Description
Thick corkscrew curls are a pale sun-spun gold, pulled tightly back from a heart-shaped face and confined to a tail that trails down her spine to mid-back, leaving her high forehead clear but for the faint widow's peak. Her large eyes are tilted slightly, the pupils a rich silvery blue, set above high, wide cheekbones. Her nose is straight, just a shade too long for traditional beauty, and her full lips pout regardless of her actual expression. A dimple winks faintly in the curve of her left cheek and a slightly off-center dent breaks the symmetry of her pointed chin. A spray of pale rose freckles over the bridge of her nose are the only flaw of her otherwise creamy complexion.
Though simply made and unadorned, this robe has been clearly crafted by a practiced hand. Pure white linen drapes over Liandyn's body, tiny sleeves covering her shoulders. From the v-shaped neck that displays a hint of cleavage, the cloth clings lightly to her lithe figure, falling down to the neat hem that brushes her thighs just above her knees. A simple cloth belt encircles her slender waist twice, tied off in an intricate knot at her hip, two ends dangling down to mingle with the hem of the robe. Her sandals are standard leather, bleached tan, with straps that criss-cross over the arch of each dainty foot and up her ankles, ending mid-calf.
History
Liandyn has lived a relatively uneventful life. Born to a smallholder in the Boll region, she was the fifth of what eventually ended up being seven daughters, with only one son among them. The family's income came primarily from their cotton crops, and though careful husbandry of the land had provided the family with a comfortable life, there was some consternation amongst her parents at the thought of dowering seven girls. The second eldest hied off to be a harper, and the third was whisked away to Fort Weyr where she eventually Impressed a blue. Liandyn herself might have stayed happily at home until she took a husband, but a visiting trader working for the weavercraft was struck by her delicate features and gracefulness. He took a description of her back to the craft, who later approached her father about apprenticing her as a model.
Liandyn was willing enough - her prospects at home were few enough, and she liked the idea of earning her own way, and her father was pleased to avoid yet another dowery. The two journeymen who came to propose the idea returned to the crafthall with the thirteen turn old girl, who formally apprenticed as a weaver - complete with all the basic classes - with the understanding that she would act as a weaver's model whenever she was needed, and that such would eventually become her primary specialty should she walk the tables. Even now, three turns later, she's proven a wise decison for the craft, not only as a model, but as a weaver, showing a clever hand with design. She studies hard, working hard towards her Journeyman's knot, intent on taking up a dual specialization of modeling and design. After all - beauty fades, but skill can last a lifetime.
Family
| Name | Relation | Location | Position |
|---|---|---|---|
| cell-content | cell-content | cell-content | cell-content |
Firelizards
Giving All He's Got Brown Charity
Ruddy clay has been molded, baked, and then forgotten, leaving the resulting brown firelizard to find his own way in life. His hide is smooth despite the illusion of cracks and chips that are scattered upon his form, though they make their greatest appearance at those places where joints and creases form. His head is smooth and lovingly shaped, with a generous maw that oft-gapes with quasi-draconic humor. His wings are brittle-seeming things of palest brown glass, odd constructions that seem incongruent with the rest of him — too small and too wide, but still perfectly functional. Further down his frame, there are bits and places where the red-brown seems to be completely broken away, leaving only patches of hollow darkness. Such darkened hues emerge again on his tail, where the cracks and splinters grow heavy until they finally break away at the tips of his tail to leave that darkness behind.
Dragon
Resistance is Futile Green Zusamenth
Pale hues of malachite green slide sinuously together over the hide of this slender dragon, washing across every delicate angle and curve of her body in a smooth and unblemished expanse of color. Ethereal mists of silver mold and shift, clinging and forming a crown that perches atop her head and twines about the length of her headknobs in tight symmetrical spirals. Spidery tendrils of light snake forth from this pool of light, coiling their way into intricate loops and patterns that circle her whirling eyes and traverse down the sloping arch of her dainty muzzle before fading away into nothingness. Fingers of bleached silver-green twist their way down her spine and around her ridges in rigid braids of color, the lines branching out at her shoulders and haunches to trace their way down her legs in an intricate web, pale against the backdrop of moss. Thin lines crisscross down the length of her tail, each delicate swatch of saturated green linking back with the previous one to form a chain of interlinked segments that ends with her spaded tailtip. Shadows play and skip over the expanse of her wingspars, thick and thin bars of color lacing their way over the joints in shades of pale and deep jade. Only her wingsails maintain a clean slate of beautiful perfection, the membranes of near-white only marred with a tiny yet complex array of nearly invisible lines of colors ranging from green to blue-green to agate.