BASICS
RETIRE INFO: Dragon - Adopt / Character - Retire
NAME: Tirniva
GENDER: female
PRONOUNS: she/her/hers
ORIENTATION: bi, preference shifts in phases
BIRTHDATE: Spring 2745
AGE: 22 as of Winter 2767
LOCATION: Fort Weyr
OCCUPATION: apprentice runner / weyrling
WING: N/A
APPEARANCE
EYES: dark brown
HAIR: black
HEIGHT AND BUILD: 5' 11", medium build
PLAY-BY: PV Sindhu
FULL APPEARANCE: Tirniva has long thick straight black hair, often pulled back when she's doing anything athletic, though when she's just lounging around the weyr she likes to let it hang loose over her shoulders. Her dark eyes often have an intense look to them when she's doing any sort of physical activity. She has a medium build without much body fat, due to workouts and being constantly on the move.
Tirniva has high cheekbones, a delicate nose and full lips, and a smile that makes her look younger than she is. She has a clear medium dark complexion. She is well-coordinated and knows where elbows, knees and feet are at all times, so she's not the least bit prone to tripping or banging into things, though her movements are sure rather than classically graceful.
Tirniva wears practical clothes fit for a runner most of the time; if she's just lounging around the weyr she might wear something flowing and elegant, but only as long as it's clear to everyone that she's just as physically capable as anyone else. She has a mean stare if it comes to that.
PERSONALITY
PERSONALITY: Tirniva is intense. Intense about friendships, intense in love relationships, intense in physical activity. She relaxes when she's asleep, or in between bouts of physical activity, or when she can't avoid it, as once happened when she wrenched a shoulder when scaling up and down the stone wall of her hold.
Tirniva adjusts quickly to unusual situations but gets bored easily. She's bad at sitting still and listening to someone talk for more than just a few minutes; if there's music she'd rather dance than sit on the sidelines. She doesn't understand why other people might want to sit out the dance unless they are tired, and then surely they'll be back at it after a short break, right? She doesn't mind hard work as long as it's physical work; shuffling record hides would be her worst nightmare.
Tirniva doesn't give a crap what 'women are supposed to do'; she could run faster than almost all the other youth in the hold and she's proud of her abilities. She doesn't know how to 'let other people win' out of kindness or diplomacy or for any other reason; she always gives competitions her all, and expects everyone else to do the same. She's not a sore loser, but she is sore if she can't give her best for whatever reason. She's sensitive to the plight of children around her who may be forced as round pegs into square holes ash she almost was, and will advocate for them, which generally doesn't win her any points with their parents.
HISTORY
FAMILY: Mother: Mariana, Father: Nevit, Holders; elder brother, younger brother, all living
SIGNIFICANT OTHER: N/A
BIRTHPLACE: a minor Hold near Fort Weyr
HISTORY: She was an active child, too active for her parents to approve of. First there were the Harper lessons she couldn't sit still for; then there was her outright refusal to learn more than the most crude sewing stitches; then there was her insistence on trying out to become a message runner.
Unfortunately for her parents' plans, she was good enough to get accepted as an apprentice. Her father could find no way to refuse without the refusal being perceived as a grave insult to the journeyman, so he acquiesced with ill humour about it all.
"It's a phase", Mariana, her mother, said. "It's not and we need to do something about it", her father said. "Such as?" replied her mother. "You're her mother, think of something", said her father, and so her mother started first by bringing up the topic from time to time, how everyone understood when children were young that they played and did different things but now that Tirniva was older she really should be learning how to be a proper young woman. When that didn't work, her mother tried pleading with her, then threatening her with the possibility of being single for the rest of her life (naturally, that backfired). Nothing had any impact.
When Mariana's husband asked her yet again if there had been any progress, she threw up her hands and said acerbically, "You know better? You deal with it." He proceeded to arrange what would be a very beneficial (to them) marriage with a younger son of a nearby minor hold, with the stipulation by Tirniva's husband-to-be that enough was enough, and the bride would be a lady of the house as was proper, not running all over the area by herself exposed to who knows what sorts of dangers and unsavory characters.
That was naturally the last straw, and Tirniva not only told her parents she refused (which earned her a slap across the face from her mother and an angry tirade from her father), but left home the very next day, bundling up some decent travelling clothes, a little extra food, and a couple of water skins. When it came to money, she hesitated; her family wouldn't miss a couple of marks, but the thought made her queasy. Well, better safe than sorry; she took them. She made her apologies to her journeyman for leaving abruptly, and asked him not to inform her parents until she was well away; he was kind and agreed.
The journey grew more tiring and supplies slimmer as the time went on but she stuck to it. She made periodic stops at inns to clean up a bit and ask for directions. She would get a cup of klah, wash her face and take care of bodily needs, nibble a bit of the hard bread and cheese in her pack, learn the latest gossip (including news of Threadfall) and then start off again. So far, her luck--and the weather--had held; no raid, no Thread, no attempts to rob her or anything more
dire.
The mountains of the weyr were visible but not getting appreciably closer, when on day six she saw a blue dragon overhead. Thread? But it was alone, and she knew dragons fought in groups. She'd seen them numerous times over their hold, when she'd gone out as part of the hold ground crew to catch any burrows. Another thing her father had disliked her doing, and another reason not to go back.
The dragon hovered as she watched. Then it circled overhead. Finally it landed. In front of her. Well, that was interesting.
The conversation started just like every other conversation she'd had in the last six days. "What are you doing out on the road?" "Running messages for Fort Weyr."
The blue rider just looked evenly at her. She flushed.
"I know who our messengers are, and they usually come dragonback."
Long story short, the rider knew a runaway when he saw one, but as luck would have it he was out on search and the dragon gave the 'claws-up', so off to Fort Weyr Tirniva went, the rest of the way on dragonback.
Being a candidate got her out of her parents' clutches... and right into those of the candidate master. How was her reading and writing? Well, she could do it, but her hand wasn't the best. Remedial writing lessons, four sevendays. She abhorred it.
What was her physical condition? Very good, she assured the candidatemaster, and proved the truth of her words during the early morning runs (which she loved), the combat lessons (at which she was decent enough, though not an exceptional student), and in various manual chores, everything from chopping wood for the fires to helping with the unloading of tithes and their stacking in the storerooms (which she much preferred to the endless hours of lectures about Weyr life and structure and dragon color and on and on).
At first the novelty kept Tirniva interested. When that wore off, there was only her sheer strength of will to keep her from skipping lessons. But the seasons went by, and clutches came and went, and she didn't impress.
One Turn... two Turns... this was not getting her any closer to her dream of independence. And then the horrible bloodbath of Nornth's flight jolted her out of her doldrums.
Dragons could be downright vicious! And dangerous. Did she really want to be a part of this? They were even asking candidates if they wanted to stand.
She waffled and wavered. Yes? No? She talked to other candidates, trying to get some perspective. None was to be had; the horror was too fresh in everyone's mind.
The next day during the morning run, she put on more speed than usual, trying to run out her uncertainty and her indecisiveness. She ended the run panting heavily, exhausted but in a good way, and with a clearer head than she'd had in some time. She would stand, this one last time, and if impression didn't happen then she'd think about life choices again.
Tirniva dutifully patched up her candidate's robe (with those same ugly-but-who-cares stitches her mother always complained about), and got ready for one last time on the stands.
Eggs hatched, impressions were made, and one candidate got bitten (luckily not her). One dragonet even wandered into the stands to find its match! But none chose Tirvina. She began to resign herself to the inevitable outcome. Two Turns was long enough at the Weyr, she'd best be moving on, maybe find another hold that could... wait just a minute. This brown, it was terrified! Actually all of the hatchlings so far had seemed afraid, though of what, she didn't know. Everyone was here because they wanted to love and take care of a life companion, right? This could only be a good thing for a hatchling.
Still the brown was flailing around, and bit someone in the leg! Oh no no. Why didn't someone grab it, calm it down? And suddenly it was tumbling through the candidates next to her; she grabbed, held on, said meaningless things, stroked it... it wasn't struggling. It wasn't flailing. It was... it was hers? She was his? OH MY.
At least weyrling lessons, from what she had heard, were a whole lot more hands on and moving around than the candidate lessons!
