Character type: Candidate
Rank: Candiadate
Age: 12
Gender: Male
Sexual Preference: Undecided


Caulan wasn’t the only one to get nice genes out of her parents and R'liar is a good-looking kid, though the maturity he very suddenly had to acquire ever everything happened often makes him appear a tad too serious. Despite his attempts to be nonchalant and easy-going, there’s a tension that’s only just kept hidden under the surface. Its not constant or very obvious usually, but there are signs here and there. The way he holds his shoulders. How he regularly twists his neck and spine, trying to relax the muscles. The way his brown eyes are always on the move, taking in all of his surroundings as quickly as possible.

He has a wide smile, though there are times its quite forced and he keeps his wavy brown hair shaggy and long so he has something to hide behind when his attempted cheerful emotions don’t quite reach his eyes.

Tall for his age, he often pulls off being older than he is, though there isn’t much bulk to him. Likely he’ll always be a slender guy, though its possible he’ll end up quite tall when he’s done growing.


R'liar has always been a nurturing, care-taking kind of boy. Even when he was quite small he was always ready to help out around the house, happy to cook any meals just to help put a smile on his family’s faces. His sole goal in life was always to make the people he loves happy, even now after everything he’s gone through he *still* works towards doing what he can for other people. Though now there’s part of him that does it out of guilt as much as out of his own sense of duty. It makes him happy to help others, but it also soothes his soul a little bit to serve others after what he did. This goes to the point where he tends to be self-sacrificing for other people to an unhealthy degree.

There’s a pride in being able to do this, in being able to provide for others and to get things done. Perhaps there’s even a touch of arrogance there, in that he won’t let other help him. Even though he’s pretty close-lipped about the details of his recent past, the satisfaction he gets from having done what he’s done is enough that he doesn’t *need* anyone else to help him. He can look after himself and find ways to look after his family all on his own and this translates down to every aspect of his life. Even if it comes to just passing him something, R'liar will always have a smile, a shake of his head and a “nah, I’ve got it thanks”. If he can get through what he did, then he doesn’t need any of these simple things; he can do it all on his own.

Though what happened with the Fort holder was an accident, R'liar knows he would do it again if it came down to it. The guilt may be eating him alive but there’s a ruthlessness to him that can justify the means to the end when it comes to looking after his family and his home. Its not that his outward sweet and charmingly cocky demeanor is false exactly, but he’s the sort of person that will go to whatever lengths he needs to. His only remaining family that he's close with is Caulan and he’d do anything to protect her, enough that he would rather find a way to end any threat instead of just putting it off. Better to win any fights that might come up in the future as well instead of just the one thats happening now. This would hold true for anyone he got close enough with to be included in his family.

Even though he’s angry with Caulan right now, he still loves her fiercely. He might not know how to face her just yet, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to. Its difficult though for him to trust her. To him she abandoned their home, the one that he spent the last year working hard and doing some very questionable things just to be able to build it up to something good. He earned enough money for them to be comfortable and happy, but now she doesn’t need it and she certainly doesn’t seem to need him to look after her. So his answer is not to need her. Though she’d always looked after him up until he’d gone, its hard for Riliar to rely on her for anything, even less so than anyone else.


Birthplace: Unknown Hold, 8.439.3.27

Life was always good for Riliar. He was an easy to please child without any high expectations of anything. He was just happy to be useful. Even after his father died he found ways to cope. Of course he was sad and grieved along with the rest of their family, but he was young enough that he could move on a little easier. Losing his mother was harder, but it was still something he was able to deal with, though more slowly. He still had Caulan and she always made sure he was looked after. He was young, but still ready to help, always ready to be part of making the household run, but it was difficult and never felt like enough. No matter how hard they worked there was always more.

His previous cheerfulness started to fade a little and he buckled down to try and find an answer. There was too much to do all the time and it was wearing on the both of them. They were just kids, after all. What they needed was enough to marks to make sure things worked out and when he caught wind of a rumor about a ship taking on crew for very good pay, Riliar jumped at the chance. It broke his heart to leave Caulan, but he knew it wouldn’t be forever and when he got home everything would be okay for them.

What no one told him prior was that this ship was full of the less than wholesome sorts: a Pernese version of pirates. It was surprising because these were the classiest, most clever people Riliar had ever met rather than a typical scalawag one might expect. This was the secret to their success. They moved in higher circles, they knew who to charm and who to simple knock out with a fist and they had their people planted in crucial positions.

The current scheme was to take place at a very wealthy holding in Fort territory. So far they’d been unsuccessful at ripping it off, but word was that the Lady had a soft heart for fosterling and Riliar was just the perfect sweet-faced boy for the job. He was introduced to her as a sad little orphan who’d lost his family recently (not even far from the truth) and she took him up in a heartbeat.

If it hadn’t been for Caulan back home Riliar might have been tempted to stay forever. He was well fed and dressed, educated and growing popular with the local children. He stayed for months like his ‘crew’ told him to. Get in nice and cosy so that they don’t suspect you ever, learn the secret of the hold and only go in when you’re confident. So he waited, even dragging it out so that he could enjoy the comforts for a while longer.

When the time came to just into the secure room where so much of the wealth was kept this perfectly laid planned went downhill. There wasn’t *supposed* to be someone coming in there at that hour, not while he was in the middle of filling his bags with everything valuable he could get his hands on and carry. Riliar doesn’t even remember what he hit the man with, but he’ll never forget watching the light go out of the man’s green eyes. And then he was out of there. He got to his ship far before he was supposed to and was lucky enough they didn’t just hang him there for botching the mission. At least, they didn’t after they saw how *much* he’d taken out of that Hold, anyway. The captain wasn’t going to keep him on board now though, not with his face being so family to the those holders and potentially being wanted for murder. He dug up a filched Istan searchtoken and brought him back to his island. “Maybe you’ll be safer at the Weyr,” the captain told him with a shrug. “Hell. Maybe a dragon’ll want you and then you won’t have no problems.”

But he was going home, not to the Weyr. Once he got there it would be okay. He and Caulan would have enough money that they would be just fine. It was unlikely that the Fortian holders would be able to track him down, he told himself. What he’d done… it was an accident and it had gotten him what he needed so that they wouldn’t have to worry any more. So it would all be alright.

Except that Caulan wasn’t there. She’d gone to the Weyr and just left it all behind, including him. Riliar was devastated. After all of… everything it didn’t mean a damn thing. She was at the Weyr getting fed and clothed and a chance at a dragon. She didn’t need him or what he’d brought to look after them. He was alone and starting to feel exposed and paranoid now that there was the quiet to really think about his situation.

Would Fort figure out what happened and where he’d gone? After a couple days of panicking Riliar decided to trust his captain’s advice and headed to the largest nearby hold where they could signal for a dragonrider, maybe even his uncle. Whatever his feelings towards Caulan right now, he *should* be where she was. And maybe he *could* get himself a dragon. Despite how low the chances might be of this happening, it was starting to be the only thing that felt like it had some safety to it.

R'liar's Dragon: Brown Sarezarth

Colour: Brown
Age: 0
Weyr of Origin: Ista


Some dragons are lucky enough to be hatched in what almost seems to be a smaller version of their adult bodies, while others at least possess a hint of their adult forms. Sarezarth, unfortunately, is not one of those dragons. He's gangly and big-footed at hatching, with a body a bit too skinny and a head that seems big enough to topple him over, and it will take months for him to grow into the dragon he's destined to be. But oh, once he does! He'll end up average in size overall, but he'll even out all over, his once-large feet now perfectly-sized, unwavering at the end of sinewy limbs that rope into muscular shoulders and hips. A lean sort of strength will be evident in his body, poised and ever-ready for action, just as he's always imagined himself to be. His once-scrawny neck will fill in more than anyone ever expected, thick and solid, holding aloft a large skull with broad jaws and a wide muzzle. His hide, a rich reddish-tinted burnt umber, only becomes more vibrant with age… except for the dark, greyish soot brown markings that shadow his entire body like a vision of the bones beneath: a line down his muzzle and along both jaws, over the top of his head and leaving two perfect open circles around his eyes like sockets, down the back of his neck and all the way down his spine to his tail-fork, a thick line down each segment of each limb and digit, broken by unmarked hide at each joint.


“Impatient” doesn't even begin to describe Sarezarth. He always seems to be on pins and needles, waiting for something to happen, pacing restlessly when forced to wait – and he won't wait long. What's all this talk for? Where is the /action/? If there's one thing a dragon's hatched knowing, it's that he's hatched to /fight/, and Sarezarth will never understand how his fellows can get so caught up in other things instead. Training is great, training is a semi-acceptable substitute for fighting. Food is fine, food is fuel for the fight. Games? What good are games when there's fighting to be done? He's very single-minded, and not so much a creative thinker – any training exercises presented to him during Weyrlinghood had better be very direct and easy to understand, because if their relevance to the fight isn't completely obvious, he'll have no time for it. His every muscle burns to be used, his brain is aflame with the desire to rage, and he'll /find/ something to rage about if nothing is readily available. He /needs/ something to be passionate about, something to focus on and throw his entire heart and soul and body into loving, or hating, or fighting – it's all tied together, you see, love for one thing naturally resulting in hate for anything that might threaten it, or hatred for no other reason than to have something to fight resulting in love for anything that might condone or better, venerate him for his hard-won battles.

Sarezarth's entire life is a whirlwind of these things, particularly in his first turn of restrictions and rules. Maturity, and the ability to fight Thread, will offer him some measure of peace and validation – an appropriate outlet for his aggressive tendencies – but even then, he'll grow restless and growly during periods of rest. He'll always be an angry sort of dragon, with no patience for anyone but his rider and not much even with /him/ sometimes, and his temper is somehow predictable in its very unpredictability. It's easy to insult him – he has a strong sense of his own honor and worth and is prickly about any perceived snubs – and easy to set off his temper, but at the same time, his temper doesn't even always require any prodding at all. Sometimes he'll rage for absolutely no reason – or he'll find a reason, because the only time Sarezarth feels as if he's truly alive is when he's fighting, and anything will serve as a substitute in the absence of Thread. He's good at fighting, after all, with excellent instincts and high marks in almost every physical skill a dragon can have, and even if loud, belligerent arguing and passionate defenses of whatever cause he's adopted aren't quite the same as actual Threadfighting, well, they're better than nothing, right?

In 'Fall he'll be far steadier than one might expect. If his passion for the battle overtakes him he'll be hard to keep under control, true, but he'll be unfazed by anything the sky might throw at him: clumps, ovoids, heavy winds, or rain. There's nothing Sarezarth won't meet head-on and conquer! The deaths of his own wingmates won't affect his performance – he's too focused on the battle, he'll keen after it's done, or perhaps not at all. After all, his mates were warriors and they died doing what they were hatched to do. What is there to grieve?



Older Sister: Caulan,
Uncle C’launa

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