Name: Firal
Age: 19
Gender: Female
Occupation: Self-appointed drudge
Home: Ista Weyr
Physical appearance: Delicate and feminine, though she finds her
face not quite fine-featured enough to be considered pretty. Thin and
somewhat willowy- At somewhere around 5'5", and about 115 pounds in
weight, her curves are there, but subtle, and masked well by her usual clothing. Waist-length black hair and her fiery amber
eyes coupled with her ivory skin and flowing dresses she loves gives
her a rather whimsical appearance.
Personality: Usually sweet and a little shy, though deep within
her amber eyes waits a fiery temper, just waiting to be stoked.
Although not exactly arrogant, she tends to scorn those she deems
impolite or improper in their manners. She's very ladylike, and does
take great pains in trying to make herself attractive, although it's
not nearly so much a matter of vanity, as it is a lack of confidence in
her appearance.
Skills: Cooking, cleaning... The usual mundane work of drudges.
She's also capable of sewing, and writes in a neat, fine hand, though
such abilities very rarely surface.
Pets: None
Background: Even as a small
child, she always knew that she didn't fit with her siblings. Both her
appearance and attitude totally differed from her brothers and sisters,
and the elder siblings were often unkind to her, for reasons she was
never sure of, and that they never disclosed.
It was not until she reached her teens that her mother finally
explained, Firal was the daughter of a Lord and Lady holder- Their
first child. Her parents had been young and proud, but arrogant, in
deciding that they did not want their first child to be female. To
correct what they deemed a terrible mistake, Firal was not only
fostered, but forgotten, as well.
But as no one had expected, Firal was not bitter, instead being
thankful for the kind foster-parents she'd been given in exchange. Even
though they did not have the wealth that her real parents would have
given her to live in, she was happier among more accepting people. She
was not bitter, but that was not to say that she also wasn't hurt. Her
foster parents not knowing what the reason her biological parents had
to foster her was, they had no explanation to give, and Firal was left
to assume that it was because there was something wrong with her...
Thus beginning the severe lack of confidence that plagues her still.
She strove to be a good young lady, teaching herself manners to easily
rival those of her birth mother, teaching herself to sew fine clothes,
and how to be a hard worker. She taught herself to grow flowers and
herbs, and both use and arrange them in a number of pleasing ways, from
decorating to filling sachets.
But when no rewards for her hard work came, she couldn't help but be
dissatisfied. She began to search for happiness elsewhere, which
eventually led her to trouble. She developed a terrible habit of
leaving the Hold after dark, wandering about until thoroughly lost...
Sometimes not finding her way back until dawn, the next day. It wasn't
long until she was deemed odd, and after that, she drew into
herself and her fantasies. She still worked, but her mind was often
adrift, searching for something better.
She took to wearing her delicate and beautiful gather dresses almost
constantly, keeping them surprisingly clean and in excellent shape.
Although laughed at by many, there were a few that were fascinated...
One of whom being a dragonrider, visiting to pick up a few unusual
supplies to take back to the Weyr.
Seeing the girl that stood in the hold's garden, with a flowing white
dress and skin to match, and freshly curled ebony locks to frame her
face, he was entranced... And begged her parents to allow him to take
her back to the Weyr with him, so that he might see her like that, from
time to time.
Her foster parents, viewing it as a way to shed the burden of the
peculiar girl, were happy to oblige, and talked Firal into going, at
least for a time.
Firal, seeing it as a way to some innocent adventure, collected things
from her garden and went along with it willingly. But once she and the
rider arrived in Ista, she cried.
While the heat was harsh, the Weyr itself was rocky and barren, so
unlike the Hold from whence she came. Would her roses ever grow, there?
