Ky'zai (Kyszarin)
Location Xanadu Weyr
Position Jr. Weyrling
Dragon brown Tchechayzaeth
Craft Healer (J'man)
Birthplace Ista Weyr
Played By Anthony White


A tight mass of thick black curls covers the crown of his head, cropped short to the nape of his neck. Beneath thick, arching brows peek a pair of gray-blue eyes that shine sapphire or steel depending on his mood. Dark stubble edges his long jawline, adding a hint of definition and deepening the stubborn jut of his chin. Wide, thick lips are often curved in a sarcastic smile beneath a long, straight nose. Like his face, the rest of him is lean, his lithe body little more than honey-hued skin and whipcord muscle, making him look a bit unfinished.

A simple Istan outfit is what Kyszarin has decided to wear today. Loose tan pants with pockets on each thigh hang low on his knees, a braided brown belt keeping them from sliding right off. Brown, thick-soled sandals help protect his feet from the hot ground, sturdy enough for hiking and climbing. A white undershirt is tucked into the shorts, and over that he wears a lightly woven blue fabric overshirt, short sleeved and unbuttoned. Around Kyn's neck a tree carved in driftwood hangs from a braided twine necklace, tucked against the hollow of his throat. Kyszarin appears to be a young man in his late teens.


Kyszarin is a the son of Zyriene, rider of gold Aseliath of Ista Weyr, and Ila’den, rider of bronze Teimyrth. He is, predictably, a flight-child, and not one originally well-received by his mother. Her relationship with Ila’den could be called acrimonious at best, and she resented being impregnated by the bronzerider. Her distaste, however, did not survive the moment the healer put her infant son in her arms and she realized that the son was most definitely not the father - and that she couldn’t help but love this tiny being she’d made.

Even her love for her son, however, could not overcome her dislike of his sire, and though she told Kyszarin who his father was - rather hard to hide in the Weyr when it was clear her pregnancy had been a result of her queen’s flight - she never bothered to inform Ila’den that he had a child. He had, after all, so many - what was one more? Surely he’d never miss what he didn’t even know.

Kyszarin, however, had two very stubborn parents, so he got a double-dose of the trait, and he was ever a precocious child. With some help from a friend’s father, he arranged a meet-up with the bronzerider away from the Weyr when he was seven. His first words out of his mouth upon meeting Ila’den were, “Hi, I’m your son. Mom didn’t want you to know, but that’s not fair, so whatever. Nice to meet you.”

It wasn’t that Kyszarin didn’t love his mother - he did, very much - he simply had no desire to be fatherless just because she didn’t like the man who had sired him. He never once asked Ila’den to meet with his mother, nor did he mention their occasional clandestine meetings to her. If she knew her son had contact with his sire, she never gave any indication in either direction, merely showering him with absent, but honest, affection during those times their paths crossed.

At twelve, Kyszarin began to show some interest in the Weyrhealers’ work and was invited to serve a pseudo-apprenticeship with them when he wasn’t off being a typical weyrbrat. It didn’t take long for that faux job to become a real one, and at thirteen he was sent to the Healer Hall to begin a formal apprenticeship. He wasn’t the best they’d ever seen - no child prodigy, he - but he was quick-fingered and clever and showed a knack for making the right decision under pressure, and he was a credit to the Hall and the Weyr.

Shortly after his nineteenth turnday, he walked the tables as a Journeyman. He knew that his mother and the Istan Weyrhealers expected him to return home, and had put some pressure on the Hall, but he’d spent several turns building goodwill with his seniors, and managed to convince them to choose a different path for him. So shortly after he gained his new knot and officially specialized in Trauma and Emergency medicine, he was shipped off to Xanadu Weyr to begin his new life as one of the Weyr’s most junior healers.


Name Relation Location Position Status
Ila'den Father Xanadu Weyr Assistant Weyrlingmaster PC
Zyriene Mother Ista Weyr Jr. Weyrwoman NPC
Risali Sister Xanadu Weyr Sr. Weyrwoman PC

A whole lot others. Check out Ila'den and Risali for more info.


Brown Ginger

He's a warmly brown firelizard, middle of the road as far as hue goes - maybe just a touch on the lighter side, if one's honest about it. Warmly cinnamon-spicy in hue, there's some delicious crackling along his blunted nose and soft neckridges, with waftings of ginger visible at the edges of the molasses dark marks. The crackled look persists along his neck and back before fading over his haunches. Somehow, his haunches and tail look sugar-dusted, with pale flecks scattered, just so, with a ghost of gold that catches the light and lends a lovely sheen. Ground clove and nutmeg mottles his belly and the insides of his legs, congealing with more molasses darkness to coat his paws and slow his stride. His wings are wonderful, an autumnal ombre that starts dark and quickly warms to russet at the edges, like sunset with the promise of something sweet at the end of the day.


The M is for Mobile brown Tchechayzaeth

At first glance it might appear someone upturned a cup of cold and sweetened klah over his lean brown dragon, a river of caramel and chocolate pouring over his hide. Dark, loamy grounds streak the peak of a large, wedge-shaped head that’s almost too big for his body, dusting back over soft-topped neckridges to the tip of his whiplike tail. Nearly camouflaged with the darker browns are multiple greenish stripes, running center from his small headknobs towards the center of his back, right where the wings flare from his broad back and shoulders. Creamed sweetness oozes over a clever, pleasant face and his long, slender neck, splashing over his chest before fading into something darker, and more mysterious. Black and blue twists of color emerge from the tendrils of caramel and chocolate browns to color his wings completely, a manifestation of some inner severity ending in pure black at the very tips of both wings. Despite his overall lanky appearance, strong muscles lay hidden within his soft hide: narrow yet powerful legs end in slightly snarled, pure black talons, mottled shades of heated syrup and that same militaristic near-green disguising the definition of abdominal musculature and the launching strength of his thighs.


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