Description
Gleaming in the depths of their doe-shaped prison are wild emerald whirls, bubbling with fiery warmth and framed by long, thick sooty lashes of an auburn hue. Above sit neatly groomed eyebrows of a lighter hue than that of her hair. Small nose sits cutely in the middle of a delicately featured face, her cheeks dusted a pale pink of childhood, while her lips are the soft pink of the roses in the gardens. Sable hair curls softly just past her shoulder when left loose though it's most often pulled pack into a runnertail.
Short, though not overly so for her age, the girl stands about four foot six. The pale green fabric of the girl's dress folds over her shoulders, curling down around her arms and falling loosely across her thin frame. Skirt swishes lightly around her legs as she walks as it reaches the middle of her shins. A soft weyrhide forms over her feet into ankle high boots.
History
Four Sons Hold (a minor Hold) was founded by Fiorella’s great grandfather and passed down through the generations until it became the holding of Merdon. He was young when the minor Hold fell into his lap, headstrong, but he was married already with one living heir and another on the way. The holding fell by the wayside under his lax governing, becoming less known for its quality produce and livestock, and more known for its lavish parties and the philandering Merdon. Any illegitimate offspring he sired were never acknowledged; instead they had to live the common life in the shadow of his true heirs.
Fiorella is the youngest of six daughters between Merdon and his second wife, Wilone. Three sons preceded the bevy of girls, all born of the first wife who died from birthing complications. Their brothers were held up to a high standard, while the girls were pampered and spoiled by their father. He paraded them around like prized runners, making sure they were garbed in elaborate style that would awe and impress. Being the youngest, not to mention the eight turns between herself and the youngest of her older sisters, Fiorella was spoiled with everything a girl could wish for. After all, what wasn’t already lying around from one of the five girls that came before her could easily be obtained to make the baby happy. Of course Ella was much more interested in mud and bugs than any pretty dresses and baby dolls.
She was only five when her father died. Her oldest brother was thrust into responsibility, taking charge of the running of Four Sons, but he was nothing like Merdon. Leoren was practical, strict, and tightfisted. He was not the friendly face of comfort the young girl, but at least she had her sisters. Not that they were interested in the girl all that much either all being in their teens by this time.
While life went on, it wasn’t very fun. Girls, after all, are supposed to wear dresses, sit quietly, and behave. Ella did none of these. In the terms of her brother her personality was “more fitting of a red-headed renegade than a holder’s daughter”. Yet still a child with Leoren as her guardian she was forced to endure the lifestyle befitting of her status. Which meant frilly dresses, shoes that hurt her feet, cooking, cleaning, needles that made her fingers bleed on embroidery that never turned out right anyway, and all the other duties she’d need to know when she was finally old enough that he could marry her off.
So after four turns and a few moths of ‘putting up’ with the holder life the girl found a way to get herself to Fort Weyr. Bergitte and Sunniva, the two of her sisters closest to her in age, were already there. Despite uncertainty regarding the place and its people (and dragons), not to mention the distance from home, she was going. After all if it was good enough for Sunni, then it was certainly good enough for her, and there’s only so much Leoren any one person can stand to live with.
