Ait’Haro-Taj [Nomad] – The Vella Crean

Name Ait’Haro-Taj
Age Young Adult

Appearance Haro is tall and lean, with the strength and build of someone who is used to fighting alongside dragons and living a very strenuous nomadic life in the Nexus. She has dusky skin and dark, expressive eyes, and long dark hair that is normally worn half in braids, and half loose down her back. She enjoys collecting small and bright ornaments from different worlds in the Nexus, and incorporating them into jewelry and hair accessories. Haro specializes in wearable artisanal craft, and she likes to think that if one day she would have to give up her nomadic life, she could settle in a boisterous port city and make jewelry.
Personality Haro is a bit of a loner, one of the few tribesmen who like to travel on their own. She is incredibly curious about the worlds of the Nexus, and enjoys exploring and trading stories. She sells her wares as a trader, but is more interested in exchanging stories. Haro is a little bit naive, and a little bit too biddable. While she is fully capable in surviving by herself in the Nexus, she has an oddly romantic notion about the stories she tells (particularly about a benevolent God), and can be entirely too obedient when it comes to requests made to her by her Matriarch.
Ability Haro is a very strong, very fast, very capable ‘mortal’ whose lifespan just happens to be very, very long. The Ait Taj tribesmen can be killed, and they do die of old age. It just takes some time. They have a passive ability of being able to communicate and speak multiple languages (more of a quirk that allows them to translate languages, rather than becoming fluent speaking it themselves). Although Haro has dark hair and dark eyes, in certain light, there are times when her hair seems to be have flecks of molten gold. A genetic quirk, she explains, that runs through all the tribesmen.

Seeking a Partner in Crime at Alt. Benden

The story that was supposed to be a story but became bullet points

The Legend of Jorryn the Devastation

Haro grew up listening to stories told of their beginnings. Some called him a benevolent god, older than time with a form that inspired fear and respect. Others called him a trickster, bitter and angry at the world, attracted to the Ait Taj tribesmen because of a genetic quirk.
Haro did not care which was the truth, but she enjoyed the stories. Her travels took her far and wide across the Nexus (and sometimes into bubbles beyond it), and she enjoyed trading in stories. Learning the legends and tales of the land that she was in, but also spinning her own.
There was a benevolent god, she would tell on her travels, a very angry, but benevolent god who had lived since stars were young, trapped in his own world but able to use his sneaks and smarts to escape. On one of his daring escapes he came to a world full of sand and sun, and while he was drifting high in the sky on the warm gusts of wind, he caught a glint of molten gold.
Haro would always make sure that at that precise moment, she would tilt her head and let the light catch her own hair, where flecks of pure molten gold would sparkle and shine.
“Tell us more” the crowds would demand, and she would hem and haw, eyeing her small store of goods.
“Maybe later” she would say. “Once my goods have sold and my purse is heavy with coin.”
It always worked. People loved stories of the benevolent god, and they would buy a trinket, filling her coffers until she would smile and continue her tale.

The 7th Ward of Herakles

On one of Haro’s travels she found herself en route to a very familiar looking space station. The ship she was traveling on was full of interesting stories and pasts, and Haro was half tempted to ignore the very familiar form of the twelve wards.
But home was home, and so she asked the very pleasant looking captain for a short detour.
“Don’t stay too long” she warned him. “Visitors have a way of disappearing from the Wards and forgetting their purpose.” She had cousins who delighted in the ‘game’ of attracting wayward visitors and funneling them through the different wards.
Not her favorite cousins, and not her favorite pasttime.
“You’ll be safe here?” the captain eyed the overly romantic archways and tiers of the landing dock, forms swathed in shiny, shimmery materials moving to and fro.
Haro grinned. “I’ll be safe.” No one would touch a Ait Taj tribesmen, not at the 7th Ward. “If you get in trouble-” she paused. “Tell them you are here to trade with the Ait Taj, and you should not be hurt” too badly.
Haro found home as decadent and romantic as it had been during her last visit. Not much changed. New species yes, maybe just an additional twist of magic or architecture, but the essential, stunning facade of the ward with just that slight undercurrent of danger was familiar, was home.
What was not so usual and unchanged was the tall and rangy form that lounged on the central chaise of the main tent, the Matriarch who normally sat on the makeshift throne perched on an ottoman instead. Lanky, dressed in practical leathers except for the almost flamboyant fur capped cloak in a shimmering black, and a streak of gold across his cheek that glinted in the light.
Haro did not recognize this precise form. But she knew those eyes, the hard and ~~judgemental~~ appraising gleam, the ~~arrogant~~ confident arch to the brow.
Haro let out a delighted laugh as she dropped her bags, taking a running leap as she jumped towards the chaise, knowing full well that the man on the throne would have no issues in catching her. A short and bitter burst of magic flared before she found herself caught midair and gently dropped on the floor by his feet.
“I did not know you were visiting, Uncle Jorryn.”

“Uncle Jorryn” (Call him Uncle Joe and it will be the last words out of your mouth)

Haro found herself listening with half an ear as the Matriarch discussed clan matters with the Fell Gold, petting at the fur lined cloak and marvelling at the way it seemed to shimmer with almost an oil slick iridescence.
“Reptile?” she asked, wondering from which world Jorryn had managed to find such an animal. “Did you hunt this, or was it a tithe?” she knew of other cousins who delighted when the Golden Dragon visited, loving nothing more than to go through his coffers of gifts.
A deep rumble of amusement that would have been more at home from a dragon’s throat than a human’s greeted her question. “Dragon” he answered, and there was another short burst of bitter magic as something flicked her hands away from her covetous petting.
A fur cloak made of dragon hide Entirely entranced at the idea of a new chapter in her tales (an epic battle, she decided, one in which the benevolent God would win against a cruel and terrible foe) she leaned forwards, cupping her chin in her hands. “That sounds like quite a story.”
There was just a trace of amusement in the grey eyes. “To add to your tales of this ‘benevolent god’ of yours?”
“People enjoy the stories, Uncle Jorryn.” she blinked, her eyes entirely innocent. “People ask for the stories, and what is a humble storyteller to do, but obey the demands of her audience?”

The Story of the False God

“And with one great spell, the Benevolent God struck down the False God! And oh, how the people cheered!” Haro paused, taking a breath as the crowd let out a cheer at her words, a scatter of applause also following. “The people would be lied to no more by this False God who had caused such chaos and fear and death!” her voice rose, and she thought it was a particularly neat trick when just at the end of the words a clap of thunder shook the air.
“What happened then, Haro?” someone asked (maybe someone planted, but the rest of the audience didn’t need to know that).
Haro let out a dramatic sigh as she eyed the amulets that lay on her table, miniature dragons crafted from gold. “Maybe later” she drew out. “Once my goods have sold and my purse is heavy with coin.”
A wave of protests, and then hands that offered to buy a trinket, or two, or even three.
“Your child has quite a way with words.” Jorryn offered the words as a statement just shy of being a true compliment. “I am pretty sure that was not the story I told her.”
“Storytellers are prone to adding their embellishments, and the audience seems to enjoy it well enough.”
Jorryn grimaced. “These stories of a benevolent god, they will ruin my image.”
An amused chuckle. “Her stories have started to spread, and soon I would not be surprised if we were to receive visitors looking for this benevolent god.”
The Fell Gold shook his head. “An overly romantic notion of who I am, that only the very young and stupid would fall far.” he paused. “But-” a contemplative gleam in his eyes. “What an interesting way to cause a little bit of chaos.”

The Storyteller’s New Task

“You’d like me to tell your stories?” Haro asked. “I already do.”
“I’d like you to tell them to a very specific group of dragons.”
Haro shrugged. “Who my audience is does not make a difference to me, but to dragons?”
“Dragons, children, dragonriders.” The elder dragon mimicked her shrug. “There is a very stubborn group of old hides that are stuck to their ways and cause me a bit of nuisance.”
A slight hardening to his gaze. A mirthless smile. He had won the skirmish against Roahe and her attendants at the Vella Crean, but he would not take his chances (not yet, not while his charge was so young) with the Silver Dragon of the Oaths.
“It would be a good distraction if they had rumours and stories in their own territory to distract them. Of perhaps a very benevolent god who looks a little bit like me.”
Haro nodded. “Tell your stories in a new world? For you, Uncle, I can do that.”
Haro had no issues with the thought of telling more of her tales. Her audience seemed to enjoy the stories of the benevolent god, and the newest chapter with the False God had brought in a pretty penny.
“It’s not dangerous, is it uncle Jorryn?” she asked, if a little naively.
“Would I send you into danger?” he answered blandly.

Ait’ Haro-Taj’s arrival on Pern

The world was not too different from other slightly less technologically advanced hubs in the Nexus. Haro took a step back to admire the arrangement of cuffs and charms displayed on the table.
“I’m not sure what you think you will be able to achieve. We don’t have any festivities planned, you won’t get much foot traffic. Only residents and riders.”
That was exactly what Haro was hoping for. She nodded. “It will do. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” she grinned. “Thank you for your help.”
The resident shrugged. “Good luck, trader.”
Ait’ Haro-Taj took her position behind her table, and smiled. She turned her attention to the residents who drifted through the Weyr, craned her head to watch the dragonriders in flight. “Come one, come all!” she cried out. “To hear tales of adventure and intrigue! Of good winning against evil, and of love thriumphing over all!”

Arlo of White Ice: Non-binary sibling, youngest. Scares easily as a baby, but they grow into their teenage years with grace and dignity. Bright, curious, and a bit rebellious against Telbenyr’s ‘rule.’ Is the most gifted Ice magic user and has a knack for being in the wrong place at the right time. Often gets in trouble and finds creative solutions to get out of it on their own. Ride or die friend for life! Highly sociable and well liked by non-Eienic dragons – while their siblings may be a bit frosty to deal with. GOING WITH NAEODIN!