Post by dragonmenta on Nov 19, 2005 14:07:12 GMT -5
[glow=yellow,2,300]Part 1[/glow]
Rider Information
Name: Mariska (Mah-reesh-ka), Maris (Mah-riss)
Gender: Female
Age/Birthday: 18, sometime in midwinter
Orientation: Heterosexual
Location: Lateo Weyr
Rank/Wing: Jr Weyrwoman/Queen’s Wing
Standing:
Mariska is bold, forward-looking, and some would say ambitious. The way the Holds and Crafts have largely spurned the Weyr rankles her as it did her father, and so she looks forward to a time when Thread falls again and the dragons and their riders will be revered as she thinks they should be. If the dragonriders don’t fly Fall, they’ll always be useless and practically hidden as they are now – that’s not going to happen if she can help it. Weyrbred and the daughter of a dragonrider, Mari has had duty pounded into her head since she was old enough to listen to a teaching ballad. It’d be hard to completely lack a sense of duty in the face of that, but deep down her reasons are really focused on the strength of the Weyr with Thread falling, rather than the good of those outside the Weyr.
Family:
Grandfather-Retired Hunter-Age.83-Korlin, spent the majority of his life as a hunter for the Weyr, adding fresh meat and fish to the food herds kept by the herders. He also spent a lot of time in exploration, trekking far from the Weyr itself to find the wild herdbeast groups that roam the south, packs of wild boar, convenient natural groves for fresh fruit and the like. Now that he’s old (sixty-five full turns Mari’s senior) his forays into the wilderness have come to an end. He still teaches the use of bows, knives, and the like to those interested as well as occasionally consulting with the mapping of the continent. More than anything, he tends to stump about the Weyr, using his cane to gesture or smack the ground for emphasis as much as he uses it for walking, and giving lectures about Faranth only knows what to anyone who’ll listen. He also dotes on his only granddaughter who first took on his old and beloved position and then honored the family by impressing gold Zramuth. He is the one human the fractious gold is unfailingly sweet to, and if Mariska herself has moments of quiet freedom she can often be found taking peaceful walks on her Papa Korlin’s arm. He was once a large man but has grown stooped over the years, with wispy gray hair standing up every which way when it isn’t hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat. Still keen piercing blue eyes peer out of a face weathered and wrinkled enough to make him look even older than turns.
Father-Brown Rider-Age 51-Sk'lin, is the rider of Brown Ralkinth, who he impressed late at the tender age of 15. At 19 he found the second love of his life, Myra, and has been faithful to her outside of flights ever since. He is endlessly tender with his lifelong mate, but can be insensitive and even harsh with others. His goal has always been to lead a wing but he has yet to even second K’var though he has flown in Sidius Wing for forty turns. Mariska got much of her fiery attitude and disdain for those not weyrbred from her often domineering and outspoken father. He is a big man as his father was before him, standing nearly a handwidth over six feet with pale sandy hair and his mother’s big brown eyes.
Mother-Age 49-Myra, is a nanny as she has been since she was old enough to take on a position. She’s motherly to the core, and counts herself lucky to have raised her children herself while keeping a dragonrider as a mate. She’s also fostered countless others for a time or for the whole of their childhood, not to mention lending a hand with the Weyr’s many little ones over turns of nannying. She’s the picture of the matron, pleasantly plump and bustling with her raven hair in a neat bun and her eerie green-grey eyes hardly missing a beat. Her first charges are grown of course, but whether they ride dragons or serve as assistant stewards most still call her Mama Myra, to her pleasure and the endless embarrassment of her brash mate.
Siblings:
Brother–Blue Rider-Age 30-S'lar, 12 turns older than Mari. The firstborn, he carried on in his father’s footsteps, but impressed the blue Gesyth. He didn’t inherit his father’s sense of monogamy however, and has sired many children by many women and is not at all tied down. Tall like his father, he’s reed thin with his dad’s light hair and brown eyes.
Brother–Butcher-Age 28-Rilsin, 10 turns older than Mari. He stood several times for clutches on Lateo’s sands, then went to stand at Sodalis. To his undying disappointment he never impressed, and is now really too old. He works as a butcher at Sodalis and was recently married to a seamstress there. He’s built more like his mother, shorter in stature and prone to a bit of pudge. His bright smile and rich brown curls help folks (like his pretty new wife) overlook that.
Brother–Weyrholder-Age 27-Slarkin, 9 turns older than Mari. He fell in love with a minor southern weyrholder’s daughter when she came to stand for a gold egg. She did not impress, but when she returned to her weyrhold, he joined her. It’s likely that he’ll inherit the small hold eventually, and hasn’t been heard from much in nearly a decade.
Brother–Drudge-Age 25-Rymil, 7 years older than Mari. One of Myra’s greatest joys, Rymil has the mind of a five turn old. Almost constantly happy as can be, he serves the Weyr as a drudge, doing whatever he is capable of to pull his own weight. Short, stocky, but with a ready grin paired with bright blue eyes and his dad’s straight brown hair.
Brother–Brown Rider-Age 20-K'sryn, 2 years older than Mari. K'sryn was a bit of redemption as far as Skalin is concerned. Some commented on the gap between children, and perhaps it’s true that the pair was nervous after the arrival of Rymil. Faranth knows it’s easy enough to prevent children with Ralkinth at your disposal. K'sryn though, has always been a shining star. Bright, almost painfully handsome, he’s good at nearly everything he puts his hands to. He was nearly sent north to study with the Harpers, but decided to take the chance to stand instead. The only surprise was the color of his lifemate’s hide – brown when some expected bronze. He is now the rider of Brown Dekelth and he couldn’t be prouder though, to follow so closely in his father’s footsteps. He’s tall and muscular, with vivid green eyes and nearly black wavy hair.
Pets:
None. She’s not a fan of anyone or anything she sees as too dependent, and she’s only just tolerant of firelizards in general – she’d be more likely to send one off with a glare than to impress one. She finds flits to be quite an annoyance and pretty worthless compared to her dear Zramuth.
Appearance:
Mariska is no delicate tropical flower wilting in the heat, but instead she is tall and powerfully built. At five feet, ten inches and 145 pounds, she can’t quite be called big boned she’s far from dainty. She’s always been fit, but two turns of dragonriding have refined her into flesh and steel. Her back, arms and legs bear obvious defined muscle, and her often bare midriff is flat and toned. Lithe and lean, she isn’t actually slender because her frame is softened by lush curves. No amount of work can rid her hips of their curve, and her breasts are full, leaving her looking voluptuous but nicely proportioned. She is still quite beautiful in her own way and looks every bit the weyrwoman that she is. She has the kind of figure that just makes people turn there heads to look.
She moves with the easy, languid grace of the hunter she once was rather than with the cultured proper gait of a trained lady. Zramuth’s scolding has tempered her usual slouch into a straight posture, and her strong jaw is lifted boldly more often than not. She doesn't hold her nose in the air but walks proudly, as if daring soneome to defy her. Each motion of her now calloused and often ink-stained fingers is like the liquid drawing of a bow – ever efficient and rarely hurried. she has a sort of strong elgance to her that is even mroe highlighted when she rides atop Zramuth, sitting tall and great.
A heart-shaped face is dominated by almond-shaped eyes rimmed with long dark lashes. Like the high arch of the sky at might, the depthless pools are a deep and dark navy, looking almost black at times. Stars begin to wink as the sun’s light flees, and they are mirrored in pale grey flecks that bring an almost cold light to Mariska’s gaze. Though the color is constant, the eyes are as they say the window to the soul and hers are no less. When she is unguarded they reflect her emotions more readily than a mirror, flaring with an icy fire when angered, melting into warmth when she is happy, and glinting with a spark of mischief most times between. And yet, when the occasion warrants (and it often does in her current position), they can snap to the untouchable neutrality of the night sky they so nearly imitate, leaving no clue as to what might be going on behind them. Her eyes are her greatest weapon and also her strongest weakness...they are perhaps, a picture of her essence and her soul; ever changing, ever vigilant.
The majority of her other features are equally striking, each one too pronounced to allow her classic beauty, though some may find her captivating and attractive enough. Thin dark brows arch dramatically against skin that refuses to darken past a mild tan, mobile and expressive as the vibrant eyes they curve above. They are well known for raising almost to her hairline when Mari is particularily beumused or annoyed. Her lips are full, almost too lavish really, lending her a nearly petulant pout even in repose. More often than not the smile that touches them is sly, slow to blossom and quirked to the left with a flash of white teeth. She in fact has a small dimple in her left cheeck, although she tries her best not to show it off. The lines of her cheeks and jaw are all defined, giving her a sharp, exotic air, leaving her small, slightly upturned nose to disappear in the midst of stronger features.
Almost black, but unremarkable, her hair is only interesting by virtue of the contrast to her barely golden skin. The locks are straight, and thick so that they used to be cut short, but recently she has foudn hrself much to busy to do so.
Black is often considered impractical in the heat of the southern continent, but Mariska rarely wears anything else. Perhaps the dark shade doesn’t bother her because in the end she wears so little of it. Her most common garb is a pair of loosely flowing drawstring linen pants that allow what breeze there is to circulate as they hang low on her hips. Chunky wherhide sandals cover her feet, adding unnecessary inches to her height and peeking out beneath the floating hem of her pants. A wide swath of material is usually wrapped around her chest, tied in the back with ends dangling in replace of a proper tunic or blouse. Black is her favorite color for this too, though a simple pattern in deep plum, crimson or gold might sometimes wind across the fabric. A wide leather armband is almost always around her right wrist, a guard for when she goes bow hunting. She looks quite dominating and much like the hunter she is in her clothes, and people who have seen her for the first time have been known to stare at her, strong, scantily clothed body.
Of course, this attire doesn’t work too well for riding, and in those cases she turns to fitted black leather that hugs her muscled legs, butter soft and oiled to a dull sheen. These trousers also tend to sit low on her hips, and they disappear into knee-high, heeled boots. Her jacket matches, tailored to skim across her form and detailed with delicate gold stitching and large buttons of glinting black lacquered wood. Sleeveless shirts with deeply plunging necklines are normally paired with her leathers, generally white, blood red or aubergine in shade. She has her own maginificant stile, one that has begun to be copied by some of the younger girls in the Weyr, much to her dismay.
And on those occasions that are considered official? Well, she’s not above using whatever she has to help deliberations go her way, and feminine wiles are no exception. She has several dresses of similar cut, airy sisal woven in pure white, striking red and ebony. A shallow scoop neckline covers her modestly, but the way the dresses cling lightly to her curves, really leaves no doubt about her form. The sleeves are fashioned of sisal so light it is translucent, allowing a glimpse of her skin beneath as they billow out loosely over her hands. There isn’t a defined waistline, though the garment does narrow before spilling down to swirl around her feet and she may sometimes where a thing white cord around the waist. A simple golden circle surrounds the base of her throat, and a gold armband circles her upper arm, her only ornamentation giving her an air of elegance.
Personality:
Mariska is as strong in personality as she is physically. Confident, sometimes to a fault, she rarely doubts herself. This can of course get her into trouble as she rushes headlong into things on a whim, and Faranth help anyone who tries to dissuade her once she has made up her mind. She is extremely stubborn and any judgements she makes intitially about people are very hard to change. Most things are black and white to her, and she only sees inbetween when it suits her own needs. For instance, the truth can be ever so slightly adjusted when it benefits her side of a debate, or an unlikely outcome might be more possible once she gets her hands on it.
Her highest goal is to someday be the Senior Weyrwoman, but she’s well aware of the weight that comes with position so she’s happy to support Kyparla in her place. A good part of that stems from their friendship, but in all honesty it has a lot more to do with a reluctance to change who she is or how she acts to avoid scandal. Besides, she has plenty of influence as it is, and this way there’s at least a chance for her to have a few moments to herself here and there.
Weyrbred, there’s little naivety or innocence left in her. It’s not like she’ll jump in the sack with anything that moves, but she has definitely had her share of lovers and is very vocal about her reticence to settle down. She does though, have a fairly constant lover in the Brown Rider G'rec. she is much more loyal to him then she has been for pervious men. Needless to say, she’s a shameless flirt, sensual without being overly girly, and there’s not much that’s off limits in conversation as far as she’s concerned. Don’t mistake that for a lack of tact though – she knows when her cause (whatever that may be) is best served by holding her tongue, and she’s perfectly capable of reigning herself in when she wants to.
Having spent several turns as a hunter, she’s very skilled with a bow. She can shoot a crossbow from atop Zramuth, a tactic often used to awe Weyrling's and experienced riders alike. But, she prefers to hunt on foot with a standard bow, knife or spear, creeping silently through the underbrush and catching her prey unaware. Not only can she hunt and carve with her knife, she has a set of specially weighted blades used for throwing. Though the talent was honed for protection and hunting she has little need of them for that reason now, but keeps it up for her own entertainment. After all, slinging a knife into the center of a target from across the room can sometimes get her point across when her usual verbal zings and steely gaze can not. There was one incident in the mess hall, where an argument concerning new training tactics was not going in her favor, and she causally flipped out her knife and threw it across the table so that it hit the wall barely an inch from her antagonizer's head. She got her way in that as she often does in everything else.
The youngest in her family, and the only girl, she is a bit of a tomboy but not in the traditional sense. Sure she’d rather throw a spear than do needlepoint, but she designs her own clothes and has a liberal dose of her own sort of femininity. Though her style isn’t exactly typical, it is a style, and from her choppy hair to her shiny heeled boots and the viciously efficient blade at her hip, every detail is intentional. She likes being her won person and standing out...she hates it when her actions or styles are copied.
A restless sort, she is rarely satisfied in any one task or situation, regardless of what it may be. She seems to be always on the move, in her mind if not in her body, and it’s not unheard of for her to grow so frustrated with the things she finds dull that she leaves them unfinished in her wake. Leacing someone else, to clean up her task. There are infact, more then a couple have finished copies of records lying around her weyr. Nothing is quite so attractive as adventure or conflict that might result in some gain for herself or her Weyr. It’s with trepidation that she’s allowed to host some of the PR type meetings – she rarely leaves without her goals accomplished but sometimes her methods are questionable at best. She is not afraid to use and manipulate people to get what she wants. At least she knows this about herself, and in the past few months she has grown enough to recognize the signs and request some time away from records and desk work, with the promise to return and finish the task in a few hours’ time. These intervals are most commonly spent with her beloved Zramuth, taking to faraway skies where the pair can fly without restriction or judgment, turning on a quartermark and diving so close to the ground it takes her breath away. She loves those times alone with her dragon when she can simply let all her care fly away. Few browns could even muster some of the aerials she can pull off with her wiry build and overlarge wings and even Mariska lets a gasp of fear escape from time to time – but only when they are alone. Of course, Zramuth would never let anything happen to her.
She’s not the sort to have a lot of really close friends, but she’s friendly and outgoing with almost everyone. Zramuth is her only true soul companion, and the two share an incredibly tight bond in spite of their squabbles. Said squabbles are often public, and are probably better referred to as cat fights – two incredibly strong and volatile personalities clashing in an explosion of fire and ice. When they make up it’s equally passionate though, and in quiet moments that no one else shares there is a wealth of tenderness between them.
A true carnivore, Mari loves a good cut of herdbeast with a savory sauce. Sure she’ll eat her tubers too, but generally only if they’re mixed into some kind of stew or casserole. On top of that is a not-so-secret penchant for sweets. Not just any sweets either – specifically the sweetsticks that are usually only popular with younger children. If she’s not in an official situation or doing something else that makes it too much to deal with, she’s likely to be seen win the end of one sticking out of her mouth. It’s a well known fact that her favorites are the mint flavored ones, and the fresh scent of spearmint almost always clings to her like the floral perfumes of some other girls. How she manages to keep from losing her teeth or gaining twenty pounds is anyone’s guess! Well, prehaps being a dragon rider does help.
Though she has gained some amount of secret tenderness from her mother, the maternal instincts seem to have skipped a generation. Children are little more than an unwelcome interruption as far as she is concerned, and when forced to hold a baby she does so with more care and discomfort than most would show when forced to handle the sharpest of knives. The one exception to this is her brother Rymil, who, though 7 years her senior is still like a five turn old in his mind. With him she softens and offers kisses and cuddles, playing games with the brightly covered blocks that are his favorite, and sharing her coveted sweetsticks with a grin. So, perhaps all hope is not lost that she may become a caring sort of mother when her own child arrives.
Rider Information
Name: Mariska (Mah-reesh-ka), Maris (Mah-riss)
Gender: Female
Age/Birthday: 18, sometime in midwinter
Orientation: Heterosexual
Location: Lateo Weyr
Rank/Wing: Jr Weyrwoman/Queen’s Wing
Standing:
Mariska is bold, forward-looking, and some would say ambitious. The way the Holds and Crafts have largely spurned the Weyr rankles her as it did her father, and so she looks forward to a time when Thread falls again and the dragons and their riders will be revered as she thinks they should be. If the dragonriders don’t fly Fall, they’ll always be useless and practically hidden as they are now – that’s not going to happen if she can help it. Weyrbred and the daughter of a dragonrider, Mari has had duty pounded into her head since she was old enough to listen to a teaching ballad. It’d be hard to completely lack a sense of duty in the face of that, but deep down her reasons are really focused on the strength of the Weyr with Thread falling, rather than the good of those outside the Weyr.
Family:
Grandfather-Retired Hunter-Age.83-Korlin, spent the majority of his life as a hunter for the Weyr, adding fresh meat and fish to the food herds kept by the herders. He also spent a lot of time in exploration, trekking far from the Weyr itself to find the wild herdbeast groups that roam the south, packs of wild boar, convenient natural groves for fresh fruit and the like. Now that he’s old (sixty-five full turns Mari’s senior) his forays into the wilderness have come to an end. He still teaches the use of bows, knives, and the like to those interested as well as occasionally consulting with the mapping of the continent. More than anything, he tends to stump about the Weyr, using his cane to gesture or smack the ground for emphasis as much as he uses it for walking, and giving lectures about Faranth only knows what to anyone who’ll listen. He also dotes on his only granddaughter who first took on his old and beloved position and then honored the family by impressing gold Zramuth. He is the one human the fractious gold is unfailingly sweet to, and if Mariska herself has moments of quiet freedom she can often be found taking peaceful walks on her Papa Korlin’s arm. He was once a large man but has grown stooped over the years, with wispy gray hair standing up every which way when it isn’t hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat. Still keen piercing blue eyes peer out of a face weathered and wrinkled enough to make him look even older than turns.
Father-Brown Rider-Age 51-Sk'lin, is the rider of Brown Ralkinth, who he impressed late at the tender age of 15. At 19 he found the second love of his life, Myra, and has been faithful to her outside of flights ever since. He is endlessly tender with his lifelong mate, but can be insensitive and even harsh with others. His goal has always been to lead a wing but he has yet to even second K’var though he has flown in Sidius Wing for forty turns. Mariska got much of her fiery attitude and disdain for those not weyrbred from her often domineering and outspoken father. He is a big man as his father was before him, standing nearly a handwidth over six feet with pale sandy hair and his mother’s big brown eyes.
Mother-Age 49-Myra, is a nanny as she has been since she was old enough to take on a position. She’s motherly to the core, and counts herself lucky to have raised her children herself while keeping a dragonrider as a mate. She’s also fostered countless others for a time or for the whole of their childhood, not to mention lending a hand with the Weyr’s many little ones over turns of nannying. She’s the picture of the matron, pleasantly plump and bustling with her raven hair in a neat bun and her eerie green-grey eyes hardly missing a beat. Her first charges are grown of course, but whether they ride dragons or serve as assistant stewards most still call her Mama Myra, to her pleasure and the endless embarrassment of her brash mate.
Siblings:
Brother–Blue Rider-Age 30-S'lar, 12 turns older than Mari. The firstborn, he carried on in his father’s footsteps, but impressed the blue Gesyth. He didn’t inherit his father’s sense of monogamy however, and has sired many children by many women and is not at all tied down. Tall like his father, he’s reed thin with his dad’s light hair and brown eyes.
Brother–Butcher-Age 28-Rilsin, 10 turns older than Mari. He stood several times for clutches on Lateo’s sands, then went to stand at Sodalis. To his undying disappointment he never impressed, and is now really too old. He works as a butcher at Sodalis and was recently married to a seamstress there. He’s built more like his mother, shorter in stature and prone to a bit of pudge. His bright smile and rich brown curls help folks (like his pretty new wife) overlook that.
Brother–Weyrholder-Age 27-Slarkin, 9 turns older than Mari. He fell in love with a minor southern weyrholder’s daughter when she came to stand for a gold egg. She did not impress, but when she returned to her weyrhold, he joined her. It’s likely that he’ll inherit the small hold eventually, and hasn’t been heard from much in nearly a decade.
Brother–Drudge-Age 25-Rymil, 7 years older than Mari. One of Myra’s greatest joys, Rymil has the mind of a five turn old. Almost constantly happy as can be, he serves the Weyr as a drudge, doing whatever he is capable of to pull his own weight. Short, stocky, but with a ready grin paired with bright blue eyes and his dad’s straight brown hair.
Brother–Brown Rider-Age 20-K'sryn, 2 years older than Mari. K'sryn was a bit of redemption as far as Skalin is concerned. Some commented on the gap between children, and perhaps it’s true that the pair was nervous after the arrival of Rymil. Faranth knows it’s easy enough to prevent children with Ralkinth at your disposal. K'sryn though, has always been a shining star. Bright, almost painfully handsome, he’s good at nearly everything he puts his hands to. He was nearly sent north to study with the Harpers, but decided to take the chance to stand instead. The only surprise was the color of his lifemate’s hide – brown when some expected bronze. He is now the rider of Brown Dekelth and he couldn’t be prouder though, to follow so closely in his father’s footsteps. He’s tall and muscular, with vivid green eyes and nearly black wavy hair.
Pets:
None. She’s not a fan of anyone or anything she sees as too dependent, and she’s only just tolerant of firelizards in general – she’d be more likely to send one off with a glare than to impress one. She finds flits to be quite an annoyance and pretty worthless compared to her dear Zramuth.
Appearance:
Mariska is no delicate tropical flower wilting in the heat, but instead she is tall and powerfully built. At five feet, ten inches and 145 pounds, she can’t quite be called big boned she’s far from dainty. She’s always been fit, but two turns of dragonriding have refined her into flesh and steel. Her back, arms and legs bear obvious defined muscle, and her often bare midriff is flat and toned. Lithe and lean, she isn’t actually slender because her frame is softened by lush curves. No amount of work can rid her hips of their curve, and her breasts are full, leaving her looking voluptuous but nicely proportioned. She is still quite beautiful in her own way and looks every bit the weyrwoman that she is. She has the kind of figure that just makes people turn there heads to look.
She moves with the easy, languid grace of the hunter she once was rather than with the cultured proper gait of a trained lady. Zramuth’s scolding has tempered her usual slouch into a straight posture, and her strong jaw is lifted boldly more often than not. She doesn't hold her nose in the air but walks proudly, as if daring soneome to defy her. Each motion of her now calloused and often ink-stained fingers is like the liquid drawing of a bow – ever efficient and rarely hurried. she has a sort of strong elgance to her that is even mroe highlighted when she rides atop Zramuth, sitting tall and great.
A heart-shaped face is dominated by almond-shaped eyes rimmed with long dark lashes. Like the high arch of the sky at might, the depthless pools are a deep and dark navy, looking almost black at times. Stars begin to wink as the sun’s light flees, and they are mirrored in pale grey flecks that bring an almost cold light to Mariska’s gaze. Though the color is constant, the eyes are as they say the window to the soul and hers are no less. When she is unguarded they reflect her emotions more readily than a mirror, flaring with an icy fire when angered, melting into warmth when she is happy, and glinting with a spark of mischief most times between. And yet, when the occasion warrants (and it often does in her current position), they can snap to the untouchable neutrality of the night sky they so nearly imitate, leaving no clue as to what might be going on behind them. Her eyes are her greatest weapon and also her strongest weakness...they are perhaps, a picture of her essence and her soul; ever changing, ever vigilant.
The majority of her other features are equally striking, each one too pronounced to allow her classic beauty, though some may find her captivating and attractive enough. Thin dark brows arch dramatically against skin that refuses to darken past a mild tan, mobile and expressive as the vibrant eyes they curve above. They are well known for raising almost to her hairline when Mari is particularily beumused or annoyed. Her lips are full, almost too lavish really, lending her a nearly petulant pout even in repose. More often than not the smile that touches them is sly, slow to blossom and quirked to the left with a flash of white teeth. She in fact has a small dimple in her left cheeck, although she tries her best not to show it off. The lines of her cheeks and jaw are all defined, giving her a sharp, exotic air, leaving her small, slightly upturned nose to disappear in the midst of stronger features.
Almost black, but unremarkable, her hair is only interesting by virtue of the contrast to her barely golden skin. The locks are straight, and thick so that they used to be cut short, but recently she has foudn hrself much to busy to do so.
Black is often considered impractical in the heat of the southern continent, but Mariska rarely wears anything else. Perhaps the dark shade doesn’t bother her because in the end she wears so little of it. Her most common garb is a pair of loosely flowing drawstring linen pants that allow what breeze there is to circulate as they hang low on her hips. Chunky wherhide sandals cover her feet, adding unnecessary inches to her height and peeking out beneath the floating hem of her pants. A wide swath of material is usually wrapped around her chest, tied in the back with ends dangling in replace of a proper tunic or blouse. Black is her favorite color for this too, though a simple pattern in deep plum, crimson or gold might sometimes wind across the fabric. A wide leather armband is almost always around her right wrist, a guard for when she goes bow hunting. She looks quite dominating and much like the hunter she is in her clothes, and people who have seen her for the first time have been known to stare at her, strong, scantily clothed body.
Of course, this attire doesn’t work too well for riding, and in those cases she turns to fitted black leather that hugs her muscled legs, butter soft and oiled to a dull sheen. These trousers also tend to sit low on her hips, and they disappear into knee-high, heeled boots. Her jacket matches, tailored to skim across her form and detailed with delicate gold stitching and large buttons of glinting black lacquered wood. Sleeveless shirts with deeply plunging necklines are normally paired with her leathers, generally white, blood red or aubergine in shade. She has her own maginificant stile, one that has begun to be copied by some of the younger girls in the Weyr, much to her dismay.
And on those occasions that are considered official? Well, she’s not above using whatever she has to help deliberations go her way, and feminine wiles are no exception. She has several dresses of similar cut, airy sisal woven in pure white, striking red and ebony. A shallow scoop neckline covers her modestly, but the way the dresses cling lightly to her curves, really leaves no doubt about her form. The sleeves are fashioned of sisal so light it is translucent, allowing a glimpse of her skin beneath as they billow out loosely over her hands. There isn’t a defined waistline, though the garment does narrow before spilling down to swirl around her feet and she may sometimes where a thing white cord around the waist. A simple golden circle surrounds the base of her throat, and a gold armband circles her upper arm, her only ornamentation giving her an air of elegance.
Personality:
Mariska is as strong in personality as she is physically. Confident, sometimes to a fault, she rarely doubts herself. This can of course get her into trouble as she rushes headlong into things on a whim, and Faranth help anyone who tries to dissuade her once she has made up her mind. She is extremely stubborn and any judgements she makes intitially about people are very hard to change. Most things are black and white to her, and she only sees inbetween when it suits her own needs. For instance, the truth can be ever so slightly adjusted when it benefits her side of a debate, or an unlikely outcome might be more possible once she gets her hands on it.
Her highest goal is to someday be the Senior Weyrwoman, but she’s well aware of the weight that comes with position so she’s happy to support Kyparla in her place. A good part of that stems from their friendship, but in all honesty it has a lot more to do with a reluctance to change who she is or how she acts to avoid scandal. Besides, she has plenty of influence as it is, and this way there’s at least a chance for her to have a few moments to herself here and there.
Weyrbred, there’s little naivety or innocence left in her. It’s not like she’ll jump in the sack with anything that moves, but she has definitely had her share of lovers and is very vocal about her reticence to settle down. She does though, have a fairly constant lover in the Brown Rider G'rec. she is much more loyal to him then she has been for pervious men. Needless to say, she’s a shameless flirt, sensual without being overly girly, and there’s not much that’s off limits in conversation as far as she’s concerned. Don’t mistake that for a lack of tact though – she knows when her cause (whatever that may be) is best served by holding her tongue, and she’s perfectly capable of reigning herself in when she wants to.
Having spent several turns as a hunter, she’s very skilled with a bow. She can shoot a crossbow from atop Zramuth, a tactic often used to awe Weyrling's and experienced riders alike. But, she prefers to hunt on foot with a standard bow, knife or spear, creeping silently through the underbrush and catching her prey unaware. Not only can she hunt and carve with her knife, she has a set of specially weighted blades used for throwing. Though the talent was honed for protection and hunting she has little need of them for that reason now, but keeps it up for her own entertainment. After all, slinging a knife into the center of a target from across the room can sometimes get her point across when her usual verbal zings and steely gaze can not. There was one incident in the mess hall, where an argument concerning new training tactics was not going in her favor, and she causally flipped out her knife and threw it across the table so that it hit the wall barely an inch from her antagonizer's head. She got her way in that as she often does in everything else.
The youngest in her family, and the only girl, she is a bit of a tomboy but not in the traditional sense. Sure she’d rather throw a spear than do needlepoint, but she designs her own clothes and has a liberal dose of her own sort of femininity. Though her style isn’t exactly typical, it is a style, and from her choppy hair to her shiny heeled boots and the viciously efficient blade at her hip, every detail is intentional. She likes being her won person and standing out...she hates it when her actions or styles are copied.
A restless sort, she is rarely satisfied in any one task or situation, regardless of what it may be. She seems to be always on the move, in her mind if not in her body, and it’s not unheard of for her to grow so frustrated with the things she finds dull that she leaves them unfinished in her wake. Leacing someone else, to clean up her task. There are infact, more then a couple have finished copies of records lying around her weyr. Nothing is quite so attractive as adventure or conflict that might result in some gain for herself or her Weyr. It’s with trepidation that she’s allowed to host some of the PR type meetings – she rarely leaves without her goals accomplished but sometimes her methods are questionable at best. She is not afraid to use and manipulate people to get what she wants. At least she knows this about herself, and in the past few months she has grown enough to recognize the signs and request some time away from records and desk work, with the promise to return and finish the task in a few hours’ time. These intervals are most commonly spent with her beloved Zramuth, taking to faraway skies where the pair can fly without restriction or judgment, turning on a quartermark and diving so close to the ground it takes her breath away. She loves those times alone with her dragon when she can simply let all her care fly away. Few browns could even muster some of the aerials she can pull off with her wiry build and overlarge wings and even Mariska lets a gasp of fear escape from time to time – but only when they are alone. Of course, Zramuth would never let anything happen to her.
She’s not the sort to have a lot of really close friends, but she’s friendly and outgoing with almost everyone. Zramuth is her only true soul companion, and the two share an incredibly tight bond in spite of their squabbles. Said squabbles are often public, and are probably better referred to as cat fights – two incredibly strong and volatile personalities clashing in an explosion of fire and ice. When they make up it’s equally passionate though, and in quiet moments that no one else shares there is a wealth of tenderness between them.
A true carnivore, Mari loves a good cut of herdbeast with a savory sauce. Sure she’ll eat her tubers too, but generally only if they’re mixed into some kind of stew or casserole. On top of that is a not-so-secret penchant for sweets. Not just any sweets either – specifically the sweetsticks that are usually only popular with younger children. If she’s not in an official situation or doing something else that makes it too much to deal with, she’s likely to be seen win the end of one sticking out of her mouth. It’s a well known fact that her favorites are the mint flavored ones, and the fresh scent of spearmint almost always clings to her like the floral perfumes of some other girls. How she manages to keep from losing her teeth or gaining twenty pounds is anyone’s guess! Well, prehaps being a dragon rider does help.
Though she has gained some amount of secret tenderness from her mother, the maternal instincts seem to have skipped a generation. Children are little more than an unwelcome interruption as far as she is concerned, and when forced to hold a baby she does so with more care and discomfort than most would show when forced to handle the sharpest of knives. The one exception to this is her brother Rymil, who, though 7 years her senior is still like a five turn old in his mind. With him she softens and offers kisses and cuddles, playing games with the brightly covered blocks that are his favorite, and sharing her coveted sweetsticks with a grin. So, perhaps all hope is not lost that she may become a caring sort of mother when her own child arrives.
