An average woman is Suletia. She is fair enough to be called pretty, but the word may not be the first adjective to come to the viewer's mind. Mousey auburn hair falls to the woman's waist - that is, it would were it let out of it's normal, intricately braided updo. Wisps have been shorn to fall precisely at chin length, framing Su's round face. Her eyes are a green-blue, and all of her facial features are properly proportioned to her face. On the tall side for a girl, Suletia is willowy and long of limb, and lightly endowed where it matters. Her long legs are well muscled, and she carries little fat - little enough for it even to be remarked about that she is /too/ thin. Her skin is a deep tan and, at times, shows the marks of burn, a tribute to the harsh Igenite sunshine, which she has been out in overmuch recently. She seems to be constantly moving, never still and ever fidgeting somehow, even if it's just her solemn regard roaming about.

Suletia is outfitted simply, her clothing all dyed in a muted theme of cool colors. A periwinkle blue undershirt fits close to the gentle curve of body, topped by a light over shirt that fits loosely and has been washed almost to the point of being gauze, the blue of it faded to an icy gray. Slim fitting pants, dyed this time in a teal green, reach just for her knees and are topped by a pair of shorts in the same color. A belt, in a deeper blue, is slung snugly about her hips, and holds only two small pouches which are affixed into place. A wear spot in the belt suggests that another pouch is often affixed there. Pale green shoes, the leather obviously worn hard and worked until perfectly flexible, fit her feet like gloves, and her prints through soft footing often leave the mark of the small spikes affixed to the bottom of the soles. Pooled around her ankles are leg warmers, in the same teal shade as her pants, though flecked here and there with dirt specks. Around her wrist is a band, doubled over twice to fit her slim wrist, in the same shade and material as the warmers. From head to toe, it is apparent that Suletia is of the Runner trade.


Born to an old-fashioned couple at Igen Hold's runner station, Suletia has spent all of her life running. For all Pern's technological advancements and dragons transporters have begun to make runners useless, the runners themselves believe they are a breed which will never die. Suletia had a normal runner's childhood - educated by Igen's Harper, and learning with her gaggle of siblings how to run and to take care of runners around her. At sixteen, when the Hold's Healer pronounced her fit to run, she took her test-run with her father and passed, though her father jokingly tells everyone that he nearly failed her just because she's his daughter. Surrounded as she was by good will and laughter, Suletia has always been a solemn person. The middle child of nearly ten, Su learned early how to make herself amused - and this was nearly always accomplished by satisfying her curiosity through asking questions of those around her. The practical facet of her personality kept her from asking fanciful questions - always "how" instead of "why". In this way, Suletia has built up quite a fountain of knowledge that she keeps shyly to herself. "One will never stop learning." She will intone wisely to a younger sibling. "Ask questions, do not assume you know everything. Even if you've heard the answer a hundred times, you may still learn something new from it." Now in her twenty-third Turn, Suletia has much expanded her knowledge of many things outside Igen and done several Crosses of the Northern Continent. A fling at nineteen resulted in her single child - Tironin, who is fostered with her mother at the Runner Station. Recently, she fell in love with a rider at Igen Weyr and moved happily in with him, paring down her near-daily runnings to once-weekly - mostly so she could see her family at the Station. When the fling was over, Suletia couldn't bear to move away from the Weyr - preferring the open, amiable atmosphere of the Weyr to the more stuffy, prudish atmosphere of the Hold. Despite this preference, Suletia /is/ prudish - blushing near maroon when personal or delicate subjects are discussed, never bathing naked around others, so on.

Despite her prudish attitude, Suletia's firm, quiet manner and ability to work well with people were recognized when Igen's Leadership abruptly changed over. Despite a less then happy first meeting between the woman and the Weyrwoman, Sianne couldn't begrudge Suletia's modest talents. Since the position of Headwoman had come open with the illnesses that had run through the Weyr, Suletia was plopped into said position and left to fend for herself while the new Weyrleaders strove to set the dragon-side of the Weyr to rights. The woman has done rather well for herself thus far - herding Candidates for the clutch Sakrienth bore, setting the Lower Caverns to rights, and overseeing a grand cleaning of all her domain. Her largest trouble right now comes not from naysayer or child, but from herself. Suletia's almost obsessive compulsion to worry over details and might-be's seem to have stressed the woman and aged her, even over the course of the last few months. Though still shy, her position demands she stay in public view and not show fear. Thus, her shyness is rigidly controlled, only surfacing around those she is uncomfortable with or does not know - and even then, as ridiculous formality. Slowly, she is becoming easier with people around her - and the singular person she seems easiest with, besides the drudges and caverns women she works with every day, is the Weyrsecond, Oe'lly, who seems to have become her link between herself and the Weyrleadership.


Name Relation Location Position
Solreiya Mother Igen Hold Runner
Letiron Father Igen Hold Runner
Tironin Son Igen Hold Fosterling


Gold Love
The sedate swirl of tropical blue eyes marks the calm presence of one whose figure doesn't appear quite so sedate. Then again she is apt to be stretched out upon her side, as if posing for some artist's pleasure, letting the light hit her body just so to set the natural beauty of her hide afire. The intensity of the deep golden ochre base binds, if it is unable to tame completely, the wild hues which otherwise escape upon her hide. One might long debate if it is a child's wild imagination that has escaped in a rash of finger-painting frenzy, or the work of a mad artist who has gone so completely beyond the normal confines of art that they have reached a level one can only salivate at dreaming of obtaining. In either case the bolder of the paints which adorn her shapely figure in vibrant wiggles and swirls are of yellow oxide and canary yellow. Upon the delicate membranes of her wingsails the golden hued are accented with streaks of red and violet, but of imagined sunrise or sunset, well that will be another debate for another day.

Bronze Sarge
A white-gold shimmering has settled upon this firelizard, hide smooth and unblemished from tip of muzzle to end of tail. Though the tone and colouration does shift along the sleek form and the unimposing musculature which projects an impression of quiet and unquestionable strength. Just slightly too small to be a gold, his shoulders are coated with bands of copper with four pale gold stars along their lengths while the right side of his chest is covered with a rectangle which is divided into smaller sections each marked with distinct symbols and hinting at a deeper meaning that only he knows. Above the rectangle is the form of what might be a golden wherry, wings spread in flight. Down his chest runs a line of bronze buttons, perfectly round and shimmering with the obvious signs of loving care. Its his wings which settle the issue of his colour decisively, they form a cloak of deep bronze which accents the white-gold brilliance of his main mass perfectly.


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