Player Information

Name: Rachel

Wingrider S'ilen

Name: S'ilen
Pronunciation: SIE-len
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Preference: Heterosexual
Birthing Date: 09.21.2737
Craft: Farmcraft
Rank: Wingrider
Physical Description:

No one is going to pick S’ilen out of a crowd on looks alone. He has nondescript brown hair, nondescript brown eyes, the usual long lashes that men somehow get and women don’t, a handful of freckles on his arms, and a reasonable tan. He looks like every other farmer, strong and outdoorsy. He stands at a reasonable height of 5’09.7” and carries an average weight. The things that makes him stand out are instead his high standards of cleanliness (just because he has to work in the dirt doesn’t mean he has to wear it) and the confidence with which he carries himself. He wears clean and well-fitting clothes, makes eye contact with everyone, has a firm handshake, and has excellent posture. Why yes, he is fantastic, thank you for noticing. He’ll be over there saving the world if you need him.

The only thing S’ilen lacks is his own theme music to follow him around. And possibly more distinctive looks, but a cape would only get in the way and tangle horribly while flying.


S’ilen can best be described as mid-existential crisis, but in the meantime, he just wants to help you. Is that so hard?!

Yes, oftentimes, it is, but that doesn’t matter. Sit down and let him fix that.

S’ilen came to the Weyr with an incredibly tiny worldview, his paradigm fixed by his family’s small farm. He, admittedly, was something of an arrogant chauvinist at first. After learning the hard way for a few Turns, S’ilen has come to terms with the fact that his family can well be called hidebound, and that he was just as bad when he got to Eastern. He really has largely come around from hidebound ways of thought, but struggles with expressing it when everyone expects it of him and doubts his authenticity. And sometimes, he has his own doubts. (And sometimes, it’s also just easier.)

In recompense, S’ilen is dead-set and determined to save the world, and this is best done by being helpful. (Admittedly, he’s always had something of a hero complex. It’s just justified now.) Most of the time this itch is scratched by that whole Threadfall thing. When it isn’t, it annoys people a lot, since he doesn’t like to be told ‘no’ and can come off as patronizing or chauvinistic. He has a large romantic streak (ideologically) and is accurately accused of having his head in the clouds. Harsh reality smacks him around on a regular basis and he accepts that with a quiet sense of humor. He strives to be the perfect man, the nice guy who finishes last, the ladies’ favorite without being a heartless womanizer, the softspoken hero of Pern, the pride of his father, the farmer who brings home food for the family, the everything to someone if not everyone. He is… slightly ambitious in his personal life.

This does not always end well. Ask his family about the time he nearly decimated the local canine population by bringing home the wrong disease-ridden stray. And when he or his efforts are rebuffed, he goes into a terrific sulk. Why can’t people appreciate what he’s trying to do for them?

Despite high emotionality, careful grooming habits, and maybe one or two other less than “manly” quirks he’s developed since being away from his father, he really hates it when people question his sexuality. It can also send him into one those sulks. He likes girls, okay. Just… also likes looking good. These are not mutually exclusive!

Aside from the innate perks of being relentlessly altruistic, his other motivation is an engrained sense of responsibility. As the only son, he *had* to carry on the family torch. He *had* to be prepared to step up in his father’s absence. He *has* to know everything worth knowing, be skilled in all things, and if anything goes wrong it’s on *his* head. This is about as stressful as it sounds, and he’s lost sleep over it. He has faith in himself and Xilleveth to be awesome, but very little in others. If he’s there to take over and help get something done, then the odds of something going wrong are drastically reduced.

So… just let him help already, so we all win.

Trait snapshot: helpful, confident (arrogant?), highly emotional, romantic, stubborn, possibly too responsible, high-strung


Father: Sayid
Mother: Lerah
Sisters: Sayla (+2), Leay (+1), Derah (-2)

Growing up on the distant outskirts of Eastern Hold, Sidilen was always the boy who had to rescue something. Bugs, from his shrieking sisters. His sisters, from teasing or leering boys (or each other). His mother, from imaginary renegades outside. His father, of course, encouraged this in the face of having sired three girls, and he grew into a tall, strong, confident bastion of altruistic manliness, ready to save the world. (Somehow. The details were largely irrelevant.) The first marriage offer came at fifteen. Fortunately for him, his father wasn’t ready to let go of the only other male in the house and politely declined, even if Sidilen had this awful habit of bringing strays home. Feline, canine, equine, indescribable, half-dead, it didn’t matter. Fortunately, he didn’t mind if they stayed outside and patrolled the yard, and his sisters were glad to adopt the cuter ones for their own petting or guarding purposes. Ultimately, most of these were adopted out or returned to their feral ways. (That said, they never could get rid of the mangy Fik.)

As these things go, one fair day a Searchrider happened to come by to sniff out the local kids for Candidate potential. Both Sidilen and Leay passed the sniff-test. While Leay hemmed and hawed and wasn’t sure she wanted to leave her comfortable Hold life, it was clearly the next big adventure for Sidilen. Sayid, again, didn’t want to let his only son to gallivant off so soon and leave him in a house with four hormonal women, but after talking about it with the other menfolk, was convinced that obviously his strapping son would saunter out of the whole thing with a bronze just gleaming with perfection and good health and it would all be great in the end. So Sayid reluctantly let him go, and Sidilen, never one to let a good romantic notion go to waste, jumped abroad the pert little green dragon and waved the Hold goodbye. He was deposited unceremoniously at the Weyr and took to Candidacy with a gusto, although it was something of a culture shock to find that just about all of the female Weyr denizens were perfectly capable of rescuing themselves and did not need him. He got slapped more than once for his good intentions.

Sidilen survived, though, and his paradigm realigned a bit. His reputation as a well-meaning and annoying if harmless busybody put off a lot of people, and the resultant introspection time had him decide that his life should probably not be spent saving people from themselves. He was well on his way to maturing and calming the heck down when he came across a tiny green fire lizard with an injured wing on one of his pensive solo jaunts through the woods. Perfect. He scooped her up, took her back with him, got her patched up, and dubbed her Cai. She gave him a much-needed dose of realism: after his Impression to Xilleveth, feral Cai went on a grand adventure somewhere and never returned. Maybe he and his help weren’t so necessary after all.

But most importantly, the Weyr showed him that the ideals and standards of his upbringing were the ideals and standards of a small community, and he was not so much a big deal, nor were other people so helpless. There were other competent people around to keep things running who did not want his intervening help. To his surprise, he found that he actually liked the absence of pressure, and promptly had something of an identity crisis.

The third Hatching after his arrival at Eastern left Sidilen S’ilen and with a dragon in tow. This was totally expected by his family, who had shown up in force. Such a good-looking young man and the embodiment of everything right with the world was clearly destined for… green? GREEN? S’ilen loved his Xilly, but no one else was going to understand. He almost skipped the Feast entirely.

Needless to say, that was an awkward meeting at the Feast, with his gawking father and associates. The follow-up meeting, featuring the stilted “why didn’t you tell us you were gay” talk, was even worse. He found it nearly impossible to explain to his role-obsessed family that his Xilly was not the delicate airhead they thought she was, that he hadn’t been hiding an alternative sexuality the whole time, that he really *was* the upstanding son he was supposed to be. Just… riding green. That his sisters couldn’t stop squealing over how “cute” Xilleveth was, and how much they wanted one, and that sudden gleam in Leay’s eye, did not help endear Xilleveth to Sayid and company. To smooth things over, or try, he agreed to take Fik back. The dog had apparently been inconsolable since he’d left, although no one had ever said anything. S’ilen suspects they just wanted to be rid of the poor thing.

Whatever. Did they not understand that greens were the bulk of Threadfighting forces, with nearly unparalleled speed and agility? They were AWESOME. And S’ilen suddenly had the perfect underdog cause to champion. Go team green!

This is especially convenient, because his previous occupation of being the perfect man hit a major snarl with Xilleveth: she is very not okay with sharing him with other women. But that’s okay: she lets him take care of her, but moreover because with Xilly, he can finally be that everything to someone. Screw you, unappreciative world.

Green Xilleveth

Name: Xilleveth
Pronunciation: ZILL-eh-veth
Color: Green
Size: 23.25
Wing: Diamond Sea
Weyr of Impression: Eastern
Age: 3

Xilleveth has an athletic build, a different version of the leanness claimed by most of her slender, dainty, fine-boned, or otherwise obviously feminine green sisters. Her musculature is not overwhelming, but it partially makes up for her on-the-small-side size. Xilleveth’s coloring adds to her "presence": she seems to be, of all things . . . armored. Over an angular frame, Xilleveth’s hide is primarily a shade of grayish sage green. The insides of her hind legs are a lighter gray-sage, as is her tail. A darker color sits like a collar about the base of her neck, its lower edge dipping down toward Xilleveth’s chest, and follows her neckridges up to her head to stain her headknobs. Her belly, wrists, feet, and the outsides of her hind legs are also of this midrange shade. A sage green so dark it is almost black slashes above her shoulders and claims the structure of her wings, covers the low muscles of her chest, and bands her elbows; there are circles of the same dark green on each shoulder, and three marks, like scratches from tridactyl claws, on her wrists. Everywhere else, Xilleveth is the vivid green of spring leaves: two plates between the collar on her neck and the dark of her chest, from shoulder to elbow, from elbow to wrist, bands across her hips, the toes of her front feet, and the sails of her wings. The green will look a little silly as a dragonet with such a hard-looking, segmented exterior, but she will grow into her unusual coloring with a physical assurance that will make her valuable to her wing and rider: trust Xilleveth to recover from a collision or to avoid clumps of Thread without endangering anyone else.


Armored Xilleveth reflects her tough, confident exterior with firm and persistent consciousness of duty. She takes her responsibilities—to herself, to her rider, and later to her wing and Weyr—very seriously, and disapproves of the intrusion of fun or humor in lessons or drills. Xilleveth has a proclivity for calculation, but only within her duty-bound frame. She will not scheme for what she wants, but rather for what she must do. The bend in this behavioral rule is Xilleveth’s peculiar form of ambition, which pushes her to shrewd efforts to perform and seek reward. Granted, Xilleveth will rationalize her ambition by tying it back to duty (the improvements and successes of the individual pair improve and benefit wing and Weyr, after all), but let’s face it: Xilleveth does have some interest in what happens to Xilleveth (and her rider).

Because of her color, it is not beyond belief that Xilleveth was a jealous streak, but one might expect her to apply to her jealousy the cool rationality with which she handles her dedication to her responsibility. Straps off, Xilleveth’s concentrated attention to her work becomes impassioned protectiveness, and the green-eyed monster in the green’s heart is, it quickly becomes clear, not a symptom of evenly distributed or universal strength. Though her outside may seem hard and durable, it is ordinary dragon hide, and within Xilleveth is a deeply loving, surprisingly fragile and sensitive personality. Rejected or betrayed, Xilleveth simply breaks, unable or unwilling to fight where she has already lost.


Name: Fik
Species: Canine

First off, Fik no longer has mange. He contracted red mange from his mother as a puppy, and as his immune system matured, he fought off the mites. Given his shoddy upbringing, however, it took longer than expected, and he has yet to live the infamy down. Unfortunately for both Fik and S’ilen, Fik will forever be ‘that mangy dog of Sidilen’s.’ On the other hand, Fik at least isn’t aware enough to realize that any resentment toward Xilly’s color was promptly redirected toward him.

He’s on the large end for a medium-sized dog, and has clear shepherd roots. His triangular ears quirk a bit when relaxed, and his spine is long with a low-slung tail. His color is predominantly black with some tan and white spots across his face, belly, and paws. One ear is also inexplicably brown. Given his irregular coloration and submissive behavior, he generally comes off as goofy.

Fik is one of those “bombproof” dogs. Nothing spooks him, he is only growly when he is convinced that S’ilen is in danger, he loves to play and steal scraps, he doesn’t mind stairs, and he thinks crashing into the lake with Xilleveth for a bath is super fun times. He lives to please and can be corrected with stern body language, no harsh words needed. Honestly, he doesn’t deserve his bad rap.