| Killaria Blonde skin eases to platinum, away from the sun-tawnied ridges of high cheekbones, crooked nose, cleft chin and firm, broad shoulders. Mid-length brown-black hair is highlighted auburn, and a lock in front is purposefully bleached to silver-blonde. She carries herself alertly, 5’5 height made greater by poised posture. Eyes echo that concentration on the world, their hazel and grey very expressive beneath mobile eyebrows. Alas, little expression reaches to the neutral curve of lips. Not precisely ordinary, Killaria is simply nondescript. Beads, bells, and bangles seems to be the order of the day. Terra cotta tunic is belted by a beaded sash, cobalt glass glittering atop patterned teal sisal. Too, there is a fringe round the tunic’s thigh-length hem, interspersed with many badly made little bells. Pants are plain, other than being pumpkin-hued, but a silver anklet jingles above scuffed, simple sandals, and copper bracelets hang gracefully from her arms. A scarf of indigo winds around her throat, matching the one tying her ponytail, and dangly copper-and-silver earrings twinkle in her ears. Killaria. It sounds so…simple. If you saw Killaria in some uniform or such, she’d look like the kind of nice, quiet girl that studies hard, speaks seldom and stays afterward to help clean up. She’s rather plain in body type, and her face is somewhere between plain and pretty. Dull, right? Not Killaria. She’s direct, quirky, lazy, disorganized, mercurial, irritating, and very, very much not a lurker-in-the-background. Look at me! Pay attention to me! Killaria is also a blatant overachiever, and not very sympathetic to those who’ll settle for less. If it isn’t perfect, it isn’t Killaria. Which must be why she avoids work adroitly. Perfect will be every floor that she scrubs—but all the same, she’d rather not do the floor. Perfection is so…tiring to achieve. She’s rather heartless, too. So what if one of her comrades has no marks for the Gather? Should have saved the money. So what if so-and-so’s broken a bone and is attempting to work himself to collapse? He shouldn’t have fallen down the stairs. He should know how to take care of himself. If he doesn’t, well, it’s no fault of Killaria’s, and she’s busy attaining her perfection. No time to lend marks or lend a hand. Unfortunately, she can do all she wishes, and it’s downright annoying. Killaria is profoundly intelligent, strong for her size, and extraordinarily determined. She’s never found the thing she couldn’t accomplish. And this results in something that could be mistaken for enormous ego. But it’s simply an assurance that she can go anywhere, do anything that she wishes, and the magnanimous way she bestows her services may earn her slaps someday. Or at least a few good enemies. Perhaps, somewhere in the back of her mind, she feels the need to warn folk of her nature. There has got to be some reason for those clothes, and those styles, and those accessories. Her color coordinating abilities already leave much to be desired, but the jewelry…. Killaria apparently just has no taste. Some might wonder where on Pern she learned to dress. Others might whisper that she must’ve grown up in a Hold where they don’t wear clothes, and tastelessness was inbred into her family tree. But, the world will never know. And you’d better not say it in front of Killaria. Civil Killaria can be. Polite she can even manage. But bowing and scraping is not her style at all, and some might wonder if she’s a trifle impertinent. Also, she’s Killaria. She was born Killaria, remained Killaria through all of her slight Turns, and will stay Killaria till she dies. Nicknames are probably enough to touch off her temper. She is not Kil, she is not Killie, she is not Killa, she is not Laria, or Aria, or Ria. Her /name/ is /Killaria/. Please to call her that (or face the consequences). Killaria was born on board a ship, named for the mournful sound a seagoing wherry made at her birth. Some would argue that she /was/ a seagoing wherry, but not in front of her mother. Nabolese Sea-trader Eris was a lean, tall whip of a woman, well-feared among youngsters of both sea-hold and land-hold. As for her father, well...he may have existed, but Eris has never spoken of him. Eris cosseted her quick and able secondborn far more than her crippled firstborn, Gwyr (a son). Indeed, Eris began grooming Killaria for her successor the moment she could walk. A rift between caustic-tongued Gwyr and arrogant Killaria developed almost immediately. Eris, unusually unperceptive or simply unworried, took Gwyr with only to take care of the paperwork, since the boy was fanatically tidy and a natural with numbers. Killaria learned to bargain, how to sail a ship with a skeleton crew, the pithy details of loading, unloading, supply and demand, and how not to talk to the first mate. Nearly always at sea, Killaria grew up without close contact with other children (Gwyr didn’t count). The crew members were her friends, and the first mate was something of a father-figure to her. Now that she’s considered an adult, she has no idea what to do with children, and avoids their company adroitly. When Killaria reached the ripe age of seventeen, her mother promoted her. She handles her own ship, the Squareline, now, and ships for the ‘company’ all along the Southern shore, while her mother makes the transit from Southern continent to Northern and back again. Gwyr has been out-of-touch, ‘abandoning’ his family for the needed sanctuary of the Archivist’s craft, and, unbeknownst to his family, the soul-bond of blue Jyvadoth at Talor Cliff Weyr. The Squareline’s crew Captain: Killaria First mate: Canharian “Greeneyes” Second mate: Garez “The Wher” Sailor/linesmen: Jandeci and Lanroel Sailor/linesmen nightwatch: Isienne and Baledro Cabin boy/swabby: Trannon Drummer/cook: Ondros Dockman/clerk/booth-manager/lookout: Kalt Brother Gwyr Story |
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| This is the charming, newly-hatched Liosliath of Ryslen Weyr, Killaria's lifemate. My take on her Search (and her view of the Impression) will be up ASAP. |