Character type: HealerBod
Rank: Journeyman, Senior
Age: 36
Gender: Male
Sexual Preference: Unintentionally leading everyone on


“Beauty is only skin deep,” they say.

They haven’t met Hawlsen. He’s brilliantly, effusively, genuinely warm, and it shows. It shows in his heartfelt smile, his voice - rich, calm, rumbling and soothing over the senses, in the firm, earnest clasp of his hand in greeting, and the strength and reassurance in his embraces.

Hawlsen’s fair skin, lightly tanned by turns at Ista, though never so dark to suggest he spends an inordinate number of hours basking lazily, shines with health and vitality. Soft freckles skip merrily across his nose and cheeks, playfully putting their stamp here on the curve of his ear, there on his throat, or across his long fingers. Laugh lines bracket big, emotive, impossibly green eyes, and frame the dimples at the corners of the soft, full mouth so often grinning engagingly. He keeps his light brown hair close to dragonrider short, but long enough, finger-swept at the front just-so, to be soft and inviting to another’s hands.

Tall, straight-backed, and broad-shouldered as any of the dashing dragonrider heroes though he may be, and every bit as muscular and toned and fit, Hawlsen’s strength suggests a man who is ready to bend his back to aid his fellows - his capable, sturdy arms quick to enfold another in their protection and give them respite, a place to lean and rest and borrow from him as they find their way - never intimidating, never threatening violence.

He’s at ease with himself, comfortable in his own skin, encouraging and inspiring those around him to be as comfortable in theirs. Whatever he wears sits easily and well on him, and he’s yet to make a bad showing, even after a particularly bad Threadfall — even at his tiredest, even then though his eyelids sag and his shoulders drop, he makes for an enticing opportunity, perhaps to curl up somewhere close, burrowed close under blankets while tense, twitching muscles slowly unlock one by one to an exhausted, loose sprawl.


Hawlsen is a spring breeze, fresh air and sunshine and teeming with life, working his way under your skin, leaving behind an itch to get up, get out, get doing. He is bright in the way of spring, never scorching as the summer, nor fading as the autumn. He is something new, something building, something carrying hope and the promise of a good day.

Rather difficult to ignore, Hawlsen is a beacon of a presence in any room, drawing attention, magnetic. In close quarters, he is all the more arrestingly engaging, all of that smiling focus on you, as if his entire world is in that one room, all the rest shut out, to make that one small space safe and close and a refuge where you can be lost in one another. Hawlsen is warmth in its most comforting, reassuring, pleasant form. His attentiveness brushes over your skin, like a soothing hand rubbing over a shoulder, and it's impossible not to feel cherished and loved, like you may be the most important person in the world to him, to have earned that level of care.

The truth is that Hawlsen has never learned how to compartmentalize, how to care for others in fractions and grades. He does care strongly, and ardently, but he cares for nearly everyone with the same all-consuming focus, rarely truly singling a person out, no matter how it might feel to them at the time. Like a sweet spring breeze, he picks up followers in his wake, merrily leads them on a breathless waltz, but when the music stops and the breeze dies down, his partners fall, the drop abrupt and jarring for how cold it leaves them in comparison. His patients cannot help but love him, to want to do anything at all for him to earn them one more smile, one more friendly clasp to the shoulder, and in their spiralling devotion they miss the cues and see their love returned, feel that they are special and that they will be the ones to get to claim him as theirs, finally.

Forever a source of ribald joking and elbow-jabbing in the close confines of the infirmary, Hawlsen's track record of admirers is well-known, nearly a spectator sport, but for the time one patient who was attached too closely lashed out at the woman Hawlsen was actually seeing at the time, in a jealous rage. Any relationships he's attempted to have since, apart from casual flings with his colleagues, are kept secret, only his closest crew in the know. He's left to dote in private, to let his warmth and regard unfold quietly in the easy domesticity of taking a meal together, in having a night in, wrapped up close in one another, away from the clamor.

Unlike many of the healers specializing in his field, his care and focus are completely genuine. He entered the craft because he'd always cared so much, had watched his father saving lives and easing pain and had wanted to do the same, had wanted to make a difference. He chose his specialty because it never felt right to release a patient before they were well and truly healed, until they could return to their former lives the same, or as near as he could make it. Healing is more to him than stitching a wound or delivering a baby or breaking a fever. Health goes so much further than that.

And Faranth, he is a bastion of good health. One of the rare (and odd) people who truly live to push their bodies to the limit, it'd be easy to believe Hawlsen doesn't know the meaning of indolence. He loves the feeling of flying during a good run, light on his feet and rushing down the path, muscles straining but never failing him, twitching tiredly after. It's also part of his job to be as fit as possible, to carry his patients along with him down the path, and he is as dedicated to that aspect of his profession as any other, hardly surprising then that he earned the nickname 'Bod' among his cohorts.

He's a visceral, undeniably physical presence, in a way a spring breeze could never be. He shines with out resoundingly alive he is, in how dialed in he is in every aspect of his life. Rich, hearty laughter makes him easy to find, the solid, real weight of his hand against a friend's back or a fist knocking into their arm announces his presence. He lives to live his life fully, no matter what some of his gruffer companions might say about his upbeat attitude or his healthy diet.

Not every aspect of his life or work are sunshine and dewdrops. As the resident expert in long term care and therapy, Hawlsen takes the dragon's share of newly dragonless cases, and while his success rate is rewardingly high, he hasn't always been able to draw a person from their grief enough to avoid the suicide draught. He stands by every time, no matter how terribly it hits him, so that there is a friendly, familiar face there for his patients at the end. It doesn't even have to be that severe. He becomes out of sorts when his patients ignore his instructions, and set their recoveries back, or return to the infirmary too soon having re-injured themselves. He devotes himself so utterly to their programs and recovery plans that it feels as if he has been dealt the blow of the set back each time. He looks on them with stern, heavy disappointment — like night and day from his usual demeanor. The infirmary staff have learned that when he takes to furiously cleaning or re-organizing, that it has been a particularly bad session and to give him his space.


Birthdate: 11.15
Birthplace: Fort Weyr

Unlike many of the crafters who suffer through the culture shock of being assigned to the Weyrs of Pern, Hawlsen is uniquely suited to his posting at Ista Weyr, having been born and raised at Fort Weyr, the son and brother of dragonriders. As his older brother and younger sister rushed to stand for Impression as soon as the crechemothers and weyrlingmasters allowed it, Hawlsen had a different path he steered toward. Since he was old enough to be trusted not to break anything, he'd spent a considerable time not washing his mother's blue dragon with his siblings, but tagging along at his father's heels in the infirmary, the ever-willing and devoted assistant to the master healer. As his forever accident and bad luck brother W'halen landed himself in the infirmary before he even graduated weyrlinghood, something clicked over and cemented in Hawlsen's brain: he would be a healer.

Of course, as he imagined it, his mother and brother and sister would be saving the world from the skies while he and his father worked together on the ground to save lives, but his father was far wiser. He knew Hawlsen hero-worshipped him, and knew moreover that he doted on his son far too much to ever be an effective teacher. Besides, Hawlsen was quick, and smart, and had already learned so many basics of moving around an infirmary. He deserved the best education he could get, and so Master Haulun sent him off to the Healer Hall at Fort Hold.

Twelve-turn-old Hawlsen was scared out of his mind, shy and quiet and uncertain in his unexpectedly strange new surroundings. Nevermind that his father was a Master in the craft and he'd grown up as his shadow, Hawls was a weyrbrat through and through, and he stood out like a sore thumb. Though what better place for a sore thumb than a healer hall? Hawlsen threw himself into his studies for want of anything else to do to keep his mind occupied, and to be sure that it all wasn't wasted. There were certainly times when he wondered if he hadn't been a fool to refuse candidacy, but as he progressed in his training and began to win friends over through sheer force of his personality, those times of second-guessing became few and far between.

He walked the tables in short enough order, right on track, and accepted his first journey posting as he sought to narrow down a specialty to focus on for his eventual seniorship. It came to him as he was posted to Southern Boll, and he worked with patients from all over the Fortian territory who had traveled there to recuperate in the warmer climate. What he wanted to do the most, what would be the most fulfilling, was to work alongside his patients, to guide and direct their care, to stay in parternship with them for the long term while they made their full recovery. He'd never easily passed on patients once he was done stitching or dosing. It'd felt detached, incomplete, never satisfied that a heart still beating meant he'd done his job. He needed more.

Hawlsen accepted his last general journeyman posting to Ista Hold where he began to study and focus on physical therapies and long term care, earning his seniorship quickly and finding his calling all in one. It might have been nice, then, to receive a posting to Fort Weyr, to go full circle, but it was Ista Weyr that needed an experienced, talented osteopathy specialist, and so Hawlsen went. Someone in that infirmary needed to know how to work with riders, at any rate.



Father: Master Haulun, Healer
Mother: Bluerider Wense
Brother: Bronzerider W’haulen
Sister: Bluerider Wenalun




Everyone wishes.


Everyone’s significant others.


Rank: Journeyman, Senior
Speciality: Osteopathy
Years in Craft: 24 (kinda more like 26)
Infirmary, Fort Weyr - Shadowing Papa!
Healer Hall, Fort Hold - Apprenticeship
Ista Hold, Ista - Senior Journeyman Posting

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License