Character type: Little Gentleman Weyrling
Rank: Young Sir
Age: 12
Gender: Male
Sexual Preference: That question is inappropriate


K'shias never had a hope in hell of passing for a true weyrbrat. He’s smaller than most children his age, carrying a look of soft fragility in his features that no robust rider-blooded child ever seems to have. His big, pale, thoughtful blue gaze, and the solemn set to his full little mouth couldn’t make it clearer that this is not a boy who will ever be found romping around on the beach or skinning his knees on tunnelsnake hunts. His fair skin is generally unmarred, still flawless and soft with youth, but for a bare few freckles. K'shias wears his dark brown hair long enough to curl over his ears and brush over his eyebrows, but typically keeps it far neater than most children his age would bother with. He’s short, slender, and hidden under more layers than is typical for Ista, though they are light enough to be practical, so at least he never looks like a sweating, red-faced outsider. He stands stiff-backed, posture rigidly perfect from the placement of his feet to the interlocking of clasped hands, and it’d take more than a good shake or good-natured punch to relax the set of his shoulders.


K'shias is one part twelve-turn-old boy, one part painfully proper gentleman, and one part really confused. Formality and polite decorum are how he's used to interacting with the world; cutting loose and allowing himself the freedom of being a 'normal' kid are foreign and new, and he hardly knows where to even begin. Immersion into candidacy has loosened him up to a degree, but he still falls back on the gentlemanly behavior any time he's confused, uncomfortable, or unsure. It's a defense mechanism as much as anythng ese, and he will use it to hold anyone at a distance who makes him the slightest bit nervous. K'shias can change from one to the other at the drop of a mark, one moment a breathless, bright-eyed boy fresh from his first success at a candidate exercise, and the very next standing with stiff posture, face blankly neutral, and the picture of good manners. Every word is chosen carefully, his diction is precise, and he pays almost excruciating attention to remaining on the 'appropriate' side of any conversation.

K'shias knows he's in over his head. He's aware that he acted rashly, and that he's stuck with the consequences of his rushed decision to become a candidate, unwilling to back down and go back to his parents and into a life more familiar to him. He's also stubborn, enough so that he feels he has a point to prove, that he can be as useful and important as his father without the position of harper. He wants so very much to become a good dragonrider, and save lives, to fix the things he's been told have become such a mess. He applies himself with every good effort; the results vary, since he has next to no experience in the demands of candidacy, but no one can argue that he hasn't been trying his hardest.

He's a romantic at heart, a poet, the world colored by shining ideals that he aspires to reach. It lends him an innocent charm, but also makes it very hard at times to accept that many of the people in his new life fall quite short of the pretty pictures he'd imagined. He's a dreamer, taken to fantasies, and is not easily talked into letting them go for grittier reality.

He's really quite young still, having been so sheltered growing up. Though quite intelligent and very well educated, given his upbringing, he's also achingly naive, gullible, and probably fairly easy to take advantage of. K'shias is more than a little lost, and in need of a good compass.


Birthdate: 12.5
Birthplace: Ista Weyr

Being the only child of the Weyrharper and his journeywoman wife isn't all it's cracked up to be, as it turns out. Oh, K'shias loved a lot about the first twelve turns of his life — shadowing his mother or father around the Weyr, learning how to read and play music under their proud, delighted eyes, being doted on. He grew up knowing his father was an Important Person, and that his mother was wonderful and talented, and he was the envy of some of the other children because their awesome teachers were his parents. But for all that K'shias was weyrborn out of technicality, neither Kaldavis or Shianel were of Istan stock. There were no dragonriders in their bloodline as far back as anyone could know. And as his loving parents immersed him fully in their world, so happy and tickled at how their little boy soaked it all up like he was made for it, the perfect harper baby, it pulled him further and further from the world of the weyr around him.

K'shias grew into a romantic — an often solemn, mature-for-his-turns boy who saw the music and art of the world around him, and not the heady, visceral reality that most of his weyrbred peers reveled in. He took on the formal manners and high diction of a hold harper, watching how his father interacted with the Weyr's leadership and how in turn others afforded his parents a certain level of respect. It was nowhere near normal for a little boy, but it was normal for him.

There came a time when he just couldn't fit in with the other children. He didn't grow up in the creche with them. Didn't share a foster mother, didn't even do the same chores, or rush to help with the dragons at bath time. As they all got a little older, it wasn't as funny that K'shias spoke differently, or preferred to stay inside when the rest of them ran amok around the Weyr or at the beach. It got weird. The only children K'shias could hope to get along with were the other sons and daughters of Ista's crafters. And apart from that, there were the adults who were charmed by his presence, never minding when he tagged after them.

K'shias was sure that when he came of age, he would himself be apprenticed into the craft, maybe even be sent to Fort’s Harperhall, which was like a place of legend for him — in fact, part of him always thought of that as his ‘true’ home, for all that he’d only visited on a handful of occasions with his parents. It was where they had come from. It was where he belonged. He bided his time, watching as his father apprenticed as many of the Istan children displaced or put into hardship from Thread as the Hall would allow, proud that Kaldavis was doing so much for others, as much a savior to them as any of the dragonriders.

But the day K'shias turned twelve wasn't quite the celebration he'd always imagined. His father had stretched the Hall's patience — had apprenticed as many likely children as he could, sent more off to the Hall itself, called in as many favors as he could of other Harpers. In Kaldavis' noble efforts, he'd taken K'shias' chance away.

K'shias panicked, sat between his mother and father, his hands in Shianel's, as they explained that he'd have to wait, have to find something else in the Weyr to do until there was opportunity again to take him on. What else could he possibly do? All he'd ever hoped for was to be a Harper. Sheltered and spoiled, he didn't know how to be anything different. How could his own family do this to him, when surely they could have held back just one spot for him, when they'd spent his whole life regaling him with tales of what it'd be like when he joined them in the craft. Anger and betrayal grew that night as he tossed and turned in his bed, lost.

And in the way of rash young boys, he reached desperately for the one thing he thought open to him, as much to spite his parents as anything. He entered candidacy with a clutch on the sands and another on the way.



Father: Master Kaldavis, Weyrharper
Mother: Journeywoman Shianel, Harper


Color: Blue
Age: Hatchling
Weyr of Origin: Ista Weyr
Weyrling Class: RainCallers


Ista is an island well known for their beautiful gems, and this little blue looks like he was carved from the smooth, lapis lazuli used by jewel smiths to made pendants and ornaments. He's a very small dragon, but he's built strongly, with well formed musculature and a definite solidity to his shape that others might lack. His hide is that beautiful, blue colour, smooth over his form apart from soft almost white dots, like stars in the night sky laced through it. His headknobs are short, rounded at the tip and a little larger than usual in girth giving him the appearance of a little headdress or headpiece. His wings and tail are perfectly in proportion and strong on his small, stocky frame. Some might underestimate him, because of his diminutive size, but will soon be in for a quick, sharp, rude awakening.


No one could ever mistake Ollovuth for a stone carving for long after meeting him.

He's a dragon who knows when manners are important…but especially when they aren't, and he gets a kick out of shocking people who expect him to be some dainty little gentleman dragon, by doing something especially vulgar or coarse. Their expressions of shock and horror are hysterical for him, and well worth any punishments that come his way. People take things too seriously…yes there is a time to work, but the time you aren't working is a time to play and have fun! This little blue will definitely be one to enjoy his downtime and his playtime, and when he plays, he plays hard and revels in every minute of it.

Ollovuth is a blue who will love to rough it with the bigger dragons. Anything they can do he can do better, faster and with more style. He will give back as good as he gets, and woe betide anyone who thinks to go easy on him just because he's a blue…or a bit smaller than average. This little blue is tough as guts, and he will somehow seem to know, even from Hatching, just how to use his smaller size to an advantage. Bigger and stronger dragons will often find themselves outfoxed, and then have to put up with his smug preening.

As a threadfighter, you will be hard pressed to find someone as dedicated as Ollovuth. An instinctive and intuitive flier and fighter, he will absolutely be one of the best young blues going at Ista. He's a natural: he /feels/ the air around him, the shifts in current and flow, and he knows just where he will be, and where the thread will be, thus positioning himself perfectly to flame it. What's more is that he trusts his instincts completely, he believes in his skills and talent and so he very rarely, if ever, misjudges. This will make him a great asset to the wings of Ista…provided his superiors nurture this singular talent, rather than making him conform.

On a personal level Ollovuth is a strong and loyal friend. He's not prone to sentimentality, and often mocks his sisters and brothers for any over emotional overtures of feelings, but he cares very deeply, in a gruff way. He's far more likely to thwap you than hug you, but the thwap will be doled out with love. A happy natured, mischievous little spirit, Ollovuth is a strong young male dragon, who refuses to be pidgeonholed as weak or small. As he grows up, he will be a strong force for order and honour in the Weyr. He will never be afraid to stand up for himself or others and he will likely rise far in the ranks if allowed.

However even the roughest, toughest people have their vulnerable sides, and Ollovuth is no exception. He prides himself on being strong, fierce and brave, but quietly in the privacy of his heart and the bond with his rider, he will admit to being afraid. He’s afraid of failure, of letting people down, especially his rider, and his wing. He’s afraid of being overlooked as ‘just a little blue’. He’s afraid of not being taken seriously, of not being able to show what he’s really, really made of. He’s afraid of being pushed to the side, overlooked and ignored, when he knows he can be so much more. In this he will turn to the support of his rider, and hopefully, with a supportive one by his side, he can push through those insecurities and not let them cripple him. In time Ollovuth may allow his friends to see this softer side, and admit that he does indeed need their help now and again. But it is in his rider, that Ollovuth will place his full trust and support.

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