We are a semi-canon Weyr set in the Southern
Continent of Pern. We are set in the time of
the Sixth Pass of the Red Star over Pern, and
we are currently 30 Turns in.
The Thread has begun falling erratically, thick and fast,
and dragonkind has adapted to survive. Dragon
mothers are Rising more frequently, and
laying bigger clutches.
The Weyrs were facing
over-crowding, and so after an exploratory
mission to the Southern Continent, the
Weyrleaders of Pern decided to open a new
Weyr - Xian Weyr, in the heart of the jungle.
Weyrwoman: Zira of Gold Quiroth (played by Rae) Weyrleader: K'lian of Silver Krauth (played by Tig)
Junior Weyrwoman: None. Junior Weyrleader: None.
Wherwoman: None. Wherleader: None.
Weyrling Master: L'rien of Green Fahimth (played by Harbinger) Assistants: None Candidate Master: H'skal of Bronze Conleth (played by Vox) Assistants: None.
WeyrHealer: Zoryana of Silver Varith (played by Vox) WeyrHarper: None. WeyrSinger: None.
"Yes, we are!" Telenon replied with a cheery, wide grin. Oh man, this was the super greatest thing ever. Rings chirped happily at simply having such a fun event to attend, and crooned at Beggar to show he wasn't going to ruin the occasion. Both of them might as well have been trills, however, given that the Silver was now humming so powerfully that his wings shivered.
"Taralo needs a flitt. She doesn't have one yet," Telenon explained, nodding heavily and tugging on his sister's vest again, despite it not moving her at all. In fact, she stayed very steadfast, crossing her arms across her chest and frowning.
"Thank you for the offer, but I have enough responsibility with the Weyr and the upcoming hatching," Taralo responded, managing to keep her voice even despite her irritation at her brother. Telenon tugged again, and so she easily pushed him forward. "Telenon has Rings to help raise a hatchling if you're truly desperate."
"That wouldn't be fair," Telenon protested, looking up at his sister with big, sad puppy eyes. Clearly the two squabbling siblings wouldn't be able to agree on this.
The entire class had gone mad - not that Taralo was entirely surprised. They were all children, as far as she was concerned, but she hadn't had a chance to get to know any of them yet. Still, blind groping? Drugging? She sighed, tying her bandana on to keep from having to look at the brats. She shuffled into line somewhere, not sure whose shoulders she held or the hands on her own. Did it really matter, in the end?
The darkness caused more anxiety than Taralo had expected. Then again, knowing the dangers of the jungle? It meant going in unprepared could end up being very, very deadly. Felines, giant wherries, a few poisonous plants... luckily the latter was less of an issue since she was sure no one would be eating anything.
"Psst, Taralo!" The woman sighed. At least Telenon wasn't attached to her back, but she was sure whoever had the boy holding their shoulders was now being poked in the small of their back. "It's kinda all mysterious, isn't it? Black, blacker, blackest and stuff!" Beneath her blindfold, Taralo rolled her eyes, ignoring her brother as she carefully counted the steps, trying to figure out where they may be going.
"It's like we're all going Between to some mystery part of the jungle. I wonder - oof!" In his excitement, Telenon had quickened his pace, and so he crashed into the candidate in front of him. "Guess we didn't visualize well enough," he joked.
"Wait... I don't want to die..." His voice dropped to a tiny, terrified whisper.
The sudden collision jarred Taralo somewhat - while she knew she would catch him, he had changed direction so quickly and Ilydeth's sudden proximity had been a surprise, and so the woman didn't have time to brace herself for the impact. She staggered backwards, finding her footing once again in time for K'ron to arrive and make more claims of the prone Greenrider. Laloraine was completely helpless, lost in the sky - something Taralo recognized from the few times she had managed to sneak into a flightweyr rather than wait outside for the losers.
She straifed to keep the two men in her sights but also to move between them and Laloraine. Fists up, she sneered at the two men, almost daring them to try to make a move on her ward. The Greenrider was not just some resource to be taken an used. She was a human, having all the rights of any other. She was a member of Xian Weyr, and thus an important piece that made up Taralo's Weyr. She was a Dragonrider, and was due the respect from all of Pern for risking her life to protect it.
Neither of these men would just claim her.
"Step any closer and I will break you."
"Never," X'ric hissed - a single, defiant word. He had given up once, and that was enough for one lifetime. He would continue onwards until the Red Star itself fell from the sky and never returned.
Frankly, though, he was not a fighter. Not trained, at least, though the same could likely be applied to Ulrict. As one man hacked, the other swung deftly with his hammer, trying to hit his mark just as he would if he was shaping metal. In this case, however, his intent was to dent and blunt the machete, though whether any of his swings hit was questionable given that backing away from the lunatic in an attempt to avoid a deadly strike was affecting X'ric's ability to concentrate and aim. From the outside, it would probably look as if the two men were simply flailing at each other.
He was not escaping unscathed, however - one poor move caused the machete to sink into his left hand, a bad block caused a cut across his cheek, and most terrifying was the slice across his chest. If it wasn't for the heavy apron he had been wearing, X'ric would have been in trouble. As it stood, both his apron and tunic had been ripped through, and he felt the sting of what was, thankfully, a shallow cut across his pectorals. This fight needed to end quickly, and so X'ric would try to find an opening to slam a hefty left hook into Ulrict's temple.
There is always energy to compliment a powerful and graceful dragon like yourself, Hezzath replied, hoping to use his charm to sway her towards him, however tiny of a chance that may be. His razor wings cut through the air as he chased after the rising Green. He wasn't gaining altitude as quickly as his fellows, unable to grab as much air with each wing beat. That said, as Ilydeth reached her zenith, he was ready, turning and folding his wings back into a sharp V, diving into a stoop fast enough to rival Terran peregrines. He pulled out of his dive earlier than Ilydeth, not wanting to crash into the canopy with his momentum, which ended up causing him to ultimately fly a few dragonlengths above the sage-colored Green as she saved her lifemate.
It gave him a slight advantage as she headed skyward once again, allowing Hezzath to add a flourished twirl to his movement as he echoed her, staying on her tail but at a polite distance to avoid any attacks. She was a powerful, glorious thing, and he didn't dare intrude. Not yet, at least. He returning bugle was more gentle than the booming voice of thunder claps - Hezzath was a lover, not a fighter. He would put all his energy into chasing, yes, but not into challenging the glorious one he followed or the others he competed with.
Ilydeth's movements caused Hezzath to do a loop-the-loop, a maneuver he made tighter than necessary to show off his agility and brilliant, lithe form. The neon of his hide was now accented with the sparkle of raindrops clinging in vain, only to fall off as he sliced through the air after the Green. Her last call was met with a crow, a happy call into the air for the Green that gave such a spectacle, such an admirable challenge!
Fahimth's words flowed through Kiranth to X'ric, the Brown acting as a conduit to pass the message on. It was a practiced maneuver - with X'ric having the wisdom that came with age, it was often easier to give instructions to the Weyrling directly, especially if Kiranth couldn't interpret it himself. Though that wasn't to say the Brown didn't hover within his rider's mind, "listening" as the smith picked apart the message and put it back together in a much more coherent form. The dragon may not remember most of it, but it was interesting none the less.
"Well, then," X'ric said, marking his place in the record he had been reading. It had been well over a turn since he had stepped foot in Xian, and so he was reviewing what had been done in making the Weyr habitable and the jungle a little more hospitable. He hadn't gotten to the part regarding the rivers, but having worked in a smithing shop using a water wheel, he was familiar with a few technical terms when it came to waterways. He grabbed his leathers and cleaning supplies, figuring it was better to be prepared despite the fact that their dragons were far too old to be needing bathing lessons.
Fahimth let out a sigh, physically and mentally, voicing her disapproval of the mess the Weyrlings caused after her summons. Answering a question was fine, and the Green was more than happy to school a hoity-toighty Silver. A shiny hide did not mean a bright mind, and there were plenty of times Fahimth was happy to point that out. Her demeanor changed when she was verbally attacked by the unhappy Red.
The. Riv. Er. She enunciated each syllable crisply and clearly as if speaking to an old uncle that was losing his hearing. Mynanth, Yours is condemned to latrine duty until her impertinence has dissipated. L'rien elbowed his lifemate in the shoulder for doling out punishments without his permission or authority. That said, the Weyrlings did need to learn their place - not necessarily as the lowest rank amongst the riders, but as respectful team players. He gave a salute to Oryka and X'ric as they arrived, glad the class was now scrambling. After one last glare back at his forest-Green, he stepped forward, ready to give instruction when the rest of the class arrived.
Ever since Telenon had found his sister, he had spent as much time as possible with her. Despite her standoffish ways - she had been independent a few turns before she came here without her family - she enjoyed his company. Right now, however, was not one of those times.
Telenon had gotten a relatively easy chore - wipe down the tables and straighten the chairs after the breakfast rush was over. With the Weyr still somewhat lightly populated and running drills and the like as any other Weyr would, the breakfast rush was over quickly and the hall ended up almost completely empty. Now that he was done - and bored - Telenon had gone into the kitchens to "help clean," which basically entailed watching the other candidates on kitchen duty as they scrubbed the morning's dishes to be ready for lunch.
"If you're not going to help, get out of here," Taralo hissed for what seemed like the millionth time. Telenon scowled and, to his credit, did grab one nested pile of dirty bowls and placed them in a sink of suds. Suds that suddenly had a streak of gray in them as Rings decided to make his appearance, playfully diving into the hot water. The Silver very quickly regretted this decision, leaping back out with a squeal because of the unexpected heat. Whining, the flitt dove into his pet's tunic, squirming between the warm skin and soft tunic, claws scraping against Telenon. The boy yelped, squishing his flitt down to keep him still, only for Rings to disappear Between.
Taralo rolled her eyes. "This is why I told you those things were useless. All that flitt does is get in trouble."
Telenon scowled right back. "Rings does a lot of nice things for me! He... he finds stuff, and - " His sentence was cut off as said firelizard returned with joy on his mind and in his voice. He grabbed Telenon's tunic, tugging the boy towards the cooking fires. "See!" Considering there were a few others headed that way, Taralo felt obliged to follow in order to see what chaos someone had managed to scrounge up this time.
"Hi there!" Telenon said to no one in particular, flashing a grin, before his attentions were drawn back to the item in question. He reached up on his tip-toes to see. "Flitt eggs!" he exclaimed - not that a bunch of other people were murmuring about them. "Talo, get one! I promise you won't regret it."
Taralo frowned at the use of her old childhood pet name being used in public, slowly shaking her head. "There's enough going on to take care of. I'm not adding some needy baby to the pile." Telenon pouted for a moment before taking a daring risk by reaching forward to grab Taralo by the vest, tugging her towards the small collection of eggs. While she was taken by surprise, the woman was much stronger than her little brother, and so she easily shoved him towards Craiss. In the end, both of them ended up in front of the ex-fisher.
"Uh. Hi." Rings chirped a greeting along with his human.
Taralo's attempt to disarm Kumari - literally or figuratively - had ended in failure. He had been unbalanced, sure, but that didn't make much of a difference, as the man seemed nimble enough to keep his footing and ultimately achieve his goal, having Laloraine in his arms. By the time the woman had herself turned around, it was too late to stop him, and so, for mere moments, she glared at him, lip curled in a dangerous sneer. The air burst with the sound of dragons ready for another kind of fight, one of stamina and agility in the pursuit of a rising female. Taralo had wanted to take advantage of that, but sex was a much lower priority than protecting the riders of her Weyr.
In what would be considered calling his bluff, Taralo took after the fleeing man and his prize. All in, double or nothing. Kumari wouldn't dare hurt this Greenrider he had pined after - she refused to think of the "nothing" option. She refused to think he would consider it. And so, despite the ache already in her muscles from her morning jog, she dashed after the dragonless man, ignoring the clawing of the underbrush and the ripping of the leaves. Unburdened by a kidnapee, it wouldn't be too difficult to catch up. What happened then, well... Taralo would decide when that time came.
It was lucky that Kiranth was too young to chase - or at least young enough that he wasn't interested. X'ric found himself occupied enough without also having a dragon overwhelming his mind. It was clouded enough with a fear of death he hadn't felt in many turns. The other man was a brute - a psychopathic one, at that - and X'ric wouldn't be capable of truly going blow to blow with that kind of fury and power. The only advantage he seemed to have was a working set of lungs and possibly more stamina. Not that it would matter if X'ric was cut to ribbons.
The smith didn't manage to dodge the first strike but largely avoided damage as machete blades were rarely pointed. The second attack, however, he moved into, holding his hammer out as if trying to bunt a ball. In a battle between a heavy chunk of steel verses the much thinner edge of any blade, the bulk would absorb the impact much better. Knowing he didn't dare stay on the defensive, not having the training to stay alive that way, X'ric instead lunged forward, hoping to smash a few fingers if not do damage further up in the arm.
Hezzath was, in short, panicking. He was already much more of a peace, not war kind of dragon, but having the fight in the Weyrbowl? Being as empathetic as he was did not help, as others' terror was his own. Norra was gone, running through the corridors to get to her Wingleader's weyr, the Weyrleader's weyr, shells, the hatching sands if need be. Surely none of the people she was seeking were ignorant of the situation, but she had to get support, had to stand next to another for this fight.
For this flight, it seemed, as a draconic scream ripped through the air.
Ilydeth! the electric-hued Blue cried, largely out of surprise and for his rider's sake than to actually call out to the rising Green. How... how could he...
I have to keep Ilydeth safe! If she... Ilydeth! I come for you, Ilydeth! I will not allow any to hurt you or Yours! Hezzath bugled his challenge, leaping from his ledge as the Green eclipsed the sun. He would be at a disadvantage for not having time to blood, but then, he never had the advantage of stamina over the brothers he competed against. He would catch the gem Ilydeth with the power of his speed alone, and save her from the dangers that had come from the jungles below.
Morning meant running, no matter the weather, no matter the location. Luckily, this morning was clear and the humidity had not yet lifted from the ground, so Taralo's morning jog was going smoothly. It would be time for morning lessons soon, so Taralo turned her path towards the Weyr. While she was keeping an eye out for anything dangerous, humans weren't on that list, and so at first she didn't take any real notice of V'sos except the fact that he existed.
Then came Kumari's scream.
Then the explosion of Kimkinth's voice in her mind.
There was no time to think, only to react. Her pace quickened to a sprint when she saw one man burst from the foliage. There was a flash of steel, the scent of blood. Taralo's gaze went red. She may not have a weapon, but that did not mean she was unarmed. There were others there, sure, but none had made a move towards the man that dared to attack.
Upon approaching Kumari, she would reach out in an attempt to grab the dragonless man's wrist and if she succeeded, slam her other arm into his in an attempt to break some kind of bone. Even if she missed, the force of her sprint would cause her to at least tackle the man if he wasn't able to dodge in time.
Predawn was the best time to smith, especially in this environment. The rain forest heat was bad enough without adding the forge to it. And so X'ric, the early riser, was at the smithy plying his craft. He was, perhaps ironically, working on hammering out machete blades. The jungle did not relent in its constant growth, reaching out to retake Xian and return it to its organic form. To cut it back and to blaze trails to needed resources, machetes were the best choice.
With one blade formed, he dropped it into a bucket of water, ignoring the hissing and billowing steam as he reached for another iron blank in the furnace. He placed it on the anvil, but paused after the first strike when he felt a surge of energy from Kiranth.
Mine, there's... The Brown didn't have to explain as Kimkinth very quickly explained the uproar that was beginning in the Weyrbowl. The hot iron was dropped to the floor as the Weyrling turned heel and began running towards the scuffle. He may not be a swordsman, but X'ric had a hammer and fifteen turns of practice using it. Anyone that dared to try and hurt or kill a member of Xian - shells, anyone - would not find X'ric to be a poor excuse for a defender. He arrived in time to see Ulrict emerge from the foliage, moving towards the man to draw him away from the cluster of riders.
Note: This will be refined in the future, but nothing will change except wording.
X'ric is, quite basically, a man of cliches. One glance, and all but the very dullest Pernese can accurately guess the heritage of this particular Dragonrider. With the height and bulk, X'ric was born to eat, sleep, and breathe smithing. Filling out a hearty six feet and three inches, he is also broad-shouldered and broad-chested, with all limbs banded with toned muscle. While not exactly a muscle man, X'ric looks, and is, quite strong, able to use his bulk to his advantage - not that he often needs to. His face is rather square, with a strong jaw and features more often than not considered quite ruggedly handsome. Short hair gently brushes the top of his ears, worn in a very uncomplicated style, and is utterly and completely jet black in color. Anyone that puts any focus on this man's eyes has to recall the old adage of said organs being the window to the soul. X'ric's eyes are certainly striking, a bright green, and hold the kindness he is known for; but also anyone can see the strength, and even hardness, this man holds in his soul. More often than not, X'ric can be found in sturdy work clothes, his day-to-day activities needing function over fashion. When he is required to dress up, however, he prefers plain clothes with smooth lines, often in earth tones.
X'ric seems, at the very surface, some strange conglomeration of being both simple and very complex. There are very basic parts to him, but a lifetime (and then some) of experiences has added layers.
First and foremost, X'ric has a very strong sense of duty and responsibility. Be this taught or simply bred into him, X'ric holds the same honor and pride in his work as the Smiths he once used to live with. Anything that's worth doing is worth doing well, and as such, he puts all of his effort into anything he puts his mind to. Furthermore, he has no patience for anyone who slacks off or does a half-assed job. X'ric is not truly hide-bound by any means, but he does follow tradition, as they are practices tried and true.
Perhaps from an advanced state of maturity, X'ric sees absolutely no rhyme or reason in anger. He shows nothing but respect for anyone, even those who have previously disrespected him. A kind soul seems to emanate from every fiber of his being in a tangible way, as anyone who has met him knows this is what truly lies inside. Oftentimes the biggest punishment is simply knowing how disappointed X'ric is because of your actions than the actual discipline. There are some times when X'ric is actually rather hard to read regarding his true feelings because he'd rather not show them.
A tinkerer at heart, this Smith-bred man is also very curious and has a thirst for knowledge. Smithing would have been a perfect job for him as it would have given ample opportunities to learn about how stuff works. Now he spends his time reading books. More recently, he's gotten quite curious about the jungles surrounding Xian Weyr, wanting to know what dangers but also, more importantly, what opportunities lie within the foliage. Unfortunately, his duties take up most of his time, so this investigation is more often than not on hold.
While not exactly a social butterfly, X'ric will engage in good conversation when prompted. Sometimes this is challenging, however, as X'ric was once several of Southern's Riders' immediate superior. Still, those that can look beyond that will find X'ric to be exactly as described, with perhaps some surprises mixed in. Very few people know who X'ric truly is, and it doesn't seem like that will change too much in the future.
To also be refined
A smith, born and bred, little Xoberic was born slightly prematurely to a blacksmith and his goldsmith wife, though neither had too much concern about their (relatively) tiny child's life being cut short. And they had no need to, as over the years the baby turned into a toddler and then turned into a child. Young Xoberic was a very curious lad, and often would watch other people do their jobs around the hold, just to see how it was done and how it worked. Both parents could easily see their son growing up to take on their profession - perhaps a machinist, or a chemical smith. As anyone would expect given his pedigree, Xeric quickly grew out of his smallness, and after puberty he fit right in with the other apprentices at the Southern Smith Hall.
Some time after he turned fifteen, a Search from Southern stopped by, and Xoberic was picked out as potential. He felt honored to be considered to help save Pern against its ancient enemy, and gladly accepted. Shortly after, a strong, nearly white hatchling walked up to Xoberic, announcing himself as Silver Taireth, and asking for some food from his X'ric. No one could have picked a better match. Weyrling Training seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, and before they knew it, they were off saving Pern. Shortly after Weyrling Training completed, Taireth would chase and catch a female Black, winning with surprising ease. X'ric and Vynara parted on good terms, though it was a few months after that the Blackrider found out she was as pregnant as her dragon. At the age of seventeen, X'ric was already a father.
For the next few turns, X'ric and Taireth worked hard in protecting Southern's people from a menace the same color as the dragon's hide. Some say this was their downfall - who could tell silvery Thread from a silvery dragon? No one is quite sure what happened, but the will of a Gold managed to get Taireth back to Southern's Weyrbowl. The healers pulled X'ric from his flailing dragon in an attempt to keep the rider safe and calm so they could tend to the dragon, but all too soon, there was nothing but cold air left.
Xeric was broken. For quite some time, the half-man wasted away in the infirmary, saved from dehydration and starvation by broth laced with enough fellis to keep him compliant. The first few days he was barely lucid by his own hand. After about two sevendays he was human enough to make the decision on whether or not he would follow Taireth. He took a walk to see the world one last time, only to have a chance encounter with a toddler Xavinyra. His child. Something precious to him that loved him unconditionally. It was then that Xeric pulled himself out of the deep and declined the mercy draught. He dedicated himself to raising his child and helping the Weyr, finishing up his apprenticeship under a Master stationed at Southern to become a blacksmith and create the various metal things needed around the Weyr. He remained friends with the Weyrleaders, who had trusted him as Wingsecond before the disaster, and he was often employed as counsel and diplomat.
Finally back to a strong semblance of himself, he eagerly volunteered to assist in the scouting of what would become Xian when it was determined that Southern was simply getting too large. He spent a few weeks at the cavern system that would become the new Weyr, using what knowledge he had to determine how to proceed, what tools to use, and the like. He returned to Southern to keep up with his paternal duties and because he had the forge and equipment needed to create the tools Xian would need.
Xavinyra's twelfth turnday came, as did a clutch. While hatchings always caused Xeric to feel uncomfortable, he wouldn't miss this for the world and wouldn't miss any clutches until Xavinyra Impressed. Eggs hatched, Dragons found their lifemate, but one Brown seemed very worried. Scared, even - he hadn't moved from his place in the remnants of his shell. He was finally urged forward, and the filigree Brown took a few unsteady steps forward, head slowly swinging back and forth as he looked at both males and females. Eventually his path took him past the ring of candidates and his gaze went up into the stands, locking eyes with X'ric. A quiet little voice mentioned that he was Kiranth and that he would like some food if that wouldn't be too much trouble.
The man once again named X'ric was floored. He found himself entering Weyrling Training once again with kids half his age. Ultimately, a good portion of his training was self-taught, considering he didn't need to go through lectures on Weyr structure or dragon anatomy. Wing Drills? He had led those for two turns. Some visualizations for Betweening needed a little brushing up, but subjects drilled into a person until they were instinct didn't leave easily.
Still, it wasn't perfect. Kiranth wasn't Taireth, X'ric had succeeded where Xavinyra failed. X'ric strugged with himself for a bit, only to find relief that his entire Weyrling class would be transferring to Xian. It would be a fresh start, where he could leave the shadows of his past behind and further search the jungles that had caught his interest.
Name: Atos Species: Canine Gender: Male (Neutered) Description: A cur-type hunting dog originally purchased for Xavinyra but ultimately trained by X'ric to help in hunting down wherries, small animals, and even the occasional feline. He's a very focused canine constantly coiled with energy and has the opinion that he owns their family.
Name: Kiranth Color: Brown (#752C01)
Like all Browns, Kiranth is a broad thing, with wide wings and a deep chest. While there's still a bit of growing left in him, he'll end up a good 39 feet - just about average. His hide is a mix of russet and dark bronze patina, looking almost as if someone had covered fine mahogany with bronze filigree and let it age.
Kiranth is an absolute gentleman, quiet and caring and all too happy to hurl compliments at anyone he meets. It does take him a bit of time to actually warm up to someone new, sometimes stammering as he warmly greets them, but the shower of love isn't too far behind. He's not so much a flirt, though his absolute sweetness can be seen as such.
When around those he is comfortable with, they find him to be a little bundle of energy. Kiranth is always so happy, and tends to get excited at the smallest things. He enjoys the antics of the flitt and canine in his family, and in private will romp around like a puppy. While not always readily apparent because of his latent shyness and his chivalry keeping him from invading ones' space, Kiranth is a tactile dragon and loves cuddles with anyone.
I don't have to make my monk a pretend Demon Hunter any longer since I can make her a REAL DEMON HUNTER.
Which means I need to reroll my monk since I'm too cheap to pay for a race change. Problem is, I can't decide on a race. Might go Dwarf because Brewmaster but that seems cliche. Maybe I'll leave that spot open just in case my RAF gets over her fear of video games before the expiration for the mount bonus e_e
I finally got my account back up and running after having to drop my sub just before Warlords. Aalesia is my main. I haven't been able to RP since I started just because it's awkward to play a Draenei ignorant of what's going on in past-Draenor. MUST DO ALL THE QUESTS.
The thing I HATE about the end of Harry Potter is that Rowling is all "lol and they lived happily ever after."
'Cause, y'know, it's not like Harry has endured seventeen years of hell or anything. There wasn't a war and so many deaths. What's essentially a nation of people didn't endure over two decades of terror. An entire school wasn't held at ransom and forced to do devilish things.
Nope. None of this happened. Everyone lives HAPPILY. EVER. AFTER.
And us readers? Those that literally grew up with Harry? We have to live happily ever after. Even though we saw the pain of loss and want. The fear of the slinking unknown. The terror of being followed. The knowledge that danger is closer to home than we thought. The unfolding tyranny. The growing corruption.
The death of one of our favorite characters.
The true life of several of our least favorite characters, which only brought them closer to our hearts.
But we live HAPPILY. EVER. AFTER.
Because Rowling thinks "that's the bravest ending." That her characters ignore everything that happened and went on to be one big, giant, happy family.
-Ron and Ginny: Pfft, who was that Fred guy, anyway? Oh well, one of us ought to make a kid it name it after him. -Neville: Well, I still don't have sane parents, I was bullied horribly, but hey, I managed to chop off a snake's head when she tried to eat someone. Please excuse me while I water these daffodils. -Hermione: I just got thrown into a world I never knew about and was hated in. Peace, yo. -Draco: What do you mean, puppet? I did nothing wrong and was happy the entire time. -Not even going to get started on Harry.
I don't think any of us need to be reminded of what happens to people after a war. We've seen it enough over the past several decades.
So let's briefly focus on a writer who also wrote about kids who were forced into war. Applegate's Animorphs series. You know what happens in the end? One kid returns to "normal," because some are able to reconcile with their actions. One kid moves on to fame, because his life has always been about presenting a happy front, no matter how fake.
One kid abandons society all together, because he has nothing else left for him.
The last kid falls into such a deep depression that the others attempt (and fail) an intervention. He doesn't truly recover from his PTSD. He never throws off the yoke he carries because so many deaths were at his hands, because of his orders.
Applegate got so much hatemail because of this. Because one kid didn't survive the war. But you know what? Applegate's books, however aged, however campy, are so much more real than the science fiction it's supposed to be.
Rowling didn't understand that. Or chose to ignore it.
And that is why I hate the ending of Harry Potter.
With the restday provided by the new arrivals and the welcoming feast over, it was time for everyone to get back to work. Everyone, including any leaders of any type. Even a Weyrling Master who just got his title last night. Who just got the itinerary this morning. Who had wanted to at least have time to get over his hangover before starting wing drills or something. Would he even have wing drills?
L'rien rubbed his face, trying to erase any dregs of sleepiness or headache that might appear on his face. Despite the heat, he had a long-sleeved shirt on, though the light fabric would at least wick away any sweat. He could never cover up his hand, but he was still self-conscious about the threadscore across his left side. If the Weyrlings hadn't been exposed to the dangers they would be facing soon enough, the three-fingered man and his silver-laced lifemate would be a rather obvious example.
The young Weyrling Master traced a leaf on his lifemate's hide, taking solace in their bond. Hearing boot steps made him turn, and he offered a grin and a salute to the folk who brought the last few sacks needed for the day's lesson. It was a practical lesson - one that could be either very interesting or very dangerous. Potentially both.
Weyrlings, expedite your travels to the estuary. Enlightenment awaits.
L'rien couldn't help but to grin widely, wondering how many of the young riders would have no idea what she said. Ah well, if nothing else, this job ought to be hilarious.
Taralo was much more of an evening person, and so rising early was not something she was entirely keen on. That said, duty came first, and if that duty meant rising early, then so be it. She ate breakfast alone, largely because of the sour expression she gave to the chipper morning people. Those people were insane or didn't go to the feast. Or both. Taralo nursed her mug of klah as if trying to extract extra energy through osmosis, though that didn't particularly work. In the end, she gave up on the inevitable tiredness that would cling to her, knowing she would be much more awake and focused once she got moving.
There was to be a candidate lesson and, given by the location they were told to go, there ought to be some kind of work involved, not some lecture to endure. She returned to the candidate barracks to change into something more sturdy in the off chance the Candidate Master was crazy enough to drag an entire gaggle of candidates into the jungle. Stiff hide might be stifling in the heat and humidity, but it protected against the thorns and branches that constantly grabbed at one blazing a trail.
Before she left the barracks, Taralo felt obligated to check on her brother, and after an inquiry with another candidate, found that he was still dead asleep. Ignoring any rules already in place (after all, Taralo had helped craft this Weyr, it was hers and she could do what she wanted) she strode defiantly into the men's barracks, grabbed Telenon by the ankle, and literally dragged him out of bed. A few curses could be made out among the muffled sounds of annoyance that escaped the younger boy, though all of it was drowned out by Rings' screech as the Silver dove at Taralo, grabbing at her hair and trying to nip her fingers as she swatted the flitt away.
"Wat'cha want, anyway?" Telenon mumbled when he sat up, staring at his sister briefly, eyes half-lidded. Then he noticed his flitt. "Rings, c'mon, don' be a tailfork." Obeying his pet, Rings fluttered away and came to land on the mess of blonde hair that was Telenon's head.
"You're late for the lesson," Taralo snapped. It wasn't quite true - at least not yet, but she was annoyed with having to babysit him, being attacked by a flitt, and whatever dumb mumbling Cabriel was shouting. She folded her arms across her chest, trying to decide whether she ought to leave him in this mess or make sure the dimglow was prepared for his first lesson here at Xian. It seemed to be the latter as Telenon quickly rose from his blanket nest, grabbing his tunic from last night and burying his flitt in it as he pulled it back over his head. Taralo rolled her eyes, turning towards the exit and marching off with Telenon in her wake, busy trying to stomp his feet into his boots a little more properly.
Taralo arrived in time to catch a few snippets of conversation, but Telenon didn't line up properly until after the whistle. Not that he was the only one to do so, with the little knots of candidates getting to know each other. Easy rules! And the consequence of breaking one of them wasn't even terrible anyway. Well, Conleth was rather large. Still - spending time with a dragon sounded awesome, and Rings, who was finally starting to calm down from the morning's assault, was agreeing. Both stared down at the sack of sashes, admiring what colors spilled out. Once the coast was clear, Telenon quickly stepped forward, his hand diving in to grab a random sash towards the bottom, being rewarded with an olive sash. Drab, but interesting.
"Oh, uh, there's the Master Beastcrafter that makes sure the herds are kept up and stuff. And I'm Telenon." Telenon's imagination shifted from the color of his sash to the memory of gangly newborn herdbeasts all shivery since they were first learning how to stand. With a bright grin on his face, he wandered towards Berelai while trying to tie the blindfold on at the same time. This would likely not end well.
"I'm Taralo, and one position is the Head Cook," was Taralo's brief reply as she grabbed one of the sashes on top - a gaudy saffron thing that probably wouldn't look good on anyone. Like the other two candidates before her, she made her way towards the entrance to the Weyrbowl, hoping the Candidate Master wasn't insane enough to send a gaggle of greenhorns into the jungle blindfolded. She would dutifully lead the others back to safety... but that didn't mean she had to be happy about it.