Character type: Weyrling
Rank: Weyrling
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Sexual Preference: Awesomesexual


V’rifaus is all of one hue, nearly - the same pale brown that colors his hair is found in his fox-tilted eyes, and his skin - barring a few freckles here and there - is usually within a shade or two of it. It’s a combination that may seem plain or boring on paper, but in reality is rather exotic, standing out more for it. He has fine features - just shy of delicate, closer to the sculpted spectrum - and the way he holds his arched jaw and angles his strong chin suggests determined pride.

One needn’t wonder why he may look as if he has something to prove. He’s a young man with fine-boned, graceful hands, and a sleek but certainly not /strapping/ stature — nothing at all to scoff at and one would think very appealing in its own way, and yet absolutely not what’s expected of a son of the Weyr. Weyrboys are supposed to be strong and tough, ready to tackle any problem thrown at them, after all - Ista’s strength and self-sufficiency borne on their backs.

He moves with precision, picking his way carefully through the world not out of fear or nervousness, but a general disinclination to end up scuffed, smeared, or scratched. It’s all well and good for the other men to have dirt caked under their torn-up nails and sweat dripping off them and stains all over their clothes, but V’rifaus has — or had, before Kolikith — important, delicate work to be done and his patients appreciated it when he wasn’t covered in grime, thank you very much. It infuriates him when he catches grief for being /clean/ of all things.


An exceedingly proud young man, V’rifaus stalks through life with head held high and poise and dignity steeped in every inch of him. One would think he was a young aristocrat of the highest nobility transplanted on Pern. The truth is that V’rifaus is and has always been of towering intellect, and especially after landing himself a career in which he was incredibly gifted and took to as if he had been born for it, his confidence has been off the charts. V’rifaus simply knows that he’s amazing and that he has things to offer his Weyr and his people that few others can. He is special. He’s important. He’s valuable.

He’s arrogant and haughty and as much as he does love throwing himself into a new challenge and putting himself to the test, performing well under pressure, he’s very used to those challenges being things he’s well-suited to triumph at. He doesn’t do so well at taking on things he’s not as naturally inclined to be the best at, and he handles that kind of stress poorly. V’rifaus has held himself to lofty standards and gotten used to routinely meeting them for so long he simply doesn’t know /how/ to flounder and sometimes fail anymore, not the way that most people do. He flushes in humiliation and grows short-tempered, and will utterly refuse to break away or give up until he has made the task submit to his control. But until he’s forced to face these things with no other option, he does his best to avoid them completely, finding it easier to design his life in such a way that those activities simply never come up, and then put them soundly out of mind.

V’rifaus’ parents and peers never quite understood his decision to pursue a craft instead of fulfilling his bloodright and becoming a dragonrider, and it has always galled him that even when it hasn’t been said, there is an implied failure there. V’rifaus has nothing but the utmost respect for riders and holds them in the highest regard, but he knows his work as a healer is every bit as important to Pern, and furthermore he is AMAZING at that work. He can’t come to terms with how any of those people would find /fault/ with his chosen career. He has come to deliberately avoid the company of most riders as a result. That means he spends the majority of his time in the infirmary even while not on duty, just to surround himself with those who understand his passion and his choices, where he doesn’t have to run into yet another oh-so-witty rejoinder about his soft hands and fastidious nature. He /hates/ feeling judged, and the awkwardness of not being able to connect with so many of the people in the Weyr because he has radically different interests. It shows in a prickly temper and tense silences, and how stiffly he holds himself.

Perhaps it’s made worse because V’rifaus has always felt like he should be able to work more hand-in-hand with the riders. He saves as many lives as they do, as a healer, and so they should be /partners/. He only wants the respect in turn that he affords them. And now that he is one of them, he only feels the division more keenly, knowing that he is failing in bridging the gap and hating it. He will fiercely miss the sense of camaraderie he had with his fellow healers.

V’rifaus in his element is surprisingly pleasant to be around. He /loves/ what he does, and approaches his work with true excitement and joy, unselfconsciously growing giddy with it at times. If he can find aspects of riding that hit those same buttons that healing always did, perhaps he can be that bright, shining individual again. He’s charismatic when he’s engaged, naturally drawing others to him. Surprisingly for someone who takes such pride in holding himself to high standards, he actually doesn’t look down on those who can’t quite meet his; rather, he reaches down and gladly offers an encouraging hand to help them climb toward him.

He is a very deliberate young man, fastidious in more ways than one. His need for perfection in everything he does guarantees that there are times when he takes too long on even the smallest of things. To V’rifaus, a job truly isn’t worth doing unless it’s done /well/, and ‘good enough’ just isn’t an option for him. It does mean that there are times when he actually hasn’t flubbed something at all, but /he/ thinks he has, simply because what others might see as acceptable, he sees as being poorly done. There are times when he has to be literally dragged away from something.


Birthplace: Ista Weyr, 8.428.12.13

V’rifaus was always an exceptionally bright child. The reports his parents received from the creche always went along the same lines - he excelled at harper lessons and in fact was often given extra to keep him occupied when he finished before the others; he was very curious and got into /everything/ to learn more about it all, and asked a thousand questions; he seemed to have trouble joining in on the games of his age mates and came back from playtime crying more than once. He was years ahead of his peers in the creche, with the kind of mind that devoured every new harper lesson and blazed through the basic mathematics and writing classes, always looking for more. It was definitely more worth his while to stay inside and badger the harpers than it was to go out and do poorly yet again at one of the games the others were always playing — the only things he ever got out of those were torn clothes and extra baths and taunts and laughter following him inside, perhaps the start of his preference for always staying clean and keeping out of the world he just didn’t seem to fit into.

The creche workers did try to push him toward the usual games and shenanigans, just as they tried to encourage him to think about becoming a candidate when he was of age. But all young V’rifaus would express any interest in was to become a crafter — more specifically, from about the time he was nine, to become a /healer/. In fact, he was impossibly restless and resentful of the fact he had to wait until the arbitrary (or so it seemed to him) age of twelve to become an apprentice. When he came closer to leaving the creche, his parents joined in on coaxing him toward candidacy, and when V’rifaus would have none of it, they threw their hands up and asked how they possibly managed to have the one little boy who wanted nothing to do with dragons.

It hurt V’rifaus pretty deeply, though he firmed his chin and did his best not to let it show. Where was the pride in their eyes when he told them that he already had a sponsor into the craft? How could they act as if just because he didn’t want to be a rider, he wasn’t doing anything worthwhile? So began V’rifaus’ gradual drawing away from the influences that suggested his chosen craft was the wrong choice to be made, furthering once he did become an apprentice and news of his amazing performance was usually met with the same sad looks and disappointed sighs and questions of ‘was he SURE he didn’t at least want to TRY? Just one Hatching?’

V’rifaus’ rise through the craft was meteoric. There was talk of him walking the tables early, but he was actually against the idea; he was never satisfied until his exams were PERFECT, and there was always more to be learned and practiced and honed. Sure, he could have done that as a journeyman, but he wanted even his table walk to be perfect, so that when he left apprenticeship behind it felt complete, no loose ends or goals unaccomplished.

It was a bit of that feeling that led him to finally - FINALLY - cave into his family’s wishes and agree to stand just once before he walked the tables. In V’rifaus’ mind, it was the perfect end note before he became a journeyman - a way to show once and for all that he was exactly where he was meant to be, and he hadn’t left anything undone or untried. Of course, he absolutely assumed there wasn’t a chance in hell of him actually /impressing/.

His short time as a candidate was fairly miserable. All the things his peers took for granted and had been doing and practicing since they were little boys were things he’d never paid the tiniest bit of attention to or even thought about trying his hand at. And for a high-performing perfectionist, it was agony to discover so many things he really wasn’t all that great at. Part of him was glad, though, that was going through it, as it just cemented it in his mind that dragonriding had never been the life meant for him, no matter what his parents said about family legacy and bloodright and duty to the Weyr. Even his parents started to come around on the idea themselves, seeing how hard he struggled with the things they’d always taken for granted, and how twelve-turn-olds fresh out of the creche were better at many exercises than their grown son.

Which was naturally when Tameketh and Ronageth’s clutch hatched and Kolikith decisively laid claim to V’rifaus.



Father: Brownrider V’rirka
Mother: Bluerider Fillaus

V'rifaus' Dragon

Dragon Name: Kolikith
Colour: Brown
Age: Less than one turn
Weyr of Origin: Ista


Looking at Kolikith the first thing you think is, sleek. And this brown is just that. His hide gleams, rather like his mothers does, but he lacks her metallic hue. Instead his brown hide looks rather like smoothed, organic wood. Bystanders may struggle to describe him, because Kolikith is quite appealing to look at, with all his smooth, flowing lines. There is nothing rough, or unpolished about him in appearance, and his hide reflects that. The only way to describe his shade of brown however would have to be…cool. It’s not a warm mahogany shade, or that rich redwood, no his is that much subtler shade, the expensive, well blended wood.

And he is lovely to look at, graceful, purposeful, with long, elegant limbs and intense stillness about him. He’s engaging, interesting, and worth keeping an eye on, even as people get distracted by the flashier dragons going by. Sure his headknobs are a little funny, all perky and slightly curved backward, and he does have the propensity to mince when he walks, rather than striding like the male dragon he is. Still…it would be unwise to disregard him.


Because if there is one thing Kolikith absolutely /LOATHES/ it’s being disregarded, and quite frankly, he thinks it happens far too often. No, he isn’t one of those big, pushy, idiotic bronzes with their delusions of grandeur, and he claims he totally doesn’t want to be. What he wants is recognition, pure and simple, the recognition of his intelligence and use as a dragon far superior to those…base metal creatures. He sees no reason why they should be favoured above him, he’s smarter, faster and can probably fly circles around those idiots, so why…are they automatically the leaders. It perplexes him, and infuriates as well, and his rider will have difficulty explaining the concept of it to him.

Even so, Kolikith is smart, in that calculating kind of way. Where some may attack a problem head on, Kolikith is a dragon to circle around, murmur a few things to a few people and come at the problem from the side, with a plan fully in place. He would never confront someone head on, that is idiotic, bronze even, he would…whisper things about his enemy behind their back to influenceable people, create a strong base of support, and encourage someone else to go and confront for him. Manipulating people, playing them against one another, is one of Kolikith’s great loves.

One might think this would make Kolikith a serious dragon, one to frown and mutter and brood. In fact that couldn’t be further from the truth. He’s a great socialiser, incredibly charming and witty, full of clever innuendo and veiled barbs. Female dragons will often find him quite smooth, intrigued by that mysterious air, and some, along with some blues and even browns may be drawn to his charisma and ability to seduce with his honeyed tongue. He’s also quite mischievous, teasing, playful, prone to little pranks which can go too far, little experiments to see how people will react. And somehow even when he does find himself in a pickle Kolikith soothes everyone with that natural charm, and find a solution to the problem, making it seem insignificant in retrospect, when at the time it looked to be insurmountable. His followers will find him fascinating…and his rivals will find him intensely infuriating.

That’s not to say that he’s a bad dragon, on the contrary he has the capacity to be a very good dragon, it’s just that with every instance of being passed over, every perceived slight, every rejection, Kolikith’s resentment will grow, and the negative side of him will become more pronounced.

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