Character type: Dragonrider
Rank: Wingrider
Age: 39
Gender: Male
Sexual Preference: Bisexual


Nicknamed Rider Perfect by his peers, R'faxon fit in with a certain set of staunchly traditional Telgari riders for good reason. He takes things like one’s appearance seriously. How can you ask for respect if you don’t respect yourself enough to keep it together? How can your fellows trust you to perform your duties if it’s obvious you can’t do something as simple as look neat?

At first glance, R’faxon presents a tall, commanding figure — handsome and somehow noble besides, or in other words looking pretty much exactly like what every holder imagines the heroic bronzerider from the ballads to be. His posture is generally ‘at attention’. He’s always conscious of what impression he may be giving with how he holds himself, and it shows — not in a self-conscious ‘trying too hard’ manner, but certainly in how he seems to have his act always together. Never a wasted movement or misstep. He also has a way of looking as if he’s from an old blood family. There is a definite air of gravitas and refinement in his carriage that has an effect on others, encouraging a higher level of comportment from them in return.

Even R'faxon’s eyes wouldn’t dare to mix hues and make a mess of their color; they’re an oddly even dark blue. His complexion is, of course, fair and flawless, as if issuing a challenge to the Istan sun to mar it with a freckle or burn. His thick, tawny hair is worn neat, though not shorn very short, framing a well-sculpted face.


R'faxon has never met a job he couldn’t approach with militaristic determination and efficiency. Even as a child, his tendency toward careful planning and his orderly, move in and conquer approach set him apart from his age mates. It was perhaps a blessing he didn’t win a bronze like originally expected of him; he has no time for politics, for machinations, or worrying about stepping on toes and hurting feelings. Or rather, he’s just no good at them.

R'faxon is almost monk-like in the level of zen he’s capable of achieving. He concerns himself with self-realization above all else, finding strength and confidence in his own enlightenment, rather than basing his self-worth on how others respond to him. He is proud in a far quieter way than is seen in younger men. It doesn’t turn his stride into a strut, or move him to speak loudly and fight for attention. He’s content to be proud with himself, and let it begin and end there. R'faxon will do whatever it takes and will work himself tirelessly to arrive at a place where he can feel that sense of pride in himself no matter the circumstances.

He’s always been a thoughtful type, a subtle, careful man. He likes things to stay quiet, and calm, almost like a monk endeavoring to live in a zen state. People needn’t be just like him; he never found fault with his father’s bellowing, or some of his comrades’… rowdier dispositions, but there are times when things like that reach an extreme, when they disrupt the easy flow of life, and that’s when R'faxon becomes out of sorts, especially with regards to behavior that leads riders to unfortunate consequences, which they then turn around and blame their superiors for, rather than seeing the trouble in themselves. There is a difference between enjoying a few mugs of beers with your wingmates after a hard drill, and getting so plastered that you make a spectacle of yourself in the riders’ hall and have to be taken to task. He especially hates when other blues or greens behave in a manner that reflects poorly on the rest of them.

This is when a different side of R'faxon comes out, as quiet and calm as ever, but utterly and unquestionably /dominant/ and take-charge, when he will snap and try to shut a troublesome person up by any means.

But somehow, sometimes inexplicably, R'faxon is not a harsh or particularly stern man. While he has limited patience for tip-toeing around the feelings of others when he has a job to do, he is nonetheless very aware of and sensitive to those feelings. He cares, which is half the reason why it bothers him so much to see his fellows getting themselves into trouble needlessly. R'faxon doesn’t see the Weyr as a machine, with the riders as soulless gears each fulfilling a function. He knows they’re all people, and he appreciates them for that. It’s what makes it so much more satisfying to succeed against the odds, and to know victory with other living, breathing human beings at his side, all offering their own strengths to achieve a common goal.

He’s actually bashful, quick to duck his head when paid a compliment, or blush when he’s awkwardly at a loss. R'faxon is aware that he’s handsome, and that he's apparently earned himself a reputation as a good bedmate, but he struggles with /hearing/ that. Honestly, intimacy is something that he commits to fully and utterly… in the privacy of his or someone else’s weyr, where that sort of thing belongs, where he has all the time and space and privacy in the world to devote himself to those tasks as he would any others. Outside of those spaces, though, he is unaccountably flustered by such things being brought up, or even bandied about loudly and offensively. Please please please SHUT UP.


Birthdate: 07.14

Ranifaxon was a good ol' farmboy before a Telgari searchrider turned his world upside down at sixteen. He was happy on the farm, and content to keep working in the dirt, but he'd been raised with a very old-fashioned sort of view of dragonriders — not so much the awe of boys imagining heroic adventures, but rather the deep, abiding respect of a young man who believes in the honorable service of dragonriding and protecting Pern. To Ranifaxon, being Searched wasn't a ticket out of a boring life or a golden opportunity for fame or fortune. It meant he had the chance to offer the same service, and he was honor-bound to attempt it. A man who declined the invitation, or even avoided standing before the dragons to be judged in the first place, would be a coward and a shirker in his eyes.

Even when he made it to Telgar Weyr and came to see how differently most folk viewed rider life, he never stopped feeling as if he had a duty he had to perform, and perform to his utmost best. He wasn't a stranger to hard work, but even he was exhausted at the end of each day after long hours of training and hammering into his head all the things he would need to know about the Weyr and dragons and life as a rider. He made no few enemies in his candidate class for constantly behind held up as an example to the others of what true dedication looked like, and used to guilt and shame especially the weyrborn for their supposed laziness or lackadaisical attitudes.

When Radhalanth cut through several other boys on his way to claim him just a few short months later, Ranifaxon still had the wherewithal to assist the boys as much as he could to where the healers waited, recognizing that they were potential future riders themselves, and shouldn't be so easily lost to the great purpose they might be meant for. Even as Radhalanth grouched about R'faxon being HIS, not theirs, and made threats if they didn't stop trying to take him away, R'faxon bore his will down on the dragon like a natural and made it very clear that their duty would be done to the injured first, and then they would tend to themselves.

G'vlier saw the potential in the young man during the tense few minutes out on the sands, and by the time the pair graduated at the top of their class, was ready to pull strings to see that R'faxon would be tapped into the same Wing where G'vlier would be in the right position to properly mentor him. R'faxon hadn't made many more friends in weyrlinghood than he had during candidacy, and Radhalanth even fewer, so the young rider was more than happy to accept G'vlier's overtures. His ingrained sense of honor and duty were perfect raw material for the bronzerider to mould into his style of dragonrider.

As R'faxon and Radhlanth grew into their own in the Wing, there came a time some turns later when he left the nest, so to speak. His and G'vlier's bond (for lack of a better term) was never severed, but even G'vlier could see when the young brownrider was seasoned enough to be on his own, especially being a brownrider and potential leadership material. R'faxon was eventually transferred to another Wing during a shuffle, and over time worked his way to a Wingsecond position.

When Thread began falling, B'dero, whose Wing he flew in, even began talking about putting R'faxon at the head of his own Wing - a rare honor and achievement for a brownrider at the beginning of a Pass, when there were plenty of bronzeriders jockeying for the position. But then came Ista's call for help and G'vlier's mission to take a group of Telgari to the island Weyr, and both bronzeriders wanted R'faxon in on it. Though it meant leaving a promising promotion behind, R'faxon once again followed where he felt his duty was, and accepted the transfer to Ista alongside his old mentor.



Mr and Mrs Won’t Be Appearing Here.

R'faxon's Dragon

Dragon Name: Radhalanth
Colour: Brown
Age: 23
Weyr of Origin: Telgar


Radhalanth's hide is predominantly a bright tawny brown throughout his underside and wingsails, with his top being a darker, richer walnut where palest brown dots pick a meandering trail from snout to tail tip. He's certainly a dragon easily picked out in a crowd, though he's discovered the trick of using his paler underside to blend in with cloud cover to make it harder to see him from below. He has a peculiar habit of sitting upright much of the time, back on his haunches, the better to peer about him and survey his surroundings closely. Radhalanth is tall and strapping, a defined tuck-up making him even more distinctive, with broad, enormous wings of an impressive span.


Like his rider, for the most part Radhalanth presents a precise, orderly air. But Radhalanth is also an extremely territorial creature, existing in a world overlain with lines and borders and boundaries marking what it his and what is yours and what is acceptable to share, shifting all the time as everyone moves about their lives, but always there and solid and obvious. … to him, at least. Sadly, most others don’t seem to see the world the same way he does, and to his never ending frustration are always encroaching on HIS SPACE and taking HIS THINGS.

He is especially territorial over his own weyrledge; if he hasn’t specifically invited you to join him there, expect an absolute FIT if you just drop down next to him. His rider is HIS and other dragons should not just go around bespeaking him like he’s shared property, no no NO. In Threadfall, he ABHORS those show-off hot shots who zip down into HIS SPACE and flame away at clumps of Thread that were HIS. BACK OFF. He doesn’t even like it when someone else’s noise encroaches on his space. See, this space is for quiet contemplation of the clouds, not bickering or mindless chatter or croons or grumbles. Radhalanth is forever twitchy at feeding time; once he picks a beast for his meal, he’s sure someone else will just be waiting to snatch it up before Radhalanth can get to it himself.

When others respect the boundaries, there doesn’t seem to be a thing in the world that could possibly harsh his mellow. Radhalanth is self-aware enough to recognize that, and so he spends a lot of his time watching carefully to make sure he can head others off at the pass, before shit has to get serious.

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