Character type: Dragonrider
Rank: Wingrider
Age: 37
Gender: Male
Sexual Preference: Bisexual


At first glance, F'harin would be considered good looking enough, but certainly not on a level where people would do double-takes or remark especially on it. On the other hand, F'harin has a face that shines with who he is — his curiosity, his desire to do well and to do well by others, and it raises him to a far higher degree.

F'harin's big blue eyes, when they aren’t reflecting the fight and confusion housed within him, are sensitive and thoughtful. His quiet, careful manner puts people at ease, and there is something both precise and gentle about his carriage and every one of his movements.

F'harin doesn’t look like he grew up in the jungle, or that he was born in a Weyr and raised to the life of a rider; he is perfectly polished in his clothes, the care he takes in how he presents himself somehow translating to others that he would take just as good care of them too. He wears his uniform of flying leathers with a natural ease that says this man knows what he’s doing, he can help me. In contrast, his dark hair is boyishly unkempt, adding a subtle note of endearing, just enough to make him approachable, and maybe inspire the urge here and there to ruffle his hair or squeeze his face.


F'harin has an abundance of love for everyone; one imagines him as a puppy to be cooed over at how sweet he is, how trusting and relaxed he is with anyone at all who scoops him up. He's free with hugs, generous in showing his honest, open affection, easy with expressing ardor and esteem. He is the man whose celebrations and get-togethers everyone is invited to, not out of duty or manners, but his real interest in sharing the occasion with as many people as possible. F'harin has a knack for finding in everyone at least some small /something/ to like and appreciate, to make them worthy of love. For him, it's just the natural course and reflex to offer his devotion and appreciation. Storge and phileo, eros and agape — F'harin doesn't give value to one over any of the others, or define rules about how one is supposed to work differently than another. He gives himself fully to each kind.

He loves the whole, wide world and wants to explore it and find all the lovely things it has to offer. F'harin has a child's wonderment and wide-eyed awe, each new thing he sees or learns making his breath catch a moment. He's been known to even tear up when something has struck him especially right.

And it's not hard for the world to fall for him in return. Completely aside from his good looks or high station, he's just easy to love. He's love/able/. Generally a quiet, unassuming man, he even comes off as a bit on the reserved side prior to really engaging him. He's a /gentleman/. He's mild-mannered with a touch of placid good nature. He's dorky, gets a little too excited about Harper ballads, and is just generally so non-threatening and welcoming that with those good looks he comes off as every wet dream anyone's ever had about their sweet, nerdy teacher.

If only it were all sunshine and roses and sweet puppies begging for pets. While F'harin may have defied the odds and proven almost everyone wrong by surviving his accident, and recovering without any noticeable diminishing of his faculties, he's a man who has lost the majority of his memory, and one does not simply wake up one day without any notion of who he is, and bounce back as if it were nothing.

He feels as if there is something unfathomably huge missing, only he doesn't know what. The more F'harin tries to fill the gap with new experiences and new people, the more it gapes and feels as if it will never be satisfied. He has a voracious curiosity, furiously trying to fill that empty place, never able to stay for long with any one thing before he has to find the next, hoping it will be that missing piece. F'harin must keep himself busy, his mind most of all; when he's idle, his mind wanders, always scratching, tugging for what it still misses, a sensation that drives F'harin to restless distraction.

F'harin hates that he's left so many people in the lurch. It galls him to know how disappointed they must be in him, because he couldn't regain his memories of them and the times they'd shared, couldn't truly be that same man they'd known and wanted back. It's hard for him not to wonder in his most maudlin moments if he wasn't a better man before, someone he'll never live up to now. There are times, when in a fit of spite, he will deny himself his most basic urges, or do the opposite of where instinct or reflex steers him, just to reaffirm with himself that he can be in control of himself, make his own choices, be his own person.


Birthplace: Ista Weyr, 8.415.5.1

The romance between F’hoxin and Marvena seemed like a fairytale when it began. He was a young bluerider with stars in his eyes and dreams crowding his mind, and she was a slightly older candidate, charmed by his quiet, thoughtful ways, finding him much more mature than most of the riders twice his age. He dreamed big for their future together, hoping to win her agreement to weyrmate, though she asked to wait until she impressed or exceeded the age limit for standing, whichever came first. F’hoxin agreed, though it pained him to wait; he would have given her anything in the world. Her announcement that she was pregnant after two turns together took the rider by surprise, but he greeted the news with boisterous joy and about a million plans for their life together with the baby.

Their child took his sweet time being born, in no hurry, apparently, to speed things along and meet his parents, finally coming into the world as if it was all the same to him, quiet and easy as you’d please. A hatching had come and gone during the time Marvena was pregnant, and she wasted no time once little Foxharin was born to rejoin candidacy. She was sure she was meant to be a dragonrider, and she was right — three turns later golden Queth found her, that last piece she was missing to complete the puzzle. And for a time after she emerged from weyrlinghood, life seemed as perfect as F’hoxin had ever dreamed of it being — there was sweet young Foxharin to look after, a weyrmating to sort out, and their whole lives ahead of them.

Only Marvena couldn’t stay content for long. Life for her had changed so drastically once she had Queth. She had the attention of every bronze and brownrider in the Weyr it seemed, and those men who had once seemed not at all to her tastes were somehow now enticing — or at least having them clamoring for her was, anyway, even if she never came close to caring for any of them the way she had for F’hoxin. She began to draw away bit by bit, until even F’hoxin had to pull his head out of the clouds and acknowledge the gulf that had opened between them. There was never any clear end to their family unit. But there came a time when F’hoxin counted himself lucky to exchange a few casual words of hello with the love of his life as they passed in a corridor.

Growing up, Foxharin struggled to wrap his head around his mother’s motivations, or his father’s continued pining. A particularly sensitive child, he fought with how to express himself and put into words all the confusing feelings his parents’ split engendered. He became a poster child for those who believe dragonriders shouldn’t try to care for their own offspring, let alone be a weyrmated family unit. He see-sawed between holding himself back from others, fearing being like his father and being left behind, and giving too much of himself away, promising too much, fearing becoming his mother and breaking someone’s heart. He grew into a young man with a vast array of friends, though few who weathered the storm of his ups and downs enough to be truly close to him.

Things were simplest, and perfect, once Kawsenth found him when he was sixteen turns old. Where others struggled in weyrlinghood, F’harin blossomed; for once in his life he could welcome someone into his heart and life without reservation or second-guessing. Even when Marvena became an increased presence in his life, hoping to impress upon him the standard she wished him to live up to, F’harin dealt with it easily enough — that is to say, by smiling and nodding and mostly ignoring her. For once, he felt steady and solid in his place in the world.

Until ten turns after impressing, when he was as settled into his place as a bronzerider of Ista as he could have been, a visiting rider from Benden sparked an argument in the dining hall with a few choice words, and F’harin decided to settle the matter with a bit of ‘friendly’ competition. He and Kawsenth took to the sky against the other pair, matching them maneuver for maneuver; they bided their time, knowing Ista’s unique winds would sooner or later take their rivals by surprise — and just like that, it happened. The other pair faltered, only it was much worse than F’harin had anticipated. Kawsenth closed the distance between them to assist and in the other dragon’s flailing, F’harin was struck by the lashing tail.

While an inter-Weyr incident was narrowly avoided in the aftermath, the Istans by and large blaming the outsider and closing ranks around their own, F’harin remained oblivious to it all, deeply unconscious and leaving everyone to wait and to watch Kawsenth nervously, wondering how long even a strong-willed bronze would remain with his connection to his rider as close to severed as it could get with F’harin still breathing. He remained in that state for five days before gradually coming to, but he awoke changed. His brain had suffered a traumatic injury, and most of his memory was lost - some certain things remained, like random mile markers from his life’s timeline, only the barest framework for him to build his sense of self upon.

And the F’harin who emerged from the accident was changed in other ways. Without a lot of the memories that had formed and impacted who he was, he showed signs of being a different man — far less inhibited than he had been, and quieter, more thoughtful. For a time his loved ones assumed he just had too much to deal with, but it eventually became clear he really was just /different/ now. Not all of them reacted well, and the more F’harin was pressured to remember and be the same person, the more he did begin to crumble under the strain. He wanted so badly to make them happy and do as they asked, but he couldn’t, and his efforts exhausted him more and more, pushing back his recovery.

Only Kawsenth accepted him wholeheartedly and without reservation, once again proving to be his steady, grounding cornerstone. Of course this was by being his usual exasperating, recalcitrant self. Kawsenth was entertaining, distracting, and demanding of F’harin’s entire focus at times — just what he needed, especially as many of his memories did come back to him, but without any feeling of being /his/, no recognition, no connection to them. It was on a day flying far from the Weyr over half a turn after the accident that F’harin realized he /couldn’t/ be the man the Weyr was waiting for him to be again. Even with many of the memories back, it was like hearing a story about someone else. He could only be a poor replacement, falling shy of their expectations.

Marvena in particular was furious when F’harin announced his intentions, but he held his ground. Mother and son hadn’t been close since his childhood, but their falling out over his request to transfer away was an amazing spectacle, the Weyrwoman losing her famous cool rather publically. He was eventually granted his request, but as he left the Weyr, it was more or less clear that it was for the last time.

Not that F’harin didn’t have his own doubts about the wisdom of what he was doing, but he needed to know for himself, and all he knew so far was that the only time when he didn’t feel ready to lose it all was when he was /away/ from everyone who’d known him. He traveled to Igen first, and from that extreme across the continent to the next, High Reaches. He flew with Fort, drilled with Telgar, even went to Benden though he’d been told how it’d been their rider’s fault he’d been hurt in the first place. He came alive in his travels, he and Kawsenth both greedy for the sense of discovery, asking endless questions. As it was still before the Pass, F’harin had time to take up with Harpers and discovered in himself a love of history and the old ballads. He fell into utter geeky glee and emerged only as the Pass started and news of Ista’s tragedy reached him at Benden.

To his shame, he didn’t volunteer right away. He waited to see if he’d be asked, but his Wingleader and Weyrleader didn’t seem to want to force the issue. F’harin had to battle himself over the choice for some sevendays before he could breathe past the knot of uncertainty and make his decision. He’d return to Ista.



Mother: Weyrwoman Marvena of Gold Queth
Father: Bluerider F'hoxin
Son: Karvarin, Candidate at Ista Weyr
Unnamed half-sibling on mother’s side
unknown number of half-siblings on father’s
unknown number of children

F'harin's Dragon: Bronze Kawsenth

Dragon Name: Kawsenth
Colour: Bronze
Age: 21
Weyr of Origin: Ista
Weyrling Class: 8.435.9.9
Wing: Windraiders


By no means one of the larger bronzes, Kawsenth falls rather happily in the mid-to-low range for his color. He is a sleek specimen, sinuous and slender, eeling his way through the air, agile in a way that is remarkable for any color, let alone one of the largest. Kawsenth holds himself very still while at rest perching, and in the very next begins to fidget and wriggle with pent up energy, but when he is in motion he glides as smooth as syrup, easy and effortless and fluid. His hide is about as dark as a bronze can manage, as if he really was cast from the metal and left out for years to properly antique, rich and refined. The barest hints of leopard-like spots of a subtly different shade can be glimpsed on occasion, like they’re hiding under the surface.


Kawsenth is a handful, as every great bronze should be in their own way. He’s particular and peculiar, making you laugh one minute and want to choke him the next. Kawsenth is insanely curious, exploring the world around him and refusing to be left out of anything, wanting to try everything he sees anyone doing for himself, and he won’t stop until a way for him to manage it is devised. He’ll do his best to mimic facial expressions, stretching his mouth in his best version of a grin, or hunching his shoulders and putting his head down in a full-body glare. Kawsenth’s learned to be very physically and vocally demonstrative from watching F’harin, gesturing with wings or tail, crooning and growling and nudging with his snout.

He’s impossibly adorable in many respects. If he weren’t so damned big, you’d want to knuckle his head and hug him close. But that lasts for about as long as it takes to realize Kawsenth only allows attention to be given to him on /his/ terms. /He/ will initiate caresses or hugs — usually by headbutting, /thanks/ Kawsenth — and he will let you know when it’s time for them to be done, swatting you away with his wing. He’ll obstinately refuse to come when called unless he absolutely feels like it, or can at least make it seem like he was going to come in that direction anyway. He’ll play, sure, but there’s a good chance it will be at your expense. No one had better dare make /him/ look silly though, or laugh at any accident he can’t play off as purposeful. Kawsenth will be enormously offended, growling and snapping in his deep sulk until he’s ready to venture forward again.

The only thing one never has to doubt about Kawsenth is his love and loyalty for F’harin. Kawsenth will snap out of a sulk in half a heartbeat to be there for his rider if needed. And happily, being himself is often just what F’harin needs most.

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