Wraith of the Frozen Wastes Green Nyskieth


The Physical

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Wraith of the Frozen Wastes Green Dragonet
Through the sea-glass brightly: no dark mirror, this fjord-still green, for she is the fractious friction of sky-winged grace rifting against turquoise-chested power. Coruscant kyanite refracts prismatic brilliance, featuring sleek snout and high headknobs, outlasting the mantle-plume lividity of lava-wrought ridges, and stretching further to claim the bottle-green dapples strewn shipwrecked and shored-up on her seagreen shoulders. Borealis fire writhes tempestuous along ice-shelf wingsails, cracked-glass ripples of heliotrope and tangerine shattering the eternity of endless foresails and terminating at sea-spume spars. Ancient forces threaten to tear her asunder, without and within, leaving her precariously balanced amongst the ice and fire and her own mortal hubris.

…born of the broken earth…

Out of the ashes of shattered eggshell, Nyskieth's presence in the physical world has been dominated by hubris. A great and willful beast, she crashes into her physical world with an ownership well-matched to her lifemate's. If she is the ice of a newborn world, she clashes extravagantly against the fire that resides within Ianthe. Until the temper collides against a world held immovable. As a dragonet, she was never clumsy. A behemoth grace was her birthright, as implacable as tectonic movement, and yet never without purpose. Mischief and mayhem were not hers to draw; for her size, she lurked within the shadows. Observation and keen-eyed patience are the qualities to best come out of weyrlinghood. For those around her, Nyskieth is a creature of Other: nature in pure simplicity.

…veiled in fire and ice…

In coloration, Nyskieth is the sunset on an icy beach: the juxtaposition of fire and ice. Oh how very cold she can be! Until the light warms and dews upon her glossy, glassy surface. Wings, tail, body; everything is matched to oversize. She is not quick, this green of a new-born world encased in ice, but she has stamina. In Thread, she will fight hard and fast and be able to last longer than most of her brethren.

…secreted in shells and sand…

Nyskieth is imposing, disturbing, dark, and somehow different from those around her and yet within her breast pumps the heart of a quintessential female. Dusted on the bottoms of her feet, where the world will never know or see but for those close enough to chance the sea-glass curve of wicked talons, lies the sand-dusted pads. As if she walks in a new-found sand of a forgotten beach, and as the turns pass, the cloudy suggestion upon her hide will shift into a polished sheen of glossy sea-glass. Churned and buffed throughout a lifetime of washing up against the rugged shores of life’s demands. Until death comes, and when it that dark hand takes the soul that beats within, she will pass even more pleasing to the eye than when she was shelled.

The Mental

…through a glass darkly…

Oftimes Nyskieth’s first touch is strange and dissonant; set against a place where day and night elongate-stretch into the infinite depending on the time of year, and the wailing cries of the damned echo across a barren and desolate moor. This oldtime green lives, caught, in a space between time where fire and ice collide, made manifest in the burning cold of her frozen touch and the cold-burn of super-heated flames. Always, ever; a world made a new from the bubbling cracks split across an icy shelf where plate tectonics work their magic in building, reforming anew.

Woven of shadows and wraiths, fire and ice; Nyskieth is the ghostly cry of tangled ghosts that stream across a frozen sky, accentuated by diamond-like light strewn across a velveteen sky. Shadows cling, ever ready to entangle a mind not strong enough to withstand.

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…into a land of fire and ice…

At her core, this frozen wraith of a green is the constant battle of fire and ice; it wages eternal in her mental landscape. So vast is the new-found continent held in the grip of ice that melts during the summers to yield fresh-green growth to run rampant over hills and mountains. Peaks and valleys bring to mind a vision so beautiful that it hurts the heart to see, to feel. Forever and always, this mental landscape is untouchable and wild, for at her heart, Nyskieth is untamable. For all that Ianthe must master control over her indomitable lifemate, theirs is the essence of the push pull. The melting of ice to fire and the freezing burn of fire to flesh. Beauty does not come without cost; a lesson that both green and rider have learned well over the turns.

…and through the haunting cries of the damned…

All that is beautiful is not safe: for in the winter months, when the long night has come to pass and the verdant green aurora borealis steams its beauty across Nyskieth’s midnight-twilight skies, the echoing wails of the damned scream in agony. For death awaits in the ice and the fissures that burble with spewing fire and molten rock. Lava is forever emerging from the earth, the cracked remains bleeding onto the firmament to destroy and melt the ice. To steam the waters of the ocean that lap against sandy shores, forever bringing forth the sea-glass from the far corners of the world. Frozen, frost, ice: Nyskieth coalesces into a land encased in the frozen north, solidified atop the broken-crust mantle of a molten world forever forming anew. In darkness she rises; in ice, she beguiles to the wraith’s death; in fire, she prevails and remakes life anew.

The What-Was and What-Will-Be

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…somewhere a girl was born…

Ianthe’s life was simple: born and raised in a small cothold “around” Fort Hold. Not many details of her life are known – not even the Searchrider knew exactly what her parents did, though she lead them to believe they were crafters of a sort. To Ianthe, her early life is simple: She was born. She was raised, and ultimately, she was taken away from her squalor of a life into the hustle and bustle of a weyr, overrun. Her Search was auspicious and her eye was drawn to the gleaming gold of an egg that sat in the center of the sands. Certain and sure, the girl’s hubris was deep enough to be confident in the fate of her life’s direction. Not once did she look upon a forlorn, sea-green shell that sat not too far off from the glimmering gold egg. Shiny and glossy, this egg waited in silence. For one day, a reckoning would be had and on that day, the creature within would lay claim to Ianthe’s life. As the gold passed her by, another mind gripped hers. Fire and ice, death and shadows; Nyskieth’s world shaped Ianthe’s very existence in a single instant.

…to lead a life entangled…

Ambition from the beginning, Ianthe’s life has been driven by Nyskieth’s own ambition – meshing quite nicely with her own. From weyrlinghood and beyond, the pair have worked to further their lot in life. Ianthe and Nyskieth managed to snag the wingleader knot for their weyrling class, never mind the rumors of one of the other weyrlings suddenly coming down with a case of sickness and disease. A dark thread then wove through their group as both girl and dragon perfected their art of manipulation, using every asset to their advantage. Ianthe became quite quick at learning just how to use her body, to tease, to promise and yet never actually deliver to get what she wants. Nyskieth learned that flights were power and who won her flights had the potential to be easily manipulated. By the time weyrlinghood was done, the pair had honed their milk-teeth in their desire for more. Until tragedy struck and their goldriding clutchmate disappeared between forever. An accident, some say, but dark rumors abound for what might have truly happened. Yet rumors of Southern Weyr percolated even far up north, with their liberal ways and flaunting of nowtime conservativism. Ianthe and Nyskieth saw this as a golden opportunity to seek a different future… a future that held many different and possibly better opportunities…

…and pass through the veil of darkness…

From Fort Weyr to Fort Weyr: Ianthe and Nyskieth’s lives have changed far more than ever had they hoped. Honed in the past and perfected in the future, Ianthe’s deft manipulations left her with quite a bit of success in Fort Weyr (or so it was whispered). While such lofty titles were never hers to call her own, Ianthe – with Nyskieth’s help – managed to secure enough coveted admirers that life came about in comfort. As a wingrider, Nyskieth is dedicated and vicious in consuming Thread and flying far and fast; she is not above lording it over the smaller, nowtime greens that stamina is her birthright and that she can last longer and fly farther than those of her brethren. Yet if she does, it is through a whisper in the dark, the crying wails of the dead; never outright. Never overt. Nyskieth is – if ever a word exists — strange and different and disturbing. Perhaps it is this disturbing aspect, this Other that drove Ianthe from Fort Weyr to seek refuge in Southern, where – presumably – she will be among her own kind. Of course, rumor follows like whispers and shadows that speak of an accident befallen another rider that left the woman disfigured. Of course, never could that be true? Ianthe’s and Nyskieth’s story will never be complete, nor will they go softly into the night: they will cling to life with the gnash of teeth and wailing cries of the damned that echo and thrive across a frozen world where fire explodes and ice never lets loose her grip. In this, it has only just begin.

Inspirations & Credits

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Inspirations: Iceland, Wraiths, Fire & Ice, Aurora Borealis, Sea Glass
Description: Bailey
Inspiration: Ianthe

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