, the Brownrider threw Taolien aside, laughing at her, and kicked her away from him. She'd been bruised for several weeks afterward, but she didn't mind that. she was humiliated by the man, for every time he saw her he laughed, but she could bear it with dignity.

The true insult came when her belly started to grow, when she realized she carried his child, the spawn of a demon, in her.

She battled with herself for days on end, telling herself it was best to abort, to ask a rider to take her for a short trip Between to rid herself of the parasite she carried, but she never could. She would walk through the Weyr aimlessly, one hand placed over her steadily growing belly, going so far as to even approach riders, but each time she tried to ask for the favor, her mouth refused to work, her voice failing her. In the end she would walk away, shaking ehr head and fighting back tears.

Taolien carried her child to full term, and the birthing was a difficult one. She went into labor and spent nine hours in miserable pain before the real birthing ever began, and when finally the babe was born into the world, Taolien could almost forget everything, all the miserable pain she'd suffered through for hours, the humiliation of the child's wretched father. She could forget it all as she gazed at the pink face of her daughter.

But fate proved cruel, and before Taolien could even name the girl, K'layn appeared, scoffing, and took the child away. No one spoke it, but it was understood that Taolien would be lucky to live through the night, and it was best that the child not be around, best that the father find someone to raise her.

Taolien indeed didn't live, for in the early evening she passed away, her heart ceased beating and her lungs drawing no more air to them.

Katya was named by her father, and handed off to the first woman nursing he could find. For Turns, he avoided the child completely, and Katya was raised with no clue who her parents were, and a deep affection for the woman she called mother. It never occured to the child Katya that things could get worse, that thigns could take a dark turn and spiral her into a whole new world of dispare, but they did.

K'layn made a reappearance into her life when she turned ten, very close to the age she would be able to stand on the sands and await the magical moment of Impression. She was not crazy about the idea, for she was well aware of what she was likely to Impress, it was only to easy to see the way the Wildfires of the Weyr watched her, as if knowing she would someday join them. Only a fool would have overlooked the cynical quality her laugh held, the way her dark eyes were forever watching for any sign of weakness in others, forever watching those with power, a sinister greed flickering deep in those pools. K'layn made himself known to the girl, to his daughter, bluntly, in a way she would never forget.

She had been near the feeding pens, her daily chores long finished, relaxing, when the shredded body of a buck dropped from the sky with a dull, sickening thud at her feet. Folowing it closely was the Brown Masionayth, towering over his kill and looking at her, his eyes rimmed with a dangerous ruby hue. She had tried to back away, to flee, but she ran into K'layn, his arms crossed and his eyes, so very like her own, boring into her with disgust in their depths. "If you don't live up to my name, wench, you'll end up like that beast. I'll make sure of it." With that, both he and Masionayth left, though the carcass was discarded by the Brown, for it had been kille for only one purpose, and that purpose wasn't eating.

That day was the day Katya truely turned for the worse, the day that she could have made any vile-hearted dragon pleased, for she devoted herself to living up to the order of her father. As she became colder, harsher, and more dangerous, her father began to visit her more, spending time with her, teaching her, never much, never for long, but a few words of wisedom, pearls of information Katya hoarded away, treasuring. She didn't know she was being trained, didn't know that the whole reason her father even noticed her existence was because she would soon serve a very dark purpose to Black Sands Weyr.

A month before she turned eleven she was transfered out, away from the Weyr, to Crystal Cavern. She hated the beasts there, but shew as told in a whispered order from her father, that she was to gather information. she was to avoid an actual Impression at all costs. One day she would return to Black Sands Weyr, once she had gathered theinformation needed from each Weyr, and then she would Impress. Only if she completed her task would she be rewarded, and when she returned it would be with the welcome of a hero. A parting gift to her had been the little myrr, Montegoro, a young little thing, at the perfect age to form a long-lasting bond. She was to use the black myrr to rely information, for he knew Black Sands Weyr well, and he could return to it from anywhere.

With her intentions held firmly in mind, she and Monte went to Crystal Cavern, and remained there for three turns. Twice a dragon tried to Impress to her, but she refused, turning it away, blocking her mind to them entirely and ingoring heir existence. Each time the confused hatchling would stare at her longingly, creeling plaintively, begging her to listen, to love them, to feed them, though the words were never heard, for they fell on deafened ears and a steely heart. Each time, the hatchlings would finally Between. It was sick, that she never felt the pangs of loss, never felt the miserable separation. Perhaps it was because she refused to allow even an inkling of a bond to grow or form. Once every sevenday she would send Monte to Black Sands Weyr, clutching a peice of hide in his front paws tightly, on it scribbled the information Katya had been asked to get, had been told to scout out. In depth diagrams of the Weyr, information about the higher ranked dragons, the layout of important areas. All of it, she was sent to find.

After her three turns there, she transfered out again, not as she'd expected, back home, but rather, to New Cove. While the Weyr had some brighter points to it, she still despised it, and once more began the process of collecting information, silently prowling the halls and rooms, learning the layout like the back of her hand, and standing dutifully at each Hatching. Only once did she have to drive away a hatchling who thought her suitable. Again, she ignored the creeling of the creature as it tried to make her listen, tried to worm into her mind like an insect and make it's voice heard. How she hated the little beast, and when it finally Betweened she had let out a sigh of relief, unseen by any eyes.

That well could have ended her career, could have ruined it all for her, had anyone noticed the look that washed through her eyes when the hatchling was gone. Katya stayed on in New Cove, learning about the dragons there, until she turned eighteen.

The day she tranfered fro a third time, and not home yet. This time she was sent to Talune Weyr, a place she hated with a passion. At first.

She arrived just in time for the Hatching that revealed the first mutations of the Weyr, and watched as the Onyx Varanth, who would one day become a Weyrleader, Impressed to a lad, his honorific becomming D'ron. She had no attention for that though, despite the fact that she stood on the sands with greatness, but rather, her attention was on one color she'd never seen a match to. It was a Silver. Such a simple named didn't seem sufficient for the dragon, seemed almost insulting to name it after a metal so easy to some by. No, it should have been given some other name, but none seemed to fit. She was, for the first time in her life, envious as she watched the graceful dragons Impress to others, not a single creature on the sands going near herself. How she seethed for days after, watching the Silver's with pain in her eyes. Why? She's seen dozens of dragons, ahd attended countless Hatchings at different Weyrs, and always, some foolish creature or other would try to bond to her.

But now, now when she saw a creature that she wanted to be with, that she wanted to have approach her, they stayed far away.

The realization came when finally she understood the difference in her own temperment, and that of the sweet creatures. They were nothing like her, and it was rare fro a dragon to willingly Impress to a candidate that was so very different, and that showed no signs of change in the future. Her mind was made, she would have to change herself, make herself acceptable to a Silver. Nothing else would do, not the Wildfire she was sure to Impress if she returned to Black Sands Weyr. No, for all their use and skill, she didn't like them at all.

Her first act to try and atone, to make herself better, was to cease her scouting. Not another hide was sent to Black Sands from her, no more information was gathered to try and bring about the end of any Weyr. It wass a small bit, but it helped, for she was able to loosen up some, without so many secrets to hide. With that in mind, she lowly made some friends. None were close, none were very dear to her, but she began to undersatand the life that the residents of Talune lived, began to see that peraps there was more to the world than she had been told by her father. By her Weyr.

Even for as long as she'd been away from Black Sands a part of her still considered it home, she still looked at herself as an outsider, someone who didn't belong.

Slowly her warped images on life and Pern were changed, though it was almost infestimal, and as a turn passed, she stood for Impression again, now nineteen, thinking she still had far to go. How very wrong she was, in a sense. And how very confused she was soon to be.

As she was herded onto the sands, wearing the traditional white, her feet burning in the sandles she wore, she gazed longingly at the eggs, as if by doing so they would be swayed to her. The first eggs cracked, hatchlings spilled to the golden sands in gooey messes. The first to hatch were a Brown and a Silver, and Katya's eyes were on the Silver as soon as she'd started to break from her shell. Surely, that had to be the most beautiful creature ever to set foot on Pern. There was no queen in any Weyr who could hold such a look of grace and elegance, so gentle a being. Katya had fallen to her knees as the Silver's head turned and she surveyed the candidates serenely as a terren Christian would fall to their knees if they saw their savior Christ, or even God.

On her knees, Katya stared at the Silver, her mouth open, her arms stretched out, as if begging the wonderous creature to even look at her. That would surely be enough. The dragon was a drug to Katya at that moment, and when slowly, the hatchling stepped away from the remains of her shell and towards the candidates, Katya's breathing ceased, every ounce of her attention on every movement of the Silver. Nothing went unnoticed, the way the dragon moved with a grace that was beyond this world, the way she studied each candidate, and the way-

No... Right before Katya's eyes, only inches away, the Silver stopped. But she wasn't looking at Katya. It was the girl beside her that the Silver looked at the longest, standing still, just out of reach. That was when her body rebelled against the lack of oxygen, and she fainted, slumping to the scalding sand. She missed what was truely the greatest moment of her life, for as the girl born of Black Sands Weyr fainted, the Silver turned her head and stared at her, concerned, before rushing to her side and starting to drag her from the sands, eyes wheeling a rainbow of colors.

A soft voice whispered in her mind, calmly, sweetly, the most wonderous sound in the world, and it was the first thing Katya noticed as she regained her senses, that voice. Even before opening her eyes, she knew that by some strange twist of fate, it was the Silver. MineKatya. You Basionath has been very worried. Please, tell me you are well now? As Katya's eyes fluttered open, she gazed up at the marvelous face, looking down at her, of Basionath. Nodding almost tenetively, she reached up, running a hand lightly over the silky hide, to gently scratch the dragon's eyeridges. "Basionath... My Basionath..."

It was the beggining of what was soon the be seen as the oddest pairing many in the Weyr had ever seen, for though Katya had made her meager progress in changing herself, it had been so very small that none understood why Basionath had chosen her.

One day, durring their weyrling lessons, the weyrlingmaters pulled them aside, speaking to Katya in a hushed tone, as the woman's dragon spoke to Basionath. "We think it would be best if you were to... To transfer out. We can find you a nice Weyr to call home, I'm sure of it-"

"Why? Why are you people driving me out? Am... Am I not good enough for you still?" Katya's voice had been a spiteful hiss, and waves of her form herself came surging up, waves of fury that made her want to rip the woman's head off.

At the same time, the dragons were conversing, unheard by the two women. Why did you pick her? You cannot be happy with such a human. She needed me. But she was not meant for you. It did not escape me, how you looke at the other child. She was supposed to be Yours. Now tell me why. Mine will be transferring you out if you don't. She is afraid that you will suffer greatly, and she cannot bear to see it. The Blue watched the Silver in silence, awaiting a reply, and when one came, he gained no understanding from it. I chose MyKatya because she was in need. You say that nothing escaped you. Did you not see how she reached for me? Did you not see that she was unable to breath, because without ever knowing me, she loved me so dearly it was impossible for her to bring air to her lungs, the thought of my Impressing to anyone else so painful she fainted? I could not turn away from such a blind devotion. She will get better. I know she will.

It was not because the Silver spoke in riddles, for she'd been utterly clear on her reasoning, but because it confounded him so that any dragon would turn away from the rider they had intened to bond, and find another, who was unsuited in so many fashions.

However, the pair were permited to stay on at Talune Weyr, though it was made clear that it was only temporary, that soon enough they would be asked to transfer elsewhere.

At first Katya and Basionath both expected it to last only days before they were all but banished. However, those days turned into sevendays, sevendays to months, and months to turns. They passed through their weyrlinghood and became true rider and dragon, and Basionath's first Flight was held in Talune, a most joyous occasion for the pair.

Basionath had been lounging on her ledge, the sun warming her hide, and Katya resting against the dragon's shoulder. The woman hadn't noticed the particularly healthy look to the dragon lately, hadn't noticed how she watched the males and flirted subtly with them. So it came as a shock to Katya when the Silver rose from their peaceful repose, aggitated, and looked at her with red flickering in the wheeling orbs of her eyes. I Rise now, MineKatya. Be ready. It was all the warning Katya would get, for that moment the Silver dropped from their weyr, her wings unfurling and filling with air as she glided first to the center of the bowl, hanging in the air for a moment before her jaws parted in a lusty bugle, her voice echoing through the Weyr and ringing over the walls.

Up the Silver went, glowing for all the world to see as she started her Flight, not being a queen she needed not blood any kills. No, she had nothing riding on a long Flight, and so no need to put Katya through the fiht of wills that was bound to ensure if the Silver had tried to eat. Males rose to the occasion, flocking after her, their brassy voices calling to her and telling her their devotion, their love, their adoration of her.

Higher and higher she soared, twisting and turning as she raced on, drawn by some inexplicable feeling to the clouds, to their soft, veiling depths. As the Silver vanished into a large bank of clouds, only two males went in after her, both Browns, both strong beasts who'd headed the pack the whole time. It had come as a suprise to them both, when Basionath has reappeared right before them, and coiled her neck around one of their's with a low croon. They'd never seen her comming, nor had the riders, and so with much confusion the winning rider took Katya to his arms, just as the Brown took Basionath in his wings as they fell.

A sevenday after that day, Katya and Basionath were appraoched by the Weyrleader, and told they were leaving. They would be given the choice of where they wanted to go, and he would contact the Weyr she wished.

Her first response was Black Sands Weyr, and though she was given odd looks, hours later she was told to pack her belongings, and to get ready to leave immediately.

The pair did as told, and once everything was packed together and ready to go, Katya turned to Basionath, regret in her eyes as they filled with hot tears, and fell once mor to her knees before the Silver, reaching out blindly for comfort. Basionath had not hesitated, as Katya had been worried she would, and moved to gently rest her muzzle against Katya's chest, closing her eyes and letting her hot breath wash over the frightened rider. Neither wanted to go to that Weyr. Neither wanted to go to a plce that was reclusive, that was dark and dangerous, even if it was Katya's home. They remained that way for hours, until finally a rider came in, clearing his throat, to announce it was time to l eave.

It was with great pain that both of them bid their farewell to the Weyr, Basionath to her friends and clutchmates, Katya to the few people she had made connections to, the few souls who she trerasured for their brightness and their compassion.

As they took off from the bowl of Talune, Katya wiped a hand over her eyes, relaying to Basionath an image of Black Sands Weyr silently. The Silver knew that Hers was not from Talune, knew that Black Sands had been her home, but it was still chilling the image she received, the tall volcano, the only entrance to the weyr... They went Between longering in the blackness for only a moment before they arrived in the air over Black Sands, to a sight that none had expected.

At least half of the Weyr had turned out, filling the sky below the Silverpair in a rainbow of colors to welcome them, the hapy buglings of dragons filling thei rears, the excited shouts of the riders lost to the rest of the chaos.

Confused, Katya and Basionath glided to the floor of the bowl, and while the turmoil of dragons were settled back to their ledges, the Weyrleader approached her, and smiled, his arms spread wide. "Katya! We thought surely something had happened to you, when we didn't hear from you, and indeed it has! Look at t his radant beauty you return with!" He turned his eyes to the silver, who posed before him, accenting her musculature for the critical eye of her new Weyrleader. He nodded, and then looked to Katya almost expectantly. "Well? What have you to say for yourself?" There was something in his tone, despite his apparant pleasure at having the young woman back, that changed Basionath's mood swiftly, and put Katya on edge.

What had she to say? Her heart dropped as she realized the extent of her mistake in returning. They would of course expect her to tell them everything she knew in person, every dirty secret, every hidden tunnel. She couldn't though. She'd worked so hard to do things to make Basionath happy, to prove the Silver had not made a poor choice in rider. She couldn't possibly throw that all away just because someone wanted her to spill all. But that wasn't the worst. The worst was how his eyes looked her over, how she could sense a dangerous spark in the air, and she closed her eyes to think, to find some way to avoid a bad move. When her dark blue eyes opened again, her jaw was set in determination, gaze fixed on the Weyrleader stubbornly. "I have nothing to say. I went to Crystal Cavern as bid, and did as I was asked. I went to New Cove and obeyed as well. Did you think to bring me home? No. I went to Talune, and had..." She faltered, looking at Basionath now, unable to look anywhere else. "I had intended to do as you told me yet again."

The Weyrleader lifted a heavy brow with curiosity, though the tightening of his lips betrayed his temper rising. "And why didn't you? Why didn't you scout out the Weyr as you were told? Was it too difficult? Or perhaps you've been away too long, perhaps, you need to be reminded of why we sent you in the first place." He ground his teeth, furious, his face slowly reddening as he tried to control his rage. Silently, he bid his Bronze king to bespeak one of the Wildfires, and a Misery.

As Katya stumbled for an answer, she didn't notice the two dragons glide from their perches to the ground, flanking the Bronze. Too concerned was she with trying to find a way to answer without bringing doom on her head, without causing Basionath any pain. "N- No. I couldn't, not after I saw their dragons not-" It was then she saw the dragons, and while the Wildfire was of little conern to her, it was the Misery that sent shivers down her spine and put fear in her heart.

With but a nod from the Weyrleader, Basionath was on the ground, screeching in pain, writhing in agony cause by some unknown source. It hurt! No, worse than hurt, there was no word to describe how horrible it felt, and the Silver opened her maw to screech again, begging for it to stop, for anything to make it better.

Katya screamed to, throwing herself at the ground before the Weyrleader, shaking. Please, not her! Don't hurt her!" She looked up at the cold eyes, and knew that there were few choices she would have. Weeping, she looked on as Basionath was tortured by the Misery, looked on as her love, her angel, suffered, until finally the wretched white beast stoppped, smiling faintly, to turn her wrath on Katya. The woman curled into a ball as pain shot through her body, seeming to touch every inch of her, as if she were burning slowly, ready to die but cursed enough that she wouldn't be given even that pathetic mercy. Her mind shut out Basionath, knowing that what the rider felt the dragon could feel as well if she left that link open. She'd felt every ounce of pain Basionath had felt, but watching the dragon suffer had been the worst. Even worse than what she felt now, worse than the full terror of a Misery unleashed on her. She wouldn't scream though, wouldn't give that satifction, instead biting into her cheek, through the skin until blood filled her mouth.

She could hear her Basionath, panting, nervously trilling, trying to understand why Katya had blocked the Silver form her mind. She could hear it all, the cold laugh of the Weyrleader as he finally let go of his age, replacing it with mirth at her brave silence. What seemed like hours passed, and finally, her ody started to numb, the pain fading into the darkness of unconciousness. Only when her mind had faded entirely did the Misery cease the onslaught, and only then were the walls of Katya's mind dropped, Basionath rushing foward to stand over her rider protectively, snarling at the Misery, at the Bronze, and at the Wildfire. She knew not who had caused it, or how, but she was sure it was one of them.

With a wry chuckle the Weyrleader and the dragons left, finally giving Basionath and Katya their peaceThe Silver never budged from her protective stance until Katya groaned, comming to and slowly sitting up, spitting out a outful of blood with a grimace. "Sio, Sio I'm so sorry..." Looking up at her beloved Silver, Katya regreted ever having been born, ever Impressing to the wonderful dragon, and most of all, ever exposing such a kind creature to the vile beings of Black Sands.

The Silver crooned softly and ducked her head to touch her nose to Katya's shoulder. Do not think such things. You meant well, and you wanted to return to your home. I love you, myKatya, and you were brave to spare me from your pain. Katya rose to her feet, and caefully the pair made their way to an empty weyr, where Katya quickly unloaded Basionath and they both colasped, their day long and miserable, and both needing rest above all else.

Days crawled by from there, and while no more attacks were launched by Miseries, there was plenty of more subtle torment. It was nothing they couldn't handle though, and seeing as most say Katya as a traitor, it was understandable.

But it was stopped abruptly when one day, a Wildfire who was busying herself with making Basionath miserabl fell tot he ground with a cry, shivering with silenced pain.

Basionath and Katya were astonished as they stared dumbly at the small group who'd come to their rescue, some of the few in the Weyr who didn't want to try and exterminate the rest of Pern. They were proud of the young woman and the Silver, they were happy the pair had come to Black Sands.

From then on, the Silverpair had an odd sort of protection, for any dragon who went after them was repaid in like, and things settled into an uneasy peace, though neither Katya nor Basionath could forget what had been done, it seemed it would never happen again.

Things are never as they seem.

Turns passed, and in time the Silverpair felt almost at home, though they dearly missed their former Talune. Twice, they tried to pleade for their transfer back, but both times they were refused, and morosely they continued on at Black Sands.

However, while some moved on, feeling that Katya and the Silver had suffered enough to reay their betrayal, the Weyrleader never forget, and he never let it go. After turns, he still was outraged, and he still plotted a way to truely make Katya sorry for what she'd done.

His chance appeared when one day Katya and Basionath were alone on the beach, after a long day of sunning and swimming, they were relaxing, Rukbat just starting to set on the horizon. He and his Bronze fetched a Misery, and paid a visit to the Silverpair.

They struck not the dragon this time, for they knew Silvers to be gentle, and saw no danger in Basionath, but Katya, a crippling pain shooting through her body, linding her, bringing to her lips a scream of agony that was silenced with a cloth over her mouth, her ears filled with laughter, sick, twisted, vengful. She didn't have the tmie to block her mind, didn't have to time to spare Basionath from knowing exactly what Katya felt. The worst had only just begun though, for the pain was only a short burst, enough to leave her panting, shaking, and nearly unable to move. The cloth was still covering her mouth, and as her vision cleared she saw the face that hung over her, the face of her Weyrleader, his dark eyes excited, eager, and she shudder to think what he had planned. Basionath was separated, the Bronze blocking her path, the Misery lingering just in sight, a warning, that if anyone pushed to ar, if anyone fought back, there would be hell to pay for it.

Basionath could have dealt with t hat, for Katya was physically unharmed, and she would be fine, but what happened next sickened the Silver beauty, and turned one of Pern's gentlest dragons into a beast that would rival the most vicious, though for only a short time.

While Katya was trying to recover her senses fully, the Weyrleader crouched over her, tugging at his belt and his breeches, in preparation for an act so criminal, so dark, so utterly cruel, that few would imagine a man of any respect doing it. He tore at Katya's clothing, as she gained enough wit to try and fight back the Misery incapacitated her again, long enough for the man to gain control of her, to pin her to the ground under him, and to thrust himself into her, violating her in the worst of ways. All the while, he would laugh gleefully, the more Katya fought it, the more she tried to scream, the more she wept hot tears, the more he enjoyed it. Through the whole thing, the Misery would send jolts of pain through Katya's body, keeping her only aware enough that she kenw what was happening, that she knew what was being done to her.

This is what drove the silver to a point none thought possible previously. She waited until the Misery was occupied, the Bronze having become complacent, arrogant and sure of himself, and so the Silver struck with letal speed and force. Like a bolt of lightning she had her metallic jaws wrapped around the Misery's throat, with a shake of her head the spine snapped, the pale dragon going limp without a sound to signal her untimely end.

The Bronze was next, for he'd been caught off guard, but even he was no fool, and he saw the death of the Misery. Snarling he charged the Silver, every intent to kill her, to tearher heart from her chest still beating and fling it in the face of her rider. THAT was how you made someone pay!

The two dragons clashed against eachother, snarling and raring at eachother as they clawed and snapped, wings battering wildly to try and knock back the other. It was utter chaos, and neither rider was aware, not until a heavy thud shook the very ground, and the man screeched, leaping away from Katya with a ragged gasp and staring in disbelief at his Bronze. Or... What was left of the Bronze. For a moment he could only stare, until a mass of meat was thrown at him, hitting him in the chest and knocking him down.

The heart of the Bronze, though unfortunatey it was no longer beating.

Basionath turned her attentions to the Weyrleader, the man to stunned by the bleeding chunk of flesh to move, to notice his comming death, and so when the sharp teeth sliced through his midsection cleanly, he knew not, his death to mercifully quick, though in the seconds before he had asuffered moe than nearly any man or woman to lose their dragon.

Panting, the Silver turned to Katya, any anger wiped away as she lowered herself to th side of her bonded, crooning, begging that the woman be alight, that the woman live. Katya, shaking, held fast to her dragon, clinging to the metallic hide for all she was worth. Her angel... Her savior...

It was the last time anything was attempted on the Silver or her rider, for while Basionath never showed signs of any agression, none doubted who was responsible for the deaths that day, and all eyes that fell on the Silver were filled with mingled caution and respect.



Father: K'layn of Brown Masioniayth (Black Sands Weyr; Deceased)
Mother: Taolien (drudge; Black Sands Weyr)
Siblings: None that Katya knows of, though there could be any number of half-siblings, from her father
Notables:Un-named Weylingmaster of [color=lightblueUn-named Blue; D'ron of Onyx Varanth; Unknown Silver hatchling; Unknown Brown hatchling; Un-named Miseries(2); Un-named Wildfire(1); Un-named ]Weyrleader and Bronze

Pets: Black myrr Montegoro (Monte)
For a myrr who has yet to master speech, Monte is incredibly bright. Unlike many he does not chase after others and chirrup senselessly, but rather, perches atop Basionath's skull and watches silently, his bright eyes never missing a thing. Like the jewels, he can parrot words, though not nearly so wide a range of words can be managed. More often than not he manages to call out Katya and Basionath's names, though he cannot say all of the Silver's name, and often calls her 'Sio'. Why he found a part of the name in the very middle easiest if rathe rperplexing, but he manages to chant it well enough. While a little tempermental, the myrr is generally a sweet creature, affectionate to those around, and adoring of his human.

His hide is a dull, matte black, no variation, no changes, almost dull, save for a tiny mark on his chest. It is not easily visable, only in the right lighting, but a deep purple 'x' is sprawled there.



Dragon Name: Basionath
Dragon Color: Silver
Age: 9 turns

Personality: There are any facets to the mind that lies behind Basionath, like every creature that exists not everything is seen at a simple glance. Once a gentle creature, hatched of the warm, tawny sands of that Weyr, and raised with the mind of their dragons. A part of her still holds dearly to that, still clings hopefully to the life she once knew.

However, the turns of constantly moving from one dear home to the next have sealed that part of the Silver away, hidden from all but Katya, all but the most dear rider.

There is a disappointment that lingers in her every action, that has become so fused with who she is that it is hard for Basionath to think of herself in any other way. She is still a Silver in her manner, sweet and nuturing, but it is with a careful guard that she does so, for she knows the pains of heartbreak, and knows her life has been changed so many a-time that to throw herself to the hope of a happy life in any one home is senseless. She would throw herself before an angry Magma to save another, is she thought it would do any good, for her heart is pure, no matter what other parts of her have been stained by time.

Basionath is a ponderous creature as well, spending much time alone, thinking deeply on matter that are truely of little concern to her. Much time is wasted on the pursuit of why Black Sands Weyr so hates everyone else, and why she was welcomed openly when she and Katya arrived. The Silver is no fool, she has watched countless dragons come and receive less a welcome, even watched them be run off, hence her fixation with that simple question. She is not happy with the thought of fighting, hates it to the very core of her being. Had she the courage to face Xanturnoth she would tell him that, tell him that it is foolish to want to pit dragon against dragon, though he seems set on it. She does not understand why the dragons hatched of Black Sands find themselves so much better than any other, even if she too has prospered from some of the odd effects of the Weyr.

She is not the most social creature, though she will gladly sit and listen it is rare for her to engae in conversation, for her to open up and get really involved in much of anything. It is easier to let others think what they would, and many give her more credit than she deserves in some aspects, than to speak. The saying from old Terran, "it is wiser to keep one's mouth shut and be though wise, than to open it and be proved a fool."

Somehow, like any silver before or after her, she has managed not be become bitter. she is guarded and careful, but it is not depression, and on a good day the Silver can be seen playing in the warm waters, or dozing contentedly on a beach, with Katya nearby. Like every Silver is made, programmed in a sense, Basionath holds no grudges, has no real hate towards anyone. There are ideas she dislikes, some that any Silver would hate which leaves her as no exception, but she finds herself unable to think back on the Weyrleader and the Bronze she was forced to kill and reard them with anything but a passive distaste, where some dragons would be thrown into a new rage at the very thought of what had happened, no matter how long ago it was.

For all her flaws and differences from most any other Silver, she still wishes to return to Talune Weyr, for she miosses the Weyr of her hatching deeply, and it is the only thng that can damage her spirits, though never for long.

There will be the days when the Silver sits on her ledge, thinking, and something reminds her of Talune, maybe the way a Brown acts, or the look in a Green's eye as she shoots into the air to Rise. Sometimes as simple as the sound of water lapping against the shores. At those times, the Silver will grow pensive, remembering all the happier things she had before they came to Black Sands, and it is then she feels the faint stain of depression tugging at her heart. Easily, though, it is wiped away by Katya's face, for no matter how much she wishes to be elsewhere, she has grown immensely close to the woman, despite their differences, and she couldn't bear the thought of leaving a place that Katya wanted to go, because she worries it would hurt the woman.

Basionath is also highly protective of Katya, and considering all they have been through, it is entirely understandable. It is the one thing she will not budge on. She hates to see people touch the woman, and has to struggle to keep herself under control when they do, for not always is harm intended, and it would be wrong if she were to attack anyone and everyone who so much as brushed against Katya. Though the Silver can keep herself under control, she will bristle, and her eyes will narrow as she stares warily on, ready to jump to the defense of Katya at a moment's notice. Unfortunately, this protective streak seems to be the biggest influence Black Sands has had on the Silver, for much of the rest is small compared.

Appearence: Basionath is a wonderous creature, and it is hard to find another Silver to match her. Her head is never held low, always her curving, sinewous neck is arched regally, her step sure, never a trace of doubt of worry crossing the hues of her eyes or marking her hide with a line. The base shade for her wonderous figure is a color knownn only in the form of a precious metal, one valued above all others, white gold. Brilliant in radiance, and when she pads from the depths of the waters after a bath, few can stand to look right at her if Rukbat is high in the sky above, and few clouds linger. Over this wonderful color, almost sinfully staining it, are markings, as dark as midnight, dappling her flanks delicately. Her legs, graceful pillars that move with more regality than any creature could possibly conceive, are banded, alternating the dark, sinful shade with the bright, glorious white gold hue, to just past her knees, just past that crucial joint.

Her face is among her most notable features, and that is indeed saying something. She has a strong jaw, one that hints faintly at a streak of stubborness, her eyes shaped kindly, so that nom atter her mood there is a gentle appearance to her, deceptive as it may be. Carefully placed, almost as though painted by an artist of great skill, shaped to define and accent her eyes, bring out certain features, to highlight the way light strike the curve of her cheek, and to add to that sense of a gentle heart, a sweet mind that is untainted-

Or, this is what she once looked like. Now, thrown over her body cruelly is a fdark shadow, a pale black veil that dulls her glory, that dims the radiance of her hide, the same dark cast that stains the hides of every dragon to reside in Black sands. Despite the shape of her eyes, in the color there seems something missing, in the expression the true feeling is almost gone. The only thing truely unchanged about this beauty is the color of her claws, they alone remain that glorious, pure, untainted shade of silver, of white gold. She can be caught staring at them almost longing, recalling her lif before she came to Black Sands, her life before Katya retruned to her birth-place.

While still the Silver moves with an etheral grace, it is automatic, monotone. Her head still rises above many, still the muscles of her slender boa hold up the wonderous cramium.

Her build is light, delicate, a rare flower in a feild of weeds. Her stilts long anf flowing, her wings fanning their great expanse to shadow the ground in perfect unison with the rest of her size, that of an average Silver, no great beast of grandure, but no meek peasent of a ceature either. Muscles play under her metallic hide across her flanks, her chest, coiling in ropey lengths down her legs to her paws.

As if to make the worst insult of all, Basionath's glorious hide is scarred, not badly, but in small marks over her chest and shoulders, dark little marks that are her reward for attacking a Bronze. They are the same shade as the dappled marking over her flanks, and many who do not know her think nothing of the scars, counting them as part of the coloration, just another marking. Which is how both the Silver and Katya want to keep it. To draw attention to them would beg questions of how a Silver managed to get scarred up, and one of the pair would admit to a fight, the next question being with who. Not that anyone in the Weyr isn't aware of it, but it is still a relatively touchy subject for some, and best left alone in the cellars of the minds of all. The scars are actually rather atractive on Basionath, despite their origins, and were she a vain beast she would be tempted to flaunt them, for few other dragons bear such interestings marks to declare their individuality.


Other: Word Count: 10979

Calliope is mad


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[Desert]

-dies- Mittens, your Calliope is utterly insane. i both envy and pity you for your epic Muse. how can i do anything but accept this absurdly long profile?

[Lyrikitty]

Hmm... you could screams and shout and make a fool of yourself while refusing to accept it because it is too long?

[Onyxaeon]

Even though you murdered poor Aeon's hopes of being an epic muse, I have to give yours her dues. -Hugs a sobbing Aeon- In any case, you've already fixed the Onyx hatchling issue, and I don't care for the Brown's similar name since he's long gone by now, that just leaves the idea of a Silver. Without a doubt, in my my mind, they're the only entirely selfless color on here. And you grasped that perfectly when you had her chose another rider to chose the one who needed it more. Personal happiness means nothing to a Silver: thay don't care for it, will never seek it, and wouldn't understand it if asked. And you met that too. As for the murders...-Sighs- As I've said in the cbox, I can't see any Silver as that violent. It's just never been pushed to that extent, because people who end up with Silvers are general peacegoers: there's not much pain in that. However, given the situation that it came from, it is understandable. But, it should be noted she wont be able to hate those she's killed. Clean slate. Hate isn't in her blood and, I'm sorry if you planned that to be so, but that's the only way you can play her true to her hue. She will know, and she will accept it, but as far as lingering, she's done. Let her wings droop in depressing memories and she cant be allowed to share that title of gentle Silver. APPROVED.

[Desert]

Calliope is not mad. she is completely and utterly and irrevocably insane. Melpomene and i are going to put your Muse into a straight jacket and commit her into an asylum to give you a break. you can borrow Melpomene for the time being.

[Lyrikitty]

*throws self at Desert's feet* Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I have no idea what got into her about this, or why she'd go bezerk over a Silver and rider. Of all the things she could have chosen... *hides* Please, keep her away until she's under control again!