Character type: Weyrling
Rank: Weyrling
Age: 21
Gender: Male
Sexual Preference: Heterosexual


R’loric may be fairly short for a man at an adult height of about 5’5”, but he’s clearly fit. His body is lean and sleekly muscled — a product of both genetics and an active lifestyle of both work and play, as well as a background that has never truly known hunger nor lacked a healer’s care when needed. The constant touch of the sun darkens his tawny skin, the warm glow of a lively, active person evident in the bronze undertones brought to life in his cheeks by an equally sunny smile. Likewise, his golden brown hair is clearly sun-kissed, too, and he keeps it relatively short and side-parts it, sweeping the length on top over to one side. Slightly darker brows lend expressiveness to his distinctive hazel eyes, and a long, high-bridged nose and solid jaw leading to a sharp chin give a certain intensity to his look, particularly when he’s angry.

He enjoys the comfort of everyday work clothes, but he also very much enjoys the opportunity to dress up. He knows that many consider him good-looking, and he considers himself good-looking, and he loves to play that up even more on special occasions.


R’loric is one-third action, one-third cockiness, and one-third temper — and he wouldn’t be ashamed to be described that way, either.

He’s an athletic guy, perhaps even something of an adrenaline junkie; he fears little, and takes risks more often than he probably should. It isn’t that he just leaps in without thinking, either. No, part of the fun is being well aware that he’s doing something dangerous, though his confidence in his ability to overcome (and thus feel like the fun is worth the risk) probably does lend a certain amount of naivety about the consequences even so. His confidence, in fact, is one of his defining characteristics, and it definitely spills over into outright cockiness as often as not. He’s used to hard work, but he’s also used to having most of what he wants (until recently anyway), and he’s used to being treated a bit special, even amongst his siblings. He loves that attention, that specialness, and he thinks he can handle anything. The hardships of the past few turns have only further convinced him of this fact — after all, he has survived, and what could be worse than watching much of your home, and your way of life, destroyed?

The answer is “a lot of things”, and R’loric realizes that on some level — he’s seen what happened to some of his father’s cotholders, after all — but that hasn’t dimmed his anger, or his hurt, over what he’s lost. He has always been a passionate, temperamental soul who is open about his joy and sadness both, and so it’s no surprise really that he would cling to his anger, and he isn’t ashamed to share it. The hardest part for him was being angry and not being able to do anything about it — he’s a person who relies a lot on doing, on seizing advantages or, if that fails, creating an advantage for himself, and he hates being at the mercy of an enemy he can’t fight, and reliant on the lazy failures that he views weyrfolk to be. What makes them so special, after all? They can make dragons like them, big deal — maybe once upon a time they were fighters, but apparently all these turns of sitting on their asses made them forget how to actually do the one thing they’re supposed to do! Why, he’s handled feisty runners and territorial bulls — he’s sure he’ll be able to show a dragon who’s boss in no time, and then he won’t be helpless anymore.

Common Knowledge

Better Than You
Rancher, former competitive racer (runners)


Birthdate: 433.03.17
Birthplace: Caysoun Hold

Caysoun Hold, a minor hold on northern Ista Island, prospered throughout the long Interval. Its lands have always been prime for grazing herds — a rarity on the island — and being one of the few local sources of red meat during the isolationist turns meant that business was booming and profits were high. As a result, the hold has always been well-to-do, with marks and time to spread around and dabble in other things. Their bread and butter has and always will be herdbeasts, but their hobby, their passion, is racing runners.

And this is the world that Lorcan, third son of the current holder, was born into. Like his brothers and sisters, he worked the ranch, he learned the business of beasts, and he spent much of his leisure time with the runners and looking forward to the next race. He proved to be a talented and motivated rider, in love with the thrill of it, and grew to become the hold’s choice of jockey for its runners. It was hard work, too, but he enjoyed it and all the perks that came with it: training with a runner sometimes during the season instead of wrangling the beast herd, occasionally traveling off the island for races, getting to compete, gain attention, bask in the pride of his parents and his hold for doing something that stood out more tangibly than the all-important-but-often-overlooked everyday work. He was used to being special.

And then… Thread.

Their Weyr utterly failed them. Through the centuries of the long Interval, the hold — like many others — had expanded beyond the bounds of the cliff-face. Buildings were destroyed, many beasts killed, vast swaths of their lands were Thread-burrowed and had to be charred clean. A younger brother, as well as three other holdfolk and ranch hands, died while desperately trying to burn out the burrows. With no real time to rebuild before the subsequent ‘Falls and the holdfolk now terrified, recovery was painfully difficult. It was all they could do to try to cut their losses and make the best of it. Without being able to trust the riders to do their jobs, the hold could only keep what it could support and what it could protect itself, without the benefit of sprawling buildings and expansive lands. With all they had lost, the business had to change, and dramatically — there was no longer room for hobbies or largesse, only what would benefit their survival the most. The surviving runners were now a drain and were sold off to help support the recovery of the hold and the rebuilding of the decimated beast herd.

It didn’t really matter that, compared to many Istan holders, Buttstallion was lucky. They had plenty to begin with, so at least they still had the means to recover eventually, to survive. It was less a matter of their starvation (though the destruction of many other holds also affected prices and their ability to procure vital supplies) and more a matter of the destruction of a certain way of life — the way of life that Lorcan had been been raised in. He understood the necessity of the sacrifice, accepted the cost of their survival, and in many ways grew even closer to his family as they all threw their shoulders in to rebuild together… but it kindled an anger in him, and in many — a deep bitterness towards the Weyr they had tithed to faithfully for centuries upon centuries, only to suffer because it failed at its one real job the very first time it was called upon to fight in modern day.

As time went by, Lorcan’s anger only grew. The differences between his new life and his old one were stark, from his admittedly-biased point-of-view (in reality less different than what many suffered), and as a young man naturally inclined to action, he became more and more frustrated with what felt like a lack of progress, and a lack of closure. He was tired of the way the entire hold still seemed to hold its breath every time Thread fell, just in case. He wanted to do more. He wanted to tackle the problems himself.

The first couple of times that Ista Weyr came on Search after its failure, many of the Hold’s eligible youngsters — including Lorcan — refused to present themselves to the Searchriders. By the time they came around for Miaranth’s first clutch, however, sentiment had changed somewhat — not just in Lorcan, but in some others, too. This time more of them lined up, and when the Searchrider singled Lorcan out as a possible candidate, he decided to accept. What better way to help, what better way to protect his home and show those lazy weyrfolk how to do their damn jobs than by doing it, and doing it better than the useless dragonriders did.

His family was in a tizzy about it. Some understood his reasoning, others didn’t, some were angry at him seemingly going turncoat. It didn’t matter, really — or rather, it did — but he pretended it didn’t. He always was a stubborn lad. He traveled to the Weyr full of anger and confidence in equal measure, certain that he certainly knew how to handle a beast better than any soft weyrboys did. If there was some nobility in the decision, there was also more than a little bit of spitefulness, too… and selfish excitement at the idea of being able to ride again, and maybe even, this time, fly.



TBD, holdfolk


Dragon Name: Orchamith
Color: Blue
Age: 0
Weyr of Origin: Ista
Weyrling Class:


Orchamith hatched an average sort of blue in size and conformation, and he’ll be one of the lucky ones: though his adult form will be a little more solid, a little thicker in the leg and longer in the wing, a bit taller than his freshly-hatched body may have indicated, his growth will be relatively smooth and even and blessed with a marked lack of awkwardness. In fact, grace and agility is a defining characteristic of his. He has a way of moving, of flowing from one step or wingbeat to the next, that may give him an edge over dragons who may be faster than he is — not that he’s a slouch in the speed department, either. His head is small, with a small narrow muzzle to match, and his earknobs curl very slightly back (perhaps something about the way he grew within his egg?). His hide is a medium-to-dark, subdued shade of blue for the most part, but it’s his markings that make him distinctive at a distance: his eyes are ringed by a lining of frosty light blue that flares out a bit at the back corners and covers his rather prominent eyeridges, and the tips of his wings and his tail appear to be dipped into the same light blue, blending back into the rest of his hide.


As befitting a dragon of such a relatively energetic clutch, Orchamith has his own drives and desires, and his own passion for seeing them through. He’s very curious about the world around him, but he isn’t content to just explore and question: he has to interact, he has to be a part of the story, and it can’t just be a bit part. Like a child, he (and, by extension, his rider) will always be the center of his own universe, and he will always be the hero of his own story. His confidence is unshakable, and he honestly believes that he’s the best and most handsome of all dragons, and that his rider is clearly the best and most handsome of all humans — a pair that could have only ever matched one another. He’ll rush into anything with no sense of self-preservation, and everything is something to rush into, everything is a situation that requires the flawless touch of Orchamith! He’ll tackle anything, and he’ll attempt to tackle it with flare, because why keep things boring when you could make them spicy instead? Doesn’t everyone love things a little more fun, doesn’t everyone love a breathtaking stunt?

For the most part, he’s a happy dragon, too sure of himself to succumb to taunts or negativity or failure easily. When he loses his temper it usually burns out pretty quickly, and he rarely holds grudges. That may be partially because he is definitely a dragon whose shorter memory span is on display… or maybe he just actively chooses to ignore certain things or dismiss them quickly. It’s hard to tell, because he is also quite selective about the things he cares about, and quite stubborn about picking and choosing what he deals with and what he just pretends doesn’t exist. Orchamith’s world must always be exactly the way that Orchamith wants it to be… and he’s very good at making sure it stays that way.

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