Character Type: Weyrling
Rank: Weyrling
Age: 15
Gender: Male
Sexual Preference: Still working it out


Rathriel is a bit frustrated that he's not really showing signs of being as big of a man as his father is. He's a little short for his age, though not unusually so, and fairly average in build right now, though he's hoping to fill out and put on a lot more muscle, sooner rather than later. He has the same tanned brown skin as much of his family, and his dark hair often hangs unkempt over his eyes and ears, curling a little at the bottom of his neck. Good luck catching him to give him a proper haircut. His teeth came in a little too crowded, pushing them together and making the front ones a little crooked, and he has just a hint of an under-bite. His brow-line is a bit too severe, dark brows a bit too thick over his narrow green eyes. Despite the difference in color, something about the set of the eyes and brows is reminiscent of R'fan, but the similarities end there – Rathriel's facial features are rather sharp, much like his mother.


Rathriel is like a storm contained in a single body, all power and drive and barely-contained force. He blows furiously right into whatever activity he's involved in, full of intensity, and never actually dissipates to offer those around him any relief – the best you can hope for is a change in the weather that'll have him switching focus and whipping his winds off towards something else. He's just too passionate about everything, too caught up in the moment, and it colors every part of his life. He's like the guy on Earth who somehow always manages to turn touch football into tackle football, or the guy who takes a friendly basketball game and fouls the other team into oblivion in his eagerness to just score. As a child, he couldn't just draw a picture for the crecheworkers – it had to be the best picture they had ever seen. He can't just be at the party, he has to be the center of the party. It's not enough just to play hookball – he has to win, he has to be the best.

Needless to say, a person like Rathriel doesn't really know how to be anything but bold. He's loud, outwardly very confident, and always one of the first to jump in to try new things. He won't settle for being pushed around, literally or figuratively, though he will push others around if they make the mistake of letting him. He's very passionate emotionally, too – when he's happy he's absolutely jolly, when he's angry he's livid and has trouble holding back angry tears (which of course only makes him angrier), and when he loves someone he'll do anything for them, absolutely anything.

It means that sometimes he has his moments of being a jerk and a bully, which is a shame, because he's really a pretty friendly guy who loves to have fun. He's just way too intense about everything, and loses sight of the people who get between himself and his goal. Even in his classes he's constantly frustrated with himself because his grades aren't always the best – he's not the smartest guy, doesn't really have the focus or attention span to study well, and he's learned to cope with that disappointment by pretending that stuff like that is no big deal. “Whatever, dragonriders don't need to know the history of Nerat, anyway.” Being so intense means he can get a lot done, can inspire others with his example, but it also mean he stresses a lot (and copes with that stress by burying himself in something else) and that, very privately, he has a lot of doubts about himself because it's impossible for him to live up to his own standard and because he naturally assumes everyone else holds him to the same standard. The more attention he gets for his successes, the more people he sweeps up in awe of his whirlwind, the higher he thinks he has to hold himself in order to keep that attention. The little failures get to him, but he mostly fears the big ones – what if he never makes anything of himself? What if he's never anybody important? Will his dad be disappointed? Will his friends not like him anymore?

It doesn't help that his father is completely oblivious to just how deep it all runs. When he looks in on his eldest son, all he sees is a healthy, active boy with big goals in life and lots of energy and charisma to take him there. He's proud enough to say things that he thinks are encouraging, like “Just you wait, your bronze is just waiting to hatch!” never for an instant intending to imply that anything less would be unacceptable (the truth is, R'fan would be happy even if Rathriel ended up a drudge, so long as it's something Rathriel was happy doing) – but that's how Rathriel takes it, smiling proudly and feeling all puffed-up from the praise, but secretly burning up inside with renewed determination not to let everyone down.


Rathriel was born at Ista Weyr, raised in the creche but lucky enough to enjoy the attention of both his bronzerider father, who had up until his birth been blessed only with daughters, and his greenrider mother, who had no interest in raising him herself even if she had been able but was fond enough of him nonetheless. He was always an energetic child, a whirlwind of activity who reminded the long-suffering older crecheworkers of his father, in a way, and yet he always had a sort of focus, an intensity, that they could see might be problematic. He was always quick to join into games and activities with the other children, sometimes even organizing them himself, but he was always the one who started playing too rough in his desire to be the best. As a toddler he would just straight-up shove others out of the way of his goal; as he grew, he became a bit less obnoxious about it, but he began to internalize his failures, often growing angry with himself when he lost a game or failed to grasp a lesson. When the crecheworkers brought up their concerns to R'fan, he just laughed it off as a little boyish roughhousing: “He's a little boy – he's gonna shove people around sometimes, get a little too into his game. Hey, us grown men do it too!”

Rathriel never considered any other path in life other than what was expected of him – he became a candidate as soon as he turned 12, and was absolutely devastated when he didn't Impress his first time on the Sands, even though he knew that some candidates Stand many times before their lifemates find them.

His mother was one of the first 'Fall casualties, and though she was only one of many, it only served to drive home Ista's dire losses in his young brain. It's now more important than ever to him that he Impress so he can get up there and fight with the friends and family that he has left so that he doesn't lose any more – and so that he can help Ista recover faster. It burns that they're having to ask for help, and somehow it feels a little as if it's his fault for not Impressing sooner, not being ready to help when Ista direly needed its own riders to take the place of the dead.

Now, at last, he's ready to do his part — validated by his Impression of bronze Gavilth from Tameketh and Rowlieth's clutch.



Father: R'fan, rider of bronze Ronageth
Mother: Thessa, rider of green Teglath

Zeff, candidate
Annaca, weyrling to blue Colstenth
Ryssyra, candidate
Issyra, candidate


Caulan, rider of gold Miaranth
Zaravay, candidate
Ashabel, rider of green Hasheth


No one. But not for lack of trying. :(


Color: Bronze
Age: Hatchling
Weyr of Origin: Ista Weyr
Weyrling Class:


Standing tall even beside his bronze fellows, Gavilth is a difficult dragon to miss. He’s a lean, leggy bronze, given more to height than substance, with a long slender tail and a gracefully arching neck to match his body. His features seem finely-sculpted, as if from stone, with angular eye-ridges in an angular face, prominent cheekbones, perfectly sharp and uniform neck-ridges, and long narrow wings built for better speed and maneuvering than most of his color. When he sits he sits tall, neck raised and head angled downward to look down upon whomever he’s addressing — he’d not call it a position of arrogance, he’d call it a position of authority. You might expect a dragon with such long legs to either stumble awkwardly like a lanky teenager or mince about like a little dragon priss, but somehow Gavilth does neither — he moves deliberately and decisively, no movement wasted and with no hesitation, at a brisk pace yet never quite a rush. His hide is a pale, gleaming bronze, as if the most perfectly-mixed alloy was polished to as much of a shine as possible. His neck-ridges and wingsails are a somewhat darker shade, but even that seems deliberate — his coloring is very orderly and “within-the-lines”, with no other variations, and if you were to ask him whether or not he feels that he’s attractive, he would simply say that he is symmetrical, and that is enough.


Gavilth does not suffer from hesitance or indecision as some dragons do. And why should he – or anyone, he wonders — when his world is so easy to understand? Stark black and whites are all that this bronze is capable of seeing, and that makes his path in any given circumstance very clear. A thing is either difficult or easy, wrong or right, good or bad, and that's that – there's no such thing as grey! Not naturally, anyway. “Grey” is just smoke and mirrors, something that happens when someone muddies up the issue, and Gavilth hates mud. Mud is only good for getting you stuck.

Not that he'd come up with such a metaphor himself. Gavilth is intelligent, make no mistake, but he's hardly a creative soul. There's no room for flowery fiffle-faffling in his world of black and white lines and angles. From the moment of hatching he's keenly aware of the color of his hide and the burden placed upon him by it, and he'll learn early on that he seems to be the only one gifted with such a clear view of right and wrong, and so it will become his mission in life to stomp out those muddy waters and steer his fellow dragons down the proper path. His authority is absolute, his fist like iron – not because he's ambitious or craves status, but because he honestly believes that he has to do what he was hatched to do. This is his purpose in life. Gavilth is a big proponent of order, of clarity of purpose and role, and the color-rank hierarchy is an important part of that. Early on he'll be shuffling and ordering his siblings by color, expecting them to respect the natural way of things even when interacting with one another, and he'll have a difficult time going against his own nature – he'll never bow will to a brown and will even have trouble taking instruction from older bronzes, not because he doesn't respect their age and rank, but because being bronze and in-charge just comes so naturally to him that he sees himself as their peer even when he's fresh from the egg. Golds are a bit of a special case – he'll respect them when it comes to their domain, to mothering and nurturing, but they're no warriors and he'll not bow to a bulheaded gold trying to tell him how to keep his class in order. He's the leader here, and she's merely a female to be courted when the time comes.

And there is no compromise in Gavilth's world. People often whine about things being unfair, but Gavilth's brand of “fair” is the sort that no one really wants: true, pure, absolute letter-of-the-law equality when it comes to decision-making. That means no mitigating circumstances, no favoritism, and swift, harsh judgment. If he were human, he would be a proponent of punishing thieves exactly the same no matter if they're an adult who robbed a bank or a child who stole a candy. Both ladies claim the baby? Well, cut it in half so each can have their share – only he may have completely missed the point of Solomon's classic proposal. Gavilth takes things at face value, you see, and expects others to do the same. If everyone were as plain and honest as he is, then there would be no need to look deeper at anything!

He is that, at least: honest to a fault, honorable even in his harshness, absolutely dependable and, admittedly, predictable. His fellow dragons may find him cold, harsh, and distant, may wonder if he has any real emotions inside him, but that's the rub: he does. Inside, Gavilth is a roiling bundle of emotion who, like anyone, just wants to be liked. But he believes his decisions are correct and necessary, that his authority must not be compromised lest it end in chaos (gasp his most feared adversary!) and disaster for all, and so he suppresses the vulnerable parts of himself because he can't risk compromising his decisions with feelings. It's more important to be a leader than to be a friend… and because Gavilth can't compromise, he can't see any way those two things can co-exist. He'll be the leader, the ever-vigilant, dependable officer up on the hill who will command his men but never truly be a part of their games, and he'll swallow all the wishes and bitterness and heartbreak because he can't let that interfere either. In his effort to keep his negative emotions suppressed he'll end up suppressing all of his emotions, and he may go his entire life with no one but his rider truly understanding just how many layers there are beneath his shining bronze surface.

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