Prymelia's Drinker of the Desert Winds Green Issaeryth

Prymelia… Prymelia… Did you think that we would let you escape?! We crushed your home, bound your life to our fair, jungle shores fully with the intent to keep you tethered and chained here. All manner of freedom bottled within the confines of your Lady! We hope you love and adore her, and we hope that Southern is everything you hoped it would be! You are ours now and we are never letting you go!! ~ Hannah, Bailey, T’ral

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For every great story, there is a beginning. Your beginning does not start with an egg, nay, it starts with a flight. A flight that brought together the frozen tundras to a child of the desert sands, wrapped in the cognac of aged wisdom. As it begins, so it will end: In the heat of a sumptuous moment, set upon the soft cushions of desire as a thousand tales unfold…

… Let us begin with a little egg a girl chanced to gaze upon…

Clutching Pose

From the sands below, Khalyssrielth, fortified, is ready for more. Folding her wings back against her body, the gold soldiers on. It's too bad that Pern's pop culture consists of Thread, Thread, and more Thread. For the next batch of eggs that emerge in slow motion from her body are comical representations of a bad harper's tale made fun of by a crowd of judging onlookers, while the hints of fractals dance across an egg that would sing its own song ere it could. It's the last egg that draws the attention: there is no schwartz here, only the battle of light and dark.

… That she dared to touch with the fingers of her hand…

Questions riddling her thoughts as the first hints of an alien mind takes root…

Let It Go Egg

Frozen fractals dance their way across this egg's shell, expanding their icy grip in patterns of geometric perfection. While the base of the egg is a deep blue, the patterns above it are frosty white. It appears to be frozen, which means whoever touches it will be in for a surprise when it's actually warm. The opposite of touching an ice cold coal, it just doesn't seem to fit.

… and yet the story cumulates into the pinnacle moment of that first contact…

… when she realizes that something else was able to delve into the darkest parts of her soul, capturing the deepest of secrets even she would keep from the meddlesome fingers around her…

Hatching Message

Let It Go Egg shifts in the sands, a tremor rapturing over the frost-rimed shell; there is life within, held prisoner to the antiquated standards of yesterday. The inhabitant will not bear these shackles much longer… the soul within seeks to be free to dance upon the Sands, of Southern and of time alike; this soul was never meant to be fettered. A sharp crack fogs the crystalline clarity of the shell's repose, and in the shards that shower outward, only freedom incarnate in a stout-standing dragonet of graceful green remains.

… but this egg hatched into her destiny, the first book of a trilogy almost complete…

Drinker of the Desert Wind Green Dragonet

How lovely is the celadon silk of her peerless hide, glowing with good health and effortless grace; how elegant the sweep of steadfast stature, soft and solid and strong. Broad be her base and considerately endowed her chest, the deep wellspring of her femininity echoing in the graceful curves of high-arching neckridges, the measured drape of marbled wingsails fitted with the warm adornments of aged-ivory wingspars, the courtly camber of wide-hewn paws similarly accoutred. She is not without nuance, for there is an opulent refinement to the cast of fine features; t'is simply that she is as bold as the striation of jeweled emerald among the milky jade of her hide, exposing stippled fault-lines as carelessly as the charming dapples of her fearless fortitude.

Public Impression Pose

Drinker of the Desert Winds Green Dragonet has reached the end of the line, the sultry grace that hums through awkward limbs weaving her to the one who stands free. A shining fall of dark hair matted with rain and tangled in the lash of the storm. The green pauses, holding herself ever so correctly to prevent the further embarrassment of falling to the feet of the one who sang to her of dreams. Despite the rain, the wind, the lash of lightning and the howl of thunder, between her and her Chosen, there is only the sanctum sanctorum of a moment shared on a bed of diamonds. A low croon of acceptance, a higher susurration of sound that echoes as a soft sigh of finally. In the midst of the tempest of the storm, the hot-blooded Drinker of the Desert Winds Green Dragonet has found the soul she yearns for, and only in that finding does she finally tip forward on legs too weak and presses her nose into the soft belly of the dark-haired girl.

Private Impression Message

Your old life shattered with the sundering of your wagon, Prymelia, but fear not, for your future is forever changed in this moment that hangs eternal, this one heartbeat roaring in your ears. This is a story for the ages, clad in sumptuous silk and parching desert heat; this is a story in drifting incense and the heady intoxication of unwatered wine. « It started with an egg, » so muses a voice of cultured elegance, so heartbreakingly beautiful; so sweet the susurration of sound that you may yet cry upon the Sands. Every striking syllable washes clean the damage of your days, breathing new life and dawning fortune onto the fate of your changed future. For your future will never be as it was before, Prymelia. « … and it ended with a new beginning. Fitting, I think, for this the story of our lives. » It is obvious Issaeryth thinks so. Perhaps then, so should you, rider.

[[>]] … this trader girl with the fiery spirit and willful dervish of intentions has found her one true soul mate; love resounds at last, the credits closing upon an ending but not the ending… [[/>]]

The Inspirations

… A thousand tales are formed from the clay of intent…

Egg Inspiration

Had to do it. Hopefully you don't already have twenty Frozen inspired eggs. I just love the film and this egg is inspired by Elsa building her ice palace.

Theme Inspiration

Our eggs were cold, so it makes sense that our dragons would be hot! With our theme being hot things, we opted to go with the overarching theme of Hotbloods for inspiration. Not only does Dame Judi Dench have hotbloods, it gave us tie-in’s to touch upon the exotic and lavish Arabians and the scorching heat of decadence set against the punishment of the desert. This ties in the wildness of spirit, the length and breadth of a far off land to marry against the proper refinement of a lady.

Even the dragonet name embodies the free spirit, the the wildness of the Arabian horse: hot blooded, just like you are Prymelia. Known for endurance, as well, we are very confident that you'll be able to make the long run through life, rising to all of the occasions Issaeryth deigns to drag you through. Incidentally, Drinker of the Wind is one of the names attributed to the first Arabian horse.

Beware, Prymelia, because just as you relish your wildness against imposing figures as K’ane, you’ll find your own hands full dealing with a lady that has a whole different set of tools to her disposal.

Are you ready?

Because we are.

Description Inspiration

The inspiration of Issaeryth's description comes from a simple handful of sources. There is first her build - stout but refined - that is suggestive of an Anglo Arab or even an Egyptian Arab; a heaviness of form that doesn't preclude loveliness.

Then there is her color:

A soft celadon with darker emerald striated through it as marble: the color of the above teapot, with the colors more broadly dispersed.

Name Inspiration

Prymelia, Prymelia… Prymelia. Issaeryth’s name was not one pulled with ease. As with any refined lady, it takes several generations before the true treasure is exposed. As Scheherazade wove a thousand and one nights of stories, so too did we toss about a thousand and one names. Closer and closer, through the generations of breeding of different meanings — taken from Persia, Scheherezade, Dame Judy Dench’s life, the movies she’s been in — we finally settled upon a name. Born of everything we could put into your dragon: refinement, opulence, and adventure, she’s truly taking a life of her own.

Your Issaeryth!

It rolls off the tongue with a hint of Scheherazade's repetition of syllables and more than a hint of the British elite, which we think is fitting.

Hannah pronounces it as, Iss-SAER-Rith; Bailey’s pronunciation is 'iss-AIR'th'; and T’ral’s pronunciation is, iss-AIR-ith (which is basically Hannah’s pronunciation).

However we pronounce it, what matters is how you and Issaeryth come to pronounce it. She is, after all, the story in your tale of a thousand and one adventures to carry you through the end of your lives together.

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… Intent is what inspires the intricacies of the plots, pitting character against character to inspire the stories told by many…

Mindvoice

Ezzat-e har kas be-dast-e ân kas ast.

Every man is the architect of his own fortune.

Heat. It’s the first thing you felt; the first thing you remember as night closes after that singular, pivotal point of impression. Perhaps you can so keenly feel the way the sands heated even the soles of your sandals, or how the grit of the black-and-white grains clung to the the bottoms of your calves as you stood out on those Hatching Sands with the cacophony of shells cracking shattering all around you. Memories, however, are sometimes malleable, especially when you can feel — but don’t remember — the cool caress of the sweet touch of night, winding through the heat. Hints of starlight will infiltrate your vision in that first night of chaos in the barracks. The cool, clipped voice of another’s mind wound through yours like the narrator of a greater story. Rich, textured; the melodic sound that hovers in the perfection between alto and soprano is so refined that you might question if that voice is meant for you.

See, Awakening will happen slow at first. As a baby, her essence is encapsulated in the cool clipped refined voice that shudders through the heat of an expansive desert of rolling dunes that’s unlike Igen’s scrubby desert lands. Towering mountains of sands, little pockets of life, all surrounded by sand, sand, sand and more sand.

« Prymelia. »

A refined voice. A Storyteller’s voice. For all of the reserve of her voice, her presence does not carry that refined, stilted, aloof hint of nobility. It’s heat. Heat is at her very core; a sumptuous, vast expanse of heat that comes with impressions of rolling sand dunes dotted with the date palms protruding from between great dunes of golden sands, wavering like a mirage to lure you further, deeper, ever twining with the female presence that curls like the most precious of rubies at the center of it all. Opulence graces the desert in hues of gold and wine, a rich red that’s woven through everything: heat.

Despite this these first days of desert sand clouding your vision and making your skin tingle with an unseen itch, her presence is queenly. And from that first night to the end of nights, she will regale you with stories of her day. As a green, her memory is fleeting, but her stories, told often enough, will be forever. They drift like the grains of golden sand that form the dunes of her internal mindscape. Each one absorbs that which is forgotten and is told in the nightly re-telling.

As she grows, however, she will slowly begin to add other aspects to the desert that stretches as far as the eye can see. That will never dissipate; in her world, there is only the opulence of the oasis, but it's this oasis that she will bolster as she comes to understand the meanings of life.

At first, you'll notice splashes of deep reds matched with the filigrees of pure, fourteen carat gold set in the tented palace held in the center of the oasis. An oasis that showcases the burbling of water with droplets reflecting the bright desert sun like diamonds, and the date palms that swish and sway; her inner self is truly beautiful. Queenly, in a sensuous manner, for the palace she builds in the center of her desert lands is richly appointed with all of the finer things in life.

See, Prymelia, at this point in her life, she is the assault on the senses. Not only in the rush of heat that infuses the body, but in the sights, smells, tastes and sounds of richness, of the old country. Not just reminiscent of your trader roots, nay, she is more than that. She is royalty of a time gone by, before Pern's landscape was rocked by a comet. She is the senses embodied and her favorite subject is you. Rich red wine on the tongue, the slip of silk against your body, the cool touch of gold to your skin: she will wrap all of these around you.

Issaeryth is a hot blooded female, bold and sensual, but she retains a deep thread of royalty to her that holds her aloof from the others around her. You might be aware of the heat that lies beneath the cool facade of royal precision, but others will not. They will see only the opulence, only the desert, and only the soft looks bedecked in the riches of a very long bloodline.

She's got a fire in her, your Issaeryth, but she's not disdainful of her siblings — or even of the dragons of the weyr. In fact, it's quite the opposite, for however aloof and precise her demeanor might be. For however, sweet and untouchable she may appear to be emotionally, she has a great interest and curiosity in the world and people in it that surround her. Especially for those who call Southern home, these are her people. To be cared for, to be loved, to be talked to.

That's right, Prymelia. Your Issaeryth loves to share, and wound so much into the story-telling penchant to you in nightly occurrence, sometimes she will tell the entire weyr of your secrets. Cha'el, of all the riders of Southern, might commiserate a touch for having just gone through something similar at Igen, but expect K'ane to take no quarter.


See. Your secrets are never safe. Did we say never? We said never. It's not that Issaeryth has a malicious bone in her body, but memories are the river of the soul and she would treasure each and every memory you make. Bad, good, average; all of them form the firmament upon which everything rests and knowing the short life of her own memory, she will create this behavior in order to retain as much of your life as she possibly can. You are the most important person in her life. You are the ruby that she treasures, the heart of everything.

It's just that sometimes, she'll project these stories to more than just you. More than just your wing. More than just those around her. In the beginning, when you're learning, it will happen quite often until you get the hang of the mindlink and learn control.


Issaeryth has no specific mind scent that she uses; the whole range of the sensual world is at her disposal: myrrh, incense, lavender, florals, spices, even the musk of sweat.

In the last stages of her life, when she's lived the full-bodied youth of recklessness and brash decisions, the essence of her mindvoice will shift yet again. Always, the deserts will be the foundation of everything. The opulence of a princess coming into her prime, but there will come a day when Issaeryth will become the queen of her little part of the world. It's here that she'll learn to expand outward, touching the minds of other and leaving a lingering touch. It's now, that she'll subtly recruit the dragons of other weyrs to come to Southern.

In this way, she embodies the British invasion — even if it only touches upon the mindvoice, upon the interactions with other dragons.


Inverse to the expansion of her realm, she will attempt to draw her conquests to her, to further build the world that is Southern. This compulsion is light; she is and always will be aware of her status within the weyr, but if her brief links with those around her leave niggling little desires to come and bolster the subjects of Southern Weyr, then what harm does it do?

What harm, indeed, Prymelia? Are you prepared to handle the essence of Issaeryth? Or will you cave to the heat of her hedonistic desires?

It begins and ends in heat, Prymelia. For her, there is ever only you to please. In everything, love, life, death, she winds the threads of her world around the desires of your heart. It is writ upon the sand, the palace tents, the golden jewelry and upon even the taste of red wine that sometimes coats your tongue. Something only you will ever taste.

« Now. Let's have some tea. »

Oh yes. Did we forget to mention that she can be proper? Well, there's a lot we didn't mention, but that's for you to discover, for the essence of your Issaeryth is much, much too large to be encapsulated in mere words.

Welcome, greenrider.

Physicalities

You know her voice, dearest Prymelia, now you must learn how she explores her physical world and marvel at the perfection of body and form that is Issaeryth. That's not to say that she's perfect so much as she's perfect for you. Her blood runs hot and her desires hotter.

So without further ado, let us begin with the first days.


The Yearling…


From that blissful moment on the sands when Issaeryth shelled into the lady she's become in your mind, you knew that she was different. It's not so much that she's dainty or small or feminine; it's more that the heaviness of form is regal in comparison to the others of her color. She straddles line between nobility and free-spirit, converging in a singular point of perfection. As you are not a small girl, neither is she, but that does not preclude loveliness. Her lines are clean, strong, and built for the endurance of the fight.

In all your life as a trader and as a woman, you've never found yourself as enamored with the beauty of something as much as you find yourself enamored with Issaeryth. She is perfection and those first nights in the weyrling barracks will be a test to your ability to sleep as excitement curls within your chest and you check over every inch of her lithe form. Powerful, even as a baby, curled in youthful slumber. Your heart will ache for the lovely set of her features: the ornate delicacy to the wedge shape of her head, the aged ivory of talons and the gentility of wing spars. You'll marvel at the complexity of her color up close: tracing the veining of her wings, the softness of the colors of her hide.

As a baby, Issaeryth is soft to the touch: plushy almost without being fat. Enjoy this softness, Prymelia, for it will not last. She may start as an elegant child-dragon, carrying the baby fat that they all do, but as she grows older you'll find that she'll slowly start to lean out, and that soft hide will transition into the feel of velour encased strength.

Even while you marvel at her beauty in those first days newly shelled, you will also marvel at how very, very awkward she is when she moves around. You'll come to find some stark and startling similarities in how Issaeryth slowly learns how to use her limbs and the runner foals that your trader's family has had over the turns of your life. That oil pot? Knocked over, right into your fellow weyrling's couch. That tub of meat? Issaeryth will barrel into that entirely unintentionally until she's gained control of her hind legs.

This initial, startlingly awkward period will last but a bare month or two, because Issaeryth is not a dragon that tolerates weaknesses well, and she will learn how to use her body. One day, she'll still feel like she's barely able to move and another day it will seem as if a light switch has been turned on: suddenly, her movements are fluid and full of grace. She will have this sweeping presence that will draw the eye to the graceful, proud carriage she bears. Her head held high, her neck arched just so, and her stance will all point to a deep well of pride and sumptuous regality that might just leave you in awe those first few times you see her move.

She is a different sort of female, your Issaeryth. Secure in being on the larger spectrum of greens, for all that proud carriage and all of that nobility carries with it an aura of confidence that will seep into your bones, Prymelia. Not that you'll need the confidence, but if you ever do, your green has a never ending pool of it. Sized closer to the lower end of the size spectrum for a nowtimer blue, when it comes to Threadfall, this proud carriage will do her well in easily lasting a full half-fall, even in youth. So even if you find yourself comparing the ethereal delicacy of Kaiyth to Issaeryth after they've reached their full maturity, you'll realize that it is Issaeryth that is the heat of your heart, that is strong enough to withstand all of what you are, and pales (in your eyes) to Kaiyth's eternal fragility.

Except…

When Issaeryth is in her coltish days, barely able to walk and you compare her to Kaiyth, you'll wonder just how green dragons manage to make it to full growth. Clumsiness paired with the scrawniness of her much smaller sibling, perhaps you and Niyati can spend nights bonding over just how you both managed to get the not-so-cream of the crop. Of course, Issaeryth will reach her potential first, and privately you might breathe a sigh of relief that no, you are not saddled with a lifemate that's forever trapped in a foal's body.

In the sky, air, or water, this elegance of carriage and smoothness of movement will hold true. She is a strong, smooth flier, and many will marvel at her elegance and beauty when she takes to the skies. She will not be battered about the thermals like poor little Kaiyth. Nay, her pride is strong and true and as deep as your own. Issaeryth excels most at flight, will often disdain the water except for a penchant of sunning next to the water.

Bath times are a neutral affair; you'll never have to force her into them nor will she naturally gravitate to them. Yet once the act of washing is done, she will relish in the oiling that comes next. That, see, is pampering. Especially as she grows and the itching flares up as a hot gust of sand in your mind. All of that marbling? That's the point of contention when it comes to the itching, especially where they intersect. You'll spend candlemarks oiling her. If Issaeryth is vain in anything, it is ensuring that her hide does not crack and that she is properly oiled.

All of that growth will lead to the desires of the palate. And trust us, Prymelia, she is fastidious about acceptable foods. The luscious taste of unfettered, unwatered down red wine will carry you into the refined gentility of her particulars.


The Elegance of Repast

Issaeryth might be a desert beauty in heart, but she is an English noblewoman in soul. And with this comes a very distinct expectation around what and how she eats. From the earliest moments to the final days of your life, she will carry this refined taste that will drive you to cut her meat into the tiniest portions. Never will she chew so vulgarly, and in fact, will often get onto her siblings for it.

Not only will she get onto her siblings, she will get onto you for not behaving properly when it comes to food and drink.


Even when she can hunt on her own, it will be a chore. That first day of hunting will bring such excitement (and relief at no longer spending candlemarks cutting up little cubes of meat) when all of you file out to the training pens to learn to hunt. Oh, Issaeryth has wicked talons and a sense of predation lurking beneath the fullness of her lady's heart. However, long after the last weyrling has fed, she will still be circling the air, waiting for just the right herd beast.

Have you heard of Kobe beef? Of course not! This is Pern, not earth. Be glad you don't know what Kobe beef is, but if there's an equivalent of such things, then your Issaeryth will want it. She will pick the cream of the crop and then take hours eating it. Now, that doesn't mean she'll take hours killing it. Those wicked, sharp talons are the beautiful death: quick to dispatch. However, eating is an art form. One does not simply rush one's meal. So no matter what you are doing — visiting Igen? High Reaches? — when she goes to eat, it will be a long affair. She will have an appetizer (usually an avian) that will be followed by the sumptuous sup of blood fresh from the jugular, that will be followed by the slow consumption of said beast. Dessert usually entails another small avian or two, although sometimes she will fish up the fishes in the river to chase down her meals with.

It is an affair, no matter what she eats. Or when she eats. Throughout the entire process, red wine is thick on your tongue. Do you remember so long ago when you hugged that lovely alcohol looking egg? Well this will be your Curse, dear Prymelia. To forever taste the fullness and thickness of red wine when she eats.

It doesn't matter what you are eating or not eating at the time.

We hope you like wine.

Oh, and tea.

Issaeryth will enjoy all the flavors of tea and biscuits that she can get you to drink and eat. Klah? Forget about it! It is always, always, always time for tea.

As your green slowly infuses elegance into your trader's self, Prymelia, you'll begin to discover that eating, physical movements, are but the tip of the iceberg to your Issaeryth. It is the secret places that will delight and thrill you.


The Secrets of Issaeryth


As you live and grow and build your lives together, you'll discover many secrets about Issaeryth that you won't discover in those early days of weyrlinghood; she is a living creature that is defined by the acts she does and NOT by a script of life. That being said, in your first days as a weyrling, the most startling thing about your lifemate is how utterly soft she is. Velveteen. Given to a slight plush that will go away over time and exercise. As she leans out, the strength carried in muscles and bones will feel like velvet-over-steel, but she will always hold this lovely softness to her body. Your fingertips as they traverse the lines of her body will never cease in their desire to pet the softest parts of her: her nose, the underside of her chin, and oddly enough the proud headknobs she carries. These are her key places and inasmuch as you enjoy exploring these spots, so does she enjoy your explorations. Issaeryth likely will not tolerate anyone else enjoying these spots, however.

Outside of her softness, you'll slowly begin to realize that your dragon has dainty feet. Small and strong, yes, but they are smaller than what you'd expect in a dragon of her size. They lend her a prancing gait when she's full grown, showing the spirited female that lurks within all of that celadon glory.

As the lights go down, and the night falls, it is the evening rituals that might mean the most to you, Prymelia. Even if she does not need it, she will still ask to be oiled. To be pampered. It is in the quiet moments that you will find comfort and succor in the travails of the day as you bask in the task of taking care of your girl. It is your together time as you brush her down, and oil her itchy spots and reconnect through tactile love. Sharing secrets and dreaming of what the next day has to offer.

Because, Prymelia. There is always tomorrow to sort out your worries.

« The night, dear one, the night is for //love. »//

Personality

=Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards.
=— Soren Kierkegaard

Have you quite any idea what you are in, Prymelia? Your Issaeryth is a creature of surpassing beauty, faultless elegance, peerless manners… and embodied with a desert-dry thirst that only a life-well-lived can quench. You are the pivot upon which the well-engineered lever of her life hinges, and you — only you, Prymelia — will she share wholly in the experiences that this vast journey of life promises.

There will be the minor enjoyments shared amongst clutchmate and, later, the life-affirming moments of fighting Thread with a cadre of her fellow wingmates, but they - all of these minor moments - will pale as bare sketches when compared against the masterwork of a single moment's quiet repose: Issaeryth with her beloved Prymelia. Her stories, her gentle chiding, her quiet blanketing influence that can both calm and inflame — they are first and forever for you.

That isn't to say that your Issaeryth won't enjoy her own life, well-lived. That isn't to say that at all.

To reduce Issaeryth to the parts that compose her is to diminish her somewhat, so here shall we strive to express the gestalt of her being; she is elegant and mannered to a fault, so similar to her sister Kaiyth in some ways, but what Issa lies claim to is a wild streak a Scottish mile wide, a sense of wicked humor that curls all unwittingly throughout the proper uprightness of her composure. There is a freedom to her that only comes from knowing oneself instinctively and not taking life too seriously.

Oh, she will buffet you with nagging reminders of etiquette and of a higher level of living than ever you had access to before, Prymelia, but these won't be the harridan demands of a woman focused solely on self-promotion. No, she berates you because it is in her nature to so do, to desire her life well-sorted and prim; but neither will she complain overmuch when the cart is upset and unwitting do all the apples fall! She is a dynamic soul that adapts to the conditions in which she finds herself, while having that rare ability to remain somehow true to her heart throughout any trial or tribulation — or sudden elevation, conversely — that life throws at the two of you.

First-shelled, she will bloom as a gregarious and unfettered youth, as if the rolling countryside of the British Isles loosed all the gently-reared children to have a revel; prepossessed and precocious, Issaeryth will give far better than she often gets, having little compunction over where her wounding words may wind. Unlike certain clutchmates of hers, however, Issa is given to learning, to growing, and as time goes by, incidents may turn out to be more learning experience than a saucy dose of sass forgotten in the moment. There will be a time when she's still figuring out how exactly all the parts of her preferences come together, when her quick tongue will get her in woeful amounts of trouble — oh, Prymelia, doesn't that just sound so familiar? No? We can't imagine why not; she has such an excellent role model, after all!

There is a time for jesting, you see, and a time for support, and too easily as the draconic equivalent of a child will she default to the former, reveling in quick snipes with the easy payout of laughter. She speaks as if well-bred, and her deportment will be impeccable otherwise, but woe the day that her pointed teasing is lead by self-inflated confidence to meddle with the likes of the weyrlingmasters lifemates: that may be the day YOU truly find yourself in hot water for your lifemate, and you eternally despairing of ever getting Issaeryth halfway under leash!

Don't take this to mean that she's an airhead, or mean-spirited. She will be a baby first and foremost, with a matronly side working hard to find outlet into her life and failing miserably; it's no surprise that she will turn towards pithy remarks, well-timed, and the warmth of her peers' tacit acknowledgement of just how clever she can be. There are few things as obnoxious as a clever person not balanced by the gravity that life experience brings, and Issaeryth will be insufferable as only a very clever dragon may be. However… it will be hard to hold it against her, since she is given to giggling about anything bawdy, a titter drawn from her almost against her will, as if she can't ever quite grasp that she's capable of such crude humor.

She's supposed to be a lady, after all!

Maturity is sometimes hard-earned, and in Issaeryth's case, the solid weight of her personality doesn't actually make this any easier. You see, though she is impetuous and headstrong, the worst punishments she will ever come up against are the ones she devises for herself. She is a thoughtful dragon — and the torment of her own guilt will be like the salted welts of a thousand lashes, once someone points out to her that her sharp words have far more lasting repercussions than a moment's laugh in the moment.

=M: Arrogance and self-awareness seldom go hand in hand.

Eventually, these guilty moments will be enough to overcome the issue of draconic memory, a reckoning destined. The how and the what and the when of it — fate's fancy may blend these threads, and no one has a glass ball to see the specifics of Issaeryth (and your own!) future. However, this reckoning will certainly occur, and in the aftermath it will leave Issaeryth as profoundly different as her earlier physical change, shooting from coltish length of limb to rounded grace.

Evelyn Greenslade: But it's also true that the person who risks nothing, does nothing, has nothing. All we know about the future is that it will be different. But perhaps what we fear is that it will be the same. So we must celebrate the changes.

— The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel

After this internal reckoning - or perhaps epiphany? - Issa will finally test the waters of her true personality, the one that emerges dichotomous in both tentativeness and strength. She will be more reflective, more given to waiting and listening and thinking before speaking. The effect of this is that it will give her a considerable boost in personality's weightiness, and more of her mothering side will rise as a result. Watching instead of merely reacting, combined with her native intelligence, will shape her humor and how she presents the things she thinks… even the clever things.

It will make her drier in tone, subtler in shades, this newfound maturity. It will tint the way she views the world, the way she interacts with it — even, to a point, the way she interacts with you. As this will likely coincide her own maturity gained, or be approximate to that time in her life, it shouldn't be of any surprise that her personality will fluctuate until settling in, solid once more; quieter but no less extroverted, given less to rash impulse and more to simple whimsy. She ceases to be so reckless, you could say, but without the harsh rebound to the far side of cautious; nothing could ever made Issaeryth less bold, after all. This is just a tempering, an understanding of emotional politics.

=Philomena: But I don't wanna hate people. I don't wanna be like you. Look at you.
=Martin Sixsmith: I'm angry.
=Philomena: Must be exhausting.

And isn't it, Prymelia? You, red — that's right, we called you Red, deal with it! — you are all about the grudges, all about the heat of the moment. But the older Issaeryth grows, the less tolerant is she of the grudges you so cherish to have. What's that? Some candidate dropped a dirty spoon in your soup and made you get another one, so now you have set out to, hmm, bedazzle his only sad pair of house-slippers? She may think, sensibly so, that the slippers are much improved by the inclusion of rhinestones, but what she won't do is let you go on mindlessly locked into Grudge Match Mode.

It isn't that she can shake you from it, of course, but hers is a storyteller's prerogative, a narrator's particular point-of-view, and the bird's eye view will allow her to laser in on those cherished hatreds of yours. She'll fire them up, goad you into expressing the wholeness of your utter hatred of whatever-it-is, and as soon as you have… then the shoe will drop, and she will badger you to think about all the things that could have possibly conspired for that poor child to fumble that spoon. All the things that didn't have a lick to do with him deliberately making more work for you, Prymelia!

If there were degrees conferred on Pern, Issaeryth would have her doctorate posthaste in Devilish Advocacy.

But she will have points, she will. She'll heckle and needle and jeer until you HAVE to pay attention to what she is saying, bend her will against your own until you are forced to consider your thoughts. Maybe you are justified, but just as she did when her personality first reached out to you, still encased in the shell… she will want you to just let it go.

I would hate people to think bossy is all I can do.

— Dame Judi Dench

With that said, Issaeryth isn't all heckling and hen picking all the time. She is an unfettered spirit who enjoys a whole host of things, and they will only grow as the experiences of latter weyrlinghood curl into existence. The blackness of ::between:: will fascinate her. She will be determined to match the insanely long ratio of Bryntaeroth's flame range. Formations will badger her incessantly…and thus will she badger you incessant, Prym, until you help her figure out what her left wing is doing WRONG. Or her right paw. Or her tail. Or some tiny minutiae of form.

So maybe she will be bossy, but that is far from the entire scope of the wholeness of her personality. She is bright and mischievous in turn, and will regain much of her earlier glib-tongue when she falls proddy… but more on that later. A different story for a different time, as they say. She will grow pensive around her first Threadfall, but you will understand her unvoiced concerns and the potential damage of her ego to voice them aloud. Afterwards she will be refreshed, and far 'looser' than she was before… and before you know it, graduation will loom and suddenly you will be forced to step back and truly look at this uncanny beast who has claimed you as her own.

=Evelyn Greenslade: Nothing here has worked out quite as I expected.
=Muriel Donnelly: Most things don't. But sometimes what happens instead is the good stuff.
=— The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel

Somehow, we do not expect that you will have been able to see this coming. Issaeryth, so like and unlike you all at the same time: a wise presence, an older soul if not an old soul, who feels no regrets at henpecking you one moment about how your hair, oh your HAIR Prym, whyever couldn't you have just brushed it before you left?, and the next making a dirty quip about how your hair got so mussed… barely holding back her giggles at her own audacity.

No, we don't think you had any way to see this one coming.

She will have unique interactions with the weyr at large, with her clutchmates. It perhaps goes without saying that her relationship with Kaiyth will either be one of close friendship or of thinly-guised cattery… such is life, when two ladies are similar in some ways and different in so many others. Nivanth she will try to coax out of his shell, but with Khozyvraith she wishes to put back into his! She isn't one to avoid another dragon, isn't one to feel fear at the paws of anything other than earning your disappointment, but she won't seek out the company of Tlazotezath, either. His bloodlust is too strange. Bryntaeroth she will tolerate with a certain amount of sisterly affection, for he is wise in his own way, and funny in all the wrong ones. Dhioth she will doubtlessly vex by her strange dichotomy of ladylike demeanor and the utter depravity of her suggestive jokes. (Why must her humor be so vulgar!)

Beyond, she will form tight friendships easily, her adaptability shining in the intrawing movement of formation tweaking. Should she be paired once with Esanth for two or three sevens, and then Sekhaenkath for months thereafter, do not be surprised when her chattery follows the same patterns, first to the blue and then to the bronze. She adapts, she does, not one to linger on friendships growing farther apart.

=Evelyn Greenslade: Is it our friend we are grieving for, whose life we knew so little? Or is it our own loss that we are mourning? Have we traveled far enough that we can allow our tears to fall?
=— The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel

Perhaps that is one part of why she seems less affected than most when unavoidable keening fills the air. Unless it is for her wingman, or a clutchmate, or one somehow marked significant in her little mental file-box of dragons that she keeps up with, always. Then, the circumstances will be reversed, and suddenly you will find yourself needing by sheer necessity to cheer up a forty-odd foot long fighting dragon of Pern. She will acknowledge that her mourning is completely and utterly selfish, and not give a single whit about that or the conception of it, but she will rely on you, Prymelia, at those times to remind her that any who have accomplished the feat of a life well-lived shouldn't be grieved over but rejoiced.

You'll have, unfortunately, plenty of practice on this, and with draconic memory as it is, you may be able to get the argument down rote before the dragons cry keening to your own end.

=Evelyn Greenslade: The only real failure is the failure to try, and the measure of success is how we cope with disappointment.
— The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel

Oh, Prymelia. Issaeryth is such a layered dragon, skeins upon skeins of possible thread woven into the tapestry of her life. Whether it be working for a weyrling wingsecond spot or vying to oust the weyrlingmaster himself, she will forever be shameless in her ambition. It isn't uncouth, it is simply the way of her mentality; one sets down the path of properness first, and then responsibility will certainly follow, isn't that how it goes?

Despite that, regardless if you someday advance to weyrsecond or if you remain the longest-tenured weyrling on the face of Pern, Issaeryth won't mind… //overmuch. She has you, for starters, and as it was stated from the very beginning, you are the only one who counts in Issa's book. Past that… it is, after all, how you cope with things that life fails to provide that proves your worth, isn't it?

Issaeryth thinks you are priceless and rare, so above the notion of 'worth' that it is almost laughable - so the way of your lifemate.

Then, now, and forever.

Flights

Indulge us a moment to traverse a path untraveled, a path that is not Issaeryth directly but will perhaps shed a great deal of light upon the gravitas in which she views mating flights. Allow us a moment to traverse the path of a story.

… who was engaged to play a novelist upon a stage in London, in a play across from another star of surpassing skill, one Maggie Smith, the content of which can likely be summed up in one single line from the show itself: I refuse to be defined by the man in my life. A fitting sentiment, isn't it? Appropriate for a dragon such as your Issa.
As all stories should, there was a dashing young man terribly enamored of our fine Lady, and yearning for her touch… of acting, upon a movie yet to be produced. But this man was young, see, and not nearly recognized as a global phenomenon to traverse the rarified air of a London's show back-stage.

So to woo the Dame Judi Dench to play a character he so desperately wanted her to, Vin Diesel had flowers sent to her dressing room every night until she accepted his request to play the galactic ambassador Aereon.

The moral of this story is that the best things in life are rarely easy… and your Issaeryth isn't an easy green.

She will glow bright and fierce, a shooting star shining; you will know the moment that this change first falls over her, and the moment that it falls every time thereafter. Issaeryth soaks in life, and her flights are no different — though there will be structure that you will soon discern amongst the nature of her mating seasons. Twice a turn will she rise, but it isn't like clockwork, and you will never know her readiness until that whitefire heat encompasses your mind, encompasses your emotions.

Proddiness with Issaeryth will be blessedly short - an average of two days, perhaps, though sometimes you may wake up feeling feverish and know that she will have risen to call her champions to chase her by the time Rukbat sets in the evening. But Issaeryth, proddy, will bring out the highest of her manners, the most excruciating exactness for every detail's perfection, her standards lofting to a nigh-impossible height.

Eventually they will learn she isn't to be courted in the normal ways. No offerings of prime herdbeast for her, when she's glowing bright and fierce and brilliant: that is far too mundane for your Issaeryth, far too rote. She will want the extraordinary in her everyday life, and only those who have payed court upon her when she isn't glowing will find themselves graced with especial consideration leading up to the point her wings vault her into the heavens. In time, she may find herself a particular favorite due to these factors — if in the future you ever weyrmate to someone with a male lifemate, particularly, the closeness of living together (and your own wishes) will play into the complex equation of that flight's catch.

She isn't one for excessive blooding: perhaps one wherry, or a caprine, or something suitably small, and she'll take her neat time about it. The urge to sup upon the beast will be monstrous, and that will require you, Prymelia, to keep her from it. Thankfully she isn't given to blooding overmuch, or you would be fatigued by the time she flew from holding her headstrong impulses at bay.

She will fly hot and fast and surprisingly far for a green, leading all of her suitors on a merry chase. Endurance will be key for those poor nowtimers and smaller blues that chase after her, for her graceful flights will not be the aerobatic enthusiasm of some other greens. No, it will take cunning and it will take a mindless willingness to win to tangle a suitor with Issaeryth. She will be fond of those who blossom with passion over those in it for the thrill of the hunt or the chase or the prize, but not always will her fondness win out.

You'll notice, sometime or another, she never quite ends up paired with a male that is displeasing to the eyes.

What? A girl has to have standards.

You may be surprised at the dichotomy of thought — of heart? — that she can manifest afterwards. Sometimes — for those who have caught her for the first time, unless it is a very special win, she isn't given to cuddling and will be brusque and British and kindly dismissive once you have slaked your thirst against the rider in question. She's very considerate, your Issa, about ensuring your satisfaction in all of this, and should she ever be won by a dragon who feels compelled to leave posthaste — and potentially interrupt, ah, Prymelia's recreational sport… well, that dragon will find out firsthand why you never, ever piss off a lady.

Thread

M: Regret is not part of our profession.

By the time you take to the skies against Thread, Prymelia, you will have come to grips with the very disparate facets that live in the flawless gem of Issaeryth’s great heart. This is a good thing, because her fierce fire and unshakeable dignity are a heady mix when Thread appears. The moment Thread starts to fall in silvery beauty from azure sweeps of the vast vale of the sky, dust devils march upon the Oasis:

She is calm, your Issaeryth, in the face of Thread. Implacable. Projecting quiet resolve to the weyr, to the leaders, and most importantly to her Wingmates. Soothing, steady, serene. An uplifted head, regal, valiant. Her movements are sure, graceful. No step put afoul, no wingbeat out of place.

Internally, for she wouldn’t hide even the barest shred of her heart from you, her dear Prymelia, she is a torrent of fire. The twisting effrit raised by Thread burn in her mindscape even as she flames them down on the wing.

Wingleaders and ‘seconds will be impressed with her solidity even during weyrlinghood, and she will be on everyone’s short list of greens they want to bolster their Wings as you and your clutchmates graduate into life as riders. Especially given her size, reaching the higher end of the spectrum for her color, caught firmly within the middle ground of Oldtimer greens. She will easily last a full half-fall and sometimes more, but only rarely and never for the full length. At the end of her endurance, when fire and dust collide within the eternal mindscape bottled within, she will sometimes be able to hold onto her position for a quarter tick past when the wings change. In the event that an injured dragon is substituted out. It will be the last race of the derby, the last round as her body heaves to hold to potential, but be careful when using this last spent power. For it will affect both you and her, burning your reserves to ash as you lay prone to the fires within.

M: Oh, to hell with dignity. I'll leave when the job's done.

As the two of you settle into the rhythm of your lives as a fighting pair, the very real spectre of injury looms. Issaeryth is unperturbed by the possibility of injury to herself. Should she ever take a hit during a Fall, she may register only bluff British offense at the indignity, however much the pain wracks her, keeping a stiff upper lip.

If it is you who is hurt, Prymelia, woe betide the dragon or person that tries to separate the two of you. Remember that pillar of flame she made out of Thread…? She will BECOME the pillar of flame. It will be important for you to be the calm one in the event that you are hurt or she will, in the rarest of moments, lose herself and may become a danger to herself and others. So deep is her love for you Prymelia, that the fires at the heart of her will rage out of control. When she is assured of your safety, she will calm again.

Don’t get hurt. Issaeryth will respond… poorly.

At the end of the day, Threadfall is her reason for existence, and thusly, it will be your reason for existence. For while you live your lives in the cycle of love, life, and joy, ever will there lurk at the edge of your horizon this need to know that your purpose is being served. Prymelia, with Issaeryth, you are no longer the trader's girl who's wagon was crushed. What wagon? That wagon pales in comparison to the glory that is serving the purpose of eradicating Thread. She will almost, at times, be single-minded in her determination, but this is why she needs you. You are the other side to this coin. You are there to remind her that while the job needs to be done, it's okay to revel in the joy of living even while serving Pern.

She will never tolerate her duty being denigrated, and should any impudent soul liken the fighting of Thread to some other aspect of life, she will be quick and fierce in quelling that notion. And the next time she takes to the skies? Her fires will be fiercer, the dervishes that much more destructive as she herself is driven to best her previous average of success.

You'd better strap on your seatbelt, Prymelia, because rain or shine, health or sickness, exhausted or not: very little will keep her from her duty. She embraces it, relishes in it, and enjoys the thrill of the adventure that yields such sweet rewards as the hopeful, grubby faces of the people you save.

In fact, she will enjoy saving human life by flaming Thread almost as much as the freedom of the act itself. It is life wholly and unequivocally lived.

In need she may walk, but never will she walk in regret.

So neither should you.

Temper: Icy Hot

Issaeryth begins and ends in heat; rarely will she settle to the colder emotions, but when she does you'll find that she will turn to the cold elegance of genteel silver and low-lights of her sumptuous surroundings. To the withdrawal to the inner palace within, relying on imagery of silver and red, with hints of cold. When she goes cold, it will be hard to determine which emotion she affects, for that English reserve will be in full effect to give little away to those she speaks to. So all of the chillier emotions will forever be hidden behind the elegance of her inner palace and the finery held within.

Ahhhh, but Prymelia. When faced with the heated emotions such as rage or lust or passion or love, she will be the desert's tempest. The endless waves of dunes as lit from within by the sun, thrashed by the wind to lash the mind with grains of heated sands. Love, however. Love will bring forth the hints of fine wine to touch the palette of your tongue, to fill you with the scent of luscious alcohol. When there comes a day when you find yourself in love, you'll find yourself infused with wine by candlelight. Behold, the lashing sands of rage and the sweet caress of love:

::: - ::: - ::: - ::: - :::

… As plots within plots unfold, what a mere trader girl has at her fingertips is the bond of a thousand stories, woven together throughout the expanse of her life; a light-weave that reaches as far as the eye can see, to be unrolled into a thousand stories told over a thousand days until memory becomes a dream, and the dream becomes myth.

::: - ::: - ::: - ::: - :::

Oh Prymelia! You’ve come to the conclusion of your story, of how you found your fair lady upon the sands. The ride has been wild, and will get wilder still as you step forward into the next segment of your life. Like any good curtain call, this gift is yours and you should take any and all parts of this inspiration as you see fit. She is yours to do with as you will!! We are so happy to have you here in Southern, and we cannot wait to watch the next chapter of our favorite Trader’s life unfold!

Credits

Name: Hannah, Bailey
Egg Desc: Linden
Dragonet Desc: Bailey
Messages: Bailey, Hannah
Puppeteer: Hannah
Inspiration: Hannah, Bailey, T'ral

Clutchmates:
K'lir's bronze Bryntaeroth
L'denn's blue Vindryth
N'vik's blue Nivanth
N'tael's bronze Tlazotezath
Niyati's green Kaiyth
Qu'inn's brown Khozyvraith

Harper's Tale's 68th PC Clutch
Southern Weyr's 2nd PC Clutch
Bailey’s gold Khalyssrielth and Yules's brown Desmeth
June 28th, 2014