Character type: Weyrling
Rank: Weyrling
Age: 18
Gender: Male
Sexual Preference: Homosexual


R’kharo is well aware of how he looks. A factor of his driven, goal-oriented personality, once he realized that he’d been naturally blessed with attractive features, and that it could help him land the handsome mate he’d always dreamed of, he started putting in the extra effort to help matters along, never content to sit idly by and settle for what was handed to him.

Striking light blue eyes are about the only thing that don’t get any assistance from him, and probably only because even he draws a line at carefully plucking his brows just-so or adding make-up of all things. His dark gold-brown hair is kept at a short length to be artfully swept and ruffled into something that invites fingers to run through it and to imagine that this is what it looks like when he rolls out of bed after a long night of athletic activities. His features are delicately sculpted, just shy of being TOO pretty, which he balances with just the right amount of stubble shadowing his face for an edge of masculinity. The light golden tan stretches eeeeverywhere — certainly not natural, but the product of finding a little privacy when he can and making sure there aren’t any goofy tan lines. Even back when people were still murmuring about his glorious future as a Weyrleader, he was spending time working out, burning off his baby fat and building a toned, lithe musculature to compliment his somewhat slender frame, needing to look the part of what he imagined a desirable man should be, hoping to catch a few gazes.

He keeps it all up now out of long ingrained habit more than anything, his dream guy not often on his thoughts these days. Kierikath has certainly gotten used to expecting a level of perfection from him, and even in the midst of all the recent upheaval, won’t be satisfied with anything less than having the most attractive rider (as far as humans go, anyway).


Sunny, charmed, and a natural born leader, R’kharo has always been looked on as a golden son of Ista, blessed to be one of those boys his elders are proud to point at as an example for the rest. Except where the various adults during his childhood looked at him and envisioned for him a future of rank and power and leadership of the Weyr, R’kharo’s aim has never been down that road. He actually isn’t the type to hand out many instructions or phrase ideas as orders. He simply draws his peers to him, a strength of personality and charm that makes him stand out, makes him welcoming and magnetic. And that’s the defining factor — he doesn’t look for a group to stand behind him; he wants a group at his sides, surrounding him, a social creature whose strong will instinctively leads him into guiding others, because he likes them and cares for them, and wants to see them raised up to the highest level.

Maybe it’s partially a product of his more family-oriented upbringing, enjoying much more attention from his giant, sprawling family than most weyrbrats, but while he’s very much a typical young man of the Weyr, with all the attitudes that come along with it, he’s also more inclined to forming strong, solid bonds with people. He very much wants a weyrmate one day. He wants to fall in love and have that special someone who loves him back just as passionately. It doesn’t matter that flights will mean he’ll be with others; that’s normal and natural, but shouldn’t be an obstacle to a true and lasting relationship.

R’kharo is a driven individual. He can appreciate things as they are, but he can’t help but want to try to make them better if there’s room for growth. He gets a thrill and satisfaction out of seeing things and people achieving their utmost potential, and if he ever stopped to think about it (which, at his age, he hasn’t really) he’d realize that he considers it a bit of a shame to just let things rest as they are, a stagnation that holds everyone down.

He’s always felt that the Weyr falls into that trap too much with the blue and greenriders. Reminded constantly as he was of fulfilling his great potential to be a bronzerider while he was growing up, he couldn’t help but see that while his fellow weyrfolk mostly do appreciate the value of their blues and greens, and acknowledge them for what they’re capable of, there’s never that same press and drive for them to reach for more and to be better, to be the best, the way there always has been for the riders of golds and bronzes and browns, those special shining few who hold higher rank and lead. Even as a brand new twelve-turn-old candidate, he dreamt of the day he’d impress his own green and could grow up to be the leader among them who could show them how much more they could be, if they chose.

He was utterly unprepared to lose all of his so-important family to Thread in just a matter of days. To lose his feeling of usefulness and purpose when he realized it’d still be several months before he and his classmates could contribute to the Weyr that sorely needed them. To lose the feeling of control over his life and the world around him. He tailspun into grief, all that strong, indomitable spirit and passion turning his wrenching heartache all the fiercer for it. He couldn’t handle hearing others speak poorly of Ista and Istan riders in the aftermath. All he could hear was they thought his parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles and siblings hadn’t been good enough, had failed, had somehow deserved to die as they had, and his young, passionate heart turned to fury, his only way of coping with something that was otherwise too huge for him to get a grasp on.

R’kharo is most definitely deep in the grips of some major PTSD. He’s a tightly-wound bundle of raw, exposed nerves, and the tiniest, briefest touch on any of it is agonizing, provoking him into lashing out in a way his normally sunny disposition wouldn’t have suggested.


Birthdate: Ista Weyr, 8.432.1.2

Relkharo could have grown up a holy terror, being told all the time how he was sure to impress a great proud bronze and be given rank and probably even run the whole Weyr one day. Luckily, he had his own ideas about his future, wishes that had nothing to do with power and grand destinies or status, and he never thought to put as much stock in how he had his own little tribe of weyrbrats he lead on campaigns of mischief and adventure, accepting it as natural and nothing out of the ordinary that he made friends and gained followers easily, so while he certainly grew to have a healthy sense of self-confidence, it never quite went to his head.

Most of his life has in fact been blessed, idyllic and without overwhelming hardship. He was born into a family whose legacy of riding was well-known and respected throughout the Weyr. They’d boasted many influential riders in their past, including a gold here and there, and it was incredibly unusual for any of them /not/ to be riders, even the women. Relkharo’s own mother was a rider, as were an older sister, an aunt, and both his grandmothers.His father, grandfathers, uncles, and older brothers all rode, not a Wing in the Weyr failing to boast at least two of the clan in their ranks. What he’d grow up to do was never in doubt. He never had to worry about what he was good at, or if a dragon would find him acceptable; of COURSE one would, they always did with his family.

It was such a given that instead of celebrating his twelfth birthday, his family got together to celebrate his entrance into candidacy, as was their tradition, this large, impressive group of veteran riders, all of them gathered to beam with pride at him, excited to one day add him to their ranks. He flourished in candidacy, drawing others to him there as easily as he’d ever done in the creche, never without friends, even when some went on to impress before him. It was during candidacy, as he settled solidly into his teenaged years, that he began to mature into his looks too, provoking a marked extra effort from him in spending time working out. Many took it as simple vanity, which was of course part of it, but it was also just Relkharo’s way, along with his growing desire to find himself a handsome man to be by his side.

Many of the weyrfolk familiar with him may have been surprised when fierce little Kierikath laid claim to him on the Hatching Sands, but R’kharo never hesitated to drop to his knees and wrap himself around the possessive creature, claiming her right back with a wide smile splitting his face. Whatever their plans for him, and their notions of his future, HE’D always been certain where his place was meant to be, and Kierikath was everything he’d dreamed of (…well, he had imagined a sweet little green, which she is pointedly /not/, but he’s never quibbled over that one detail).

His charmed life was all set to continue, and for a time into his weyrlinghood it did. Most of the first turn was a whirlwind of learning how to control the dominant green and curb her more wilful habits, though it was usually with fond exasperation that he responded to each new trouble she’d get herself into. Until Thread fell. Until, in the course of a few short days, he lost all his family but one, and several of his oldest, most cherished friends, as if in the midst of the Weyr-wide tragedy, Thread had targeted R’kharo’s loved ones especially.

His head spun with the sudden aching, cavernous sense of loss, and he began to tailspin into unrelenting grief, like something inside him had cracked wide open. Only Kierikath’s demanding presence served to ground him and kept him from losing himself entirely. Her constant insistence on making sure they both had the very best of everything, her growing concern over how her first flight would work and making sure it went just how /she/ wanted and no other way, her ever-present passion, were all a welcome distraction and reminder of what he still had left. He fought for her sake, clinging by his fingernails, and it was in that precarious state that he began to hear about riders being transferred from other Weyrs to aid Ista, and how some of those other Weyrs had looked at Ista’s disaster with scorn and blame. Grief quickly ignited into white hot rage, as his young mind rebelled entirely against the idea that he’d lost everyone he loved because they hadn’t been good enough, because they’d failed. Incapable of reason and understanding that surely not ALL the new transfers felt that way, he nursed a seething hatred for them all, and became all the more determined that he would lead and drive his class into being ready SOONER. He hated that they weren’t advanced enough in their training to join the other Wings early as the other weyrling class had, feeling awful guilt for being useless when his Weyr needed him so badly, such that his one consuming thought these days is pushing the other weyrlings all the harder. They have to be ready, and they have to be BETTER, and they have to step up so those vile outsiders can go home.



He’s dead, Dave. Everybody’s dead, everybody is dead, Dave.

R'kharo's Dragon: Green Kierikath

Colour: Green
Age: 2
Weyr of Origin: Ista
Weyrling Class: SkyRiders
Wing: Windraiders


It sometimes seems as if nature did everything possible to make certain that Kierikath would be impossible to ignore. Her hide is a bright, retina-burning electric green, a shade rarely seen around the Weyr except perhaps when some of the more brightly-colored of her kind are just about to rise. It's hard to decide whether to stare because it's hard to look at anything else when she's standing right there shining in the sun, or whether to look away because it's actually a bit hard to look at her. It may be easier to stare at her dark green chest and belly, or at the dark green jagged-splotched trailing edge of her wings, which give the impression that she was perhaps supposed to be a dark green dragon but all the color bled, and is still bleeding, out the back of her wings.

Color aside, she's a well-conformed young green, quite large for her color, with a lean but solid form, and a long graceful neck and limbs. Her neck-ridges are sharp and prominent, her headknobs set slightly askew, her muzzle long with lips that don't quite meet at the back corners of her mouth to hide the sharp white teeth within. The broad swell of her chest at first seems just a little out-of-proportion, but the efficiency of her design was first hinted at when the weyrlings began to fly and her sturdy chest-muscles began to develop their full strength. She has good stamina for a green, and holds remarkably steady in the sometimes fierce Istan winds. It won't be until the weyrlings learn to flame, though, that the true strength of those chest muscles will be evident, though: with a little practice, she will have an unusually strong, steady flame with precise control.


The fact that Kierikath's body makes her hard to ignore seems a bit like overkill once you actually meet her, because there is no way anyone would be able to ignore this dragon even if she were the drabbest, most boring-looking green on Pern. From the moment she hatched Kierikath knew what she wanted, didn't hesitate an instant in going to claim it, and doesn't really show any signs of reconsidering this approach to life even at full maturity. She is strong of will, perhaps a bit too clever for her own good, and very capable of forming her own opinions and questioning authority, which is an unfortunate combination because it means she's prone to taking things into her own hands. She's not above being sneaky if it means getting her way; luckily she strongly prefers being blunt about things, doing them as the passion strikes her right there in the open in a bright flash, so she rarely has the patience to put that devious little brain to ill use.

Passion has always been both her strongest and weakest trait. It makes her a fierce young fighter, always ready to take to the skies, always striving to better herself and her rider. In fact, it's difficult to hold her back at this point when Thread falls, so eager is she to get up there and get to the business of fighting the way she was meant to – especially when it's now even more vital, because R'kharo's aching loss and need to do something about it is lighting the coals under her natural impulse to act, not wait. She is impulsive even under the best of circumstances, something the weyrlingmasters hope she'll settle out of once she's fully grown and has had some seasoning time in the wings, and these are decidedly not the best of circumstances.

It's to R'kharo's benefit, perhaps, that she's so insistent and opinionated, because she refuses to let him be complacent, and refuses to allow him to wallow in his grief. Don't wallow, FIX IT. But what if it can't be fixed? IT CAN. FIX IT. Kierikath cannot comprehend of a problem that can't be solved, either with brains or brute force or just a good old-fashioned dose of flame to the face. Perhaps someday she'll be presented with one, but then she would probably just try to flame it anyway.

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