Calomis was born in a little cothold not far outside of Balan Hold, his parents woodcrafters posted there for a few turns. They later returned to the Hall in Lemos, leaving the boy in the care of some relatives. He spent his youth travelling between family members, never one to quite settle, even well into his teens. It was a late apprenticeship to the bakerscraft, after turns of working the hold kitchens, that finally found him back in the cothold of his childhood, finding a life he enjoyed. But that life did not last terribly long, as a visiting rider took an interest, and promptly searched him for the clutch hardening on the sands of Reaches.

And so it was, at 22 turns, he was off to High Reaches Weyr, where he spent a hectic candidacy, discovering an equal love for weyr life as for cooking, the change from a holdbred lifestyle apparently suiting him. And it was on those sands that green Zorbaloth found him. The happiest day of his life, as he would later recall, and it seemed things could only get better. Freed from restrictions of hold and family expectations, he soon found himself faced with a grueling weyrlinghood, one which he did not manage to get through particularly well. His self-control was sorely tested, and a case of thick tail and various strain injuries to his dragon meant he was held back from graduation for at least half a turn, though when the pair finally did graduate, they managed to fit into weyr life well enough.

Unfortunately, the freedom did kind of go to his head, and there are many, many things he would regret about those early days. But they passed in a blur, almost. It was one spectacularly ill-timed incident that left him and his lifemate infirmary-bound, an accident, to be sure, but one he could not immediately walk away from. It was a sobering experience. And it left more than a few burned bridges, his near-reckless lifestyle at an end. So, instead of working through the difficulty and patching things up with wingmates and concerned friends alike, he packed his bags and was off to Ierne the moment Zorbaloth could manage. He's still a bit bitter about some things, though maybe his sweet tooth makes up for it - Faranth knows, his pastries are sweeter than his disposition. Time will tell where he goes from here, with no plan and no real ambition other than to start over. Zorbaloth thinks of it as an opportunity, but what else is new.


Name Relation Location Position Dragon
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Slitheen Green Zorbaloth
Drab green, not unlike the color of shady leaves, covers her bulky form, the dragon's shape more round than anything, with muscles prominant on stocky legs. Her claws are pretty short, but still sharp, the curved talons a shade darker than her hide. With a broad tail and thick neck, she's hardly as elegant or dainty as most greens, though her wings are surely large enough, mottled membranes shot through with bits of lighter, leafy tones. There is a paleness to the skin of her belly and the undersides of her jaw and feet, but she is otherwise unpatterned. Her muzzle is blocky, giving her head a less than streamlined appearance, with nostrils that always seem oddly flared and eyeridges that slant downward, making her look perpetually grumpy, no matter what color tints the facted orbs below them. She has headknobs that stick out quite a lot, although the effect might be said to be comical, the tips of them just a tad greener than the rest of her, matching the very tiny patches of brightness that touch her back and ridges. Solidly built and burly, she still is on the small side for her color.

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