Name Averil
Played by Andreja Pejic
Gender Male
Current Home Xanadu Weyr
Place of Birth Ista Weyr
Occupation Weyrling
Status Harper - Illustrator
Dragon Green Mirieth
Hair Blond
Eyes Mist grey


Standing just a shade under five foot four inches tall, Avi is nothing if not diminutively willowy in his appearance. Slender to the point of nearly being too skinny, his frame is possessed of lean muscle and bone that stands out sharply beneath pale flesh. Still, there is a fey-like appeal to his appearance, a beauty that, while assuredly gender neutral in nature, crosses over the border into feminine. Full lips, high cheekbones, and pale blue-grey eyes and thick, enviably long lashes are framed with a shock of golden blond hair that cascades in soft waves to the middle of his back. His neck is long, definitely falling into the range of swan-like, with a pronounced Adam's apple and a sharply defined clavicle. At first glimpse, and without purposeful observation, it is nearly impossible to assign Avi a gender. Most, admittedly, default to female purely from the initial visual sweep.
His clothing, while simple, is pointedly well-made and crafted from obviously fine materials. On his torso he wears a loose fitting linen shirt, the snowy fabric falling in loose folds around the slimness of his frame. The collar, while high when buttoned, is left open, the top three buttons nearly always undone to reveal a glimpse of the pale flesh of his chest. The sleeves are voluminous, leather cording causing it to blouse out around his bicep and just above and below his elbow before being secured by wide cuffs held closed with pearl buttons. Around his neck, a simple leather cord holds a small pendant, the gold disc adorned with abstract triangles. On his lower body, Avi wears a fawn colored riding skirt in butter soft suede. A row of delicate pearl buttons runs down the center to mid-thigh where the skirt splits of ease of riding.Long strands of gold hair are drawn loosely back into a tail secured at the nape of his neck by leather cording matching that appearing on his neck and again at his waist and again on his feet. A pair of fawn colored boots in soft suede hug his calves, the upper fold (demonstrating that they could be laced all the way to mid-thigh) embossed with a delicate abstract tracery. The boot heel is defiantly low, making it clear he feels no need to try to appear taller then he is. All in all he presents a dashing, if not diminutive figure and is clearly an individual that cares about his appearance.
On his shoulder, a knot declaring him a candidate at Xanadu Weyr can be easily spied.


Avi isn't exactly sure where he was born, or who his parents were. He knows that they were dragonriders, but has no idea where, or what they might have impressed. His earliest memory is of the nannies at Ista Weyr, strong, stout women with serious faces and voices that always sounded gentle even when they were scolding. From a very early age, it was clear that he was not the sort of child that favored running around crazy and playing in large groups. He prefered to be by himself with books or charcoal and paper to draw on. At a very early age it became abundantly clear that Art was where Avi's talents lay. His lack of interest in games and physical activity due, at least in part, to his being considerable smaller and far more willowy in form then his peers. Being mistaken for a girl is an occurence that has persist into even his adulthood.

Needless to say, his fey appearance and slender build often resulted in considerable teasing from other more physically inclined boys. And, upon more then one circumstance, the nannies were forced to intervene before real harm could be done. Bullies, though, were a fact of life that Avi quickly became accustomed to. And while he would never have the physical strength or temperament to fight, he was quick on his feet and clever in making his escapes. Of course, not every bully could be evaded and more then a few fights peppered his childhood. Avi, however, held his own in each of them despite the fact that each and every one ended in a beating and very stern talking to from the nannies. Lectures and scoldings, however, have a tendency to egg bullies on and the moment the nannies turned their backs, situations often got worse. It was a fact that had Avi getting very good at hiding and sneaking from a very young age. And a fact that had the nannies very concerned for his physical well being.

Fortunately, Avi turned out to be both gifted artist, and possessed of a keen intellect, from a very young age. A condition the nannies took advantage of by bringing him to the attention of visiting harpers. By the time he was nine years old he was packed up, and to the nannies relief, whisked off to Harper Hall and out of the reach of the bullies who had made it their business to torment him. Still, while Harper Hall was a vastly different world? The fact that he was very young, very small (which only made him appear younger), very fey-like in appearance, and a natural at his craft, had more then a few older apprentices curling their lip in his direction.

For Avi, not much had changed but his surroundings. Of course, while the bullies were less physical, it made them no less mean. And while the instructors were far more serious, there was always that aura of unspoken concern when it came to his person. But, life was better. While there were those who (out of jealousy or pure meanness and self-absorbtion) picked on him, most of his peers (all older for the most part) were welcoming. On more then a few occassions, he found himself being asked to provide illustrations for papers and reports. And, in short order, he settled in and turned his attention to throwing himself entirely into his art.

Puberty found him growing into his looks. While he would /never/ be masculine, his features took on sharper angles and a quiet intensity of the sort that tends to draw the eye. He was lovely— not handsome, or comely, but lovely in the way particularly winsome females tend to be— and learned to make the most of his physical appeal. By the time he was sixteen turns it became abundantly clear to Avi, his instructors, and those that knew him well, that he was never going to have an interest in girls. Boys though? Boys definately caught his eye. Trusting boys, however, was not something he was particularly keen on doing. Still, watching them? Drawing them? All from afar and in the aloofest way possible? That was something he could and would do. In this regard, his appearance played in his favor. Very few boys were going to complain, or take umbrage to a pretty girl watching them from afar. And those that felt bold enough to approach? Found themselves led on a merry chase through halls Avi knew well enough to avoid letting them get to close.

It was on his eightteenth turnday, nearly a year after being made a journeyman, that Avi was assigned to Xanadu Weyr. And, while leaving Harper Hall on his own (He'd gone on many trips with his instructors) was not something he was keen on? It was not quite as horrible a thought as might one expect.


Radiohead - Creep
Imagine Dragons - Demons
Hozier - Take me to Church
Snow Patrol - Chasing Cars
The Verve - Bittersweet Symphony
Evanescence - My Immortal
Linkin Park & Evanescence - Numb Life


Wallflower In Bloom Green Mirieth
She's every stroke an artist's dream. While not every eye sees beauty in shading so soft and subdued, nor the masterwork in her lean lines and subtle curves, the right eye will recognize this muted mamselle for the magnum opus she is. Mist shrouds her brilliance, hushing all her hues into hazy twilight greens. This embrace of nature's breath imparts a softness to her small and slender frame, reinforced by a nuanced patterning of eensy-weensy licks of an unbridled brush. This indistinct layering of complementary colors implausibly imparts a feeling, more essential than the truth of her utterly unassuming hide, that she possesses a vital vivacity. Obliging opacity obscures mettlesome depths, the magic of her minutiae enchanting only the avid observer with a willing heart. Bewitching brume casts the illusion of captured light making the rounded tip of her nose ghostly, a near white tinged with only an echo of the pale sage that was. Color blooms as slow and subtle as any sprouting seed seeking sun, painting her in a graceful gradient that grows to its deepest at the end of her slim tail, dual tips wrapped with haar-hugged emerald. Inconspicuous as each transition of tone is, it's noticeable where guileless eyes break the gradual progression, finespun eyeridges crested with a touch of shadow. If the common eye needs more reason than lackluster color or diminutive size to disregard her, it can be found in the quirky slant of her perky headknobs and dimensions of neck, tail and extremities, all as likely to be gangly-awkward as they are to be willowy and lithe in motion. These dinky details doom her to dismissal as a dragon as meek as she is harmless, at least where popular opinion is concerned. They don't diminish the capability contained by her spare yet sleek torso, flanks and hips, only the faintest curves creating a more varied shape to her than a straight line. Pigments pattering in the natural progression tip into frosted jade at the trailing edge of her delicate wingsails. So unremarkable is the flow of the perpetual transformation of color as it draws to its final, dusky evolution, no more intense than the rest of her, that it could convince the average eye that this extraordinary creature might be simply ordinary. After all, true beauty needs not the painted flourish of praise.



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