Character Type: Dragonrider
Rank: Weyrling
Age: 15
Gender: Male
Sexual Preference: Bisexual


W'kiax is never going to be a tall guy, maybe not even average, but his wiry teenaged frame is already starting to fill out, showing a hint of the stocky, strong (if short) adult body he'll have in a few short turns. His skin is naturally a deep bronzey tan and his features are a bit boyish, with pouty lips, a button nose, and big brown eyes, but despite features that many would still label “cute”, he never has really been able to present himself as such. He keeps a rather severe haircut, shaving the back and sides of his head and leaving only a bristly scrub-brush worth of his straight black hair on top, and there is rarely anything about his facial expressions or body language that conveys “adorable” or even “approachable”.


W'kiax projects an odd mix of vulnerability and bravado, forever uncertain of his place in the world but always trying to beat down that terrible bubbling uncertainty inside him by pretending to be a tough guy who's absolutely certain about everything around him. He wants to belong, but because he's never belonged anywhere he's confused about how to go about it – other people just seem to slip right in and take it for granted, but W'kiax thinks it's something you have to do, to earn, and he's forever trying to figure out how to do that. When he's doing passably well at it, it's usually because he's watching his peers for social cues, trying to mimic their attitudes about what to like or dislike, what to be upset about and what to shrug off. It's something all people do to some extent – it's just worth noting in W'kiax because it's his only halfway decent coping mechanism. When everyone else acts like it's no big deal, he goes to great lengths to do the same. Other times, though, he acts out in outrageous ways to get himself noticed, as if merely being noticed is enough to make his company desirable, because being overlooked seems like the quickest way to be alone even if you're in the midst of a group. What he really craves is positive attention, but because he secretly feels like nothing he ever does is good enough to earn that, he'll settle for negative attention instead. If he's “that guy everybody hates”, then at least he's filling a niche, right?

And he's very good at that, if nothing else. He's young and resentful and trying hard to act like he's not really as confused and afraid inside as he really is, and that's a volatile mixture. He says what he thinks both because he doesn't have the restraint to hold back and because he thinks that's what tough confident guys are supposed to do, often without realizing it's not the best thing to say, and not really caring even when he does – because other peoples' feelings aren't important, only his own. He's not consciously selfish, he's just emotionally stunted – still stuck in that phase of young childhood where other people aren't really people, just actors in a play put on for his benefit. He doesn't actively wish ill on anyone, he just doesn't truly comprehend that they actually feel things the same way he does. So if he thinks their misfortune is funny, he'll laugh, or if he gets the urge to trip someone, he will. His impulse control is poor, and he has trouble focusing on any one task for any extended period of time. He's juvenile in most of his wants, his likes, and his actions – farting is still funny, he gets visibly excited about doing new things, and if he doesn't want to do something, he'll procrastinate indefinitely even if it means things will be worse for him in the end.

If anyone can stand to deal with the little punk long enough to actually consider him on a deeper level, he doesn't magically get any better or nicer, just… sadder. His awkwardness is obvious. He's like an unsocialized puppy who seeks love and attention by biting and destroying the furniture, just because he doesn't know how to express himself in any other way and can't bear the idea of doing nothing at all. He loves Ista Weyr because it's the first place that actually extended a hand to him, that actually wanted him on board (though they might have changed their minds if they had known him better before Search), and because it gave him Maraxith, the one creature who actually chose to be with him. He loves his weyrling class because it's a small, manageable group of people that he's a part of (whether they like it or not), and the naive, childish part of him thinks of it like a family, even while the more jaded, confused side of him is pushing them all away. He'd do anything to be welcome among them… he'd even stop being himself, if he only knew how to do that.


To say that Wilkiax was an unwelcome child would be an understatement. His mother was only fifteen and unmarried when she turned up pregnant by a man who had already long since moved on, and her parents were… well, understandably less than thrilled. What little he remembers of those first few turns of his life is living in his grandparents' home, clinging to his mother's skirts and trying to stay out of grandpa's disapproving sight as much as possible. And then, other memories become clearer as he gets older: a man taking an interest in his mother, making her feel happy and wanted again (perhaps it wasn't love, but there's a lot to be said for being wanted), willing to take her on as a wife but unwilling to raise another man's bastard as part of the deal. His mother and grandparents couldn't turn down what might be her only chance at a proper home and family life. She got married and moved away, and Wilkiax was alone.

He spent the remainder of his childhood being shunted around from one segment of the family to another. His grandparents kept him for a little while, then decided the rambunctious young boy might be better off in a house with other childen, so he spent the next couple of turns with his uncle, aunt, and cousins. When they fell on hard times, he went back to grandma and grandpa, then finally ended up at a small seahold further south, where his eldest aunt's husband was a ship's captain doing quite well for himself, and his aunt and three girl-cousins could use a masculine hand around the house while uncle was away at sea.

No one was ever cruel to Wilkiax. He was always fed and clothed, and treated well enough, though he might remember it differently – he was a troublemaker and frequently disciplined, and it may have seemed unfair to him because children often perceive such things in a skewed sort of way. The word “bastard”, while it hung invisible and heavy over him, was only very rarely thrown about, and more often than not by himself in a fit of self-pity rather than by his well-meaning family. But even so, it was impossible for him not to feel as if he didn't really belong anywhere. He knew very well that he was a mistake, knew very well that his existence had almost ruined life for his mother, and that he shouldn't have been his grandparents' burden to take care of, or his aunts' or uncles'. He grew up cagey and confused, wanting desperately to belong somewhere but without the first clue of where to go or how to go about it, and it only got worse as he got older and all the stress and realizations of puberty set in.

The second most shining moment of his life was the day a Searchdragon picked him out from among his cousins and the other children of the hold. Just him, no one else on that day — him, Wilkiax, the boy who had never belonged anywhere, was being asked to go to Ista Weyr, because he was special and needed. It didn't matter that there was no guarantee that he'd Impress. It didn't matter that dragonriding was dangerous in ways that he couldn't even fathom if he'd even taken the time to consider it. All that mattered to him was that he had a place to belong, and he didn't even think twice about accepting. And when, come Hatching Day, a beautiful fat brown dragon considered all the other boys in a thoughtfully confused sort of way and then finally plopped himself down heavily in front of W'kiax, he finally knew what it really meant to be wanted – wanted so desperately that his new lifemate would actually rather die than live without him.

Weyrling training thus far has been a bit of a blur. W'kiax was one of those new weyrlings who seemed a bit dazed for a couple of sevendays, thoroughly in love with his dragon and with his new life despite the demanding schedule. Once that wore off, his natural awkwardness began to shine through again. While Impressing Maraxith did wonders for his confidence in some ways, it didn't completely dispell his fears of not fitting in, of somehow being rejected or tossed out again. Maraxith doesn't really understand his rider's hang-ups, because of course he's not going to reject him – that's just silly – but they're there all the same, and they've kept him in constant trouble throughout weyrlinghood.

And now there's Thread. Riders are dead left and right, and though W'kiax hasn't been at the Weyr long enough to know more than a small handful of them personally, the horror of losing part of his new family is almost as keen as the horror that soon he'll have to face a sky that's trying to kill him and his giant brown target of a dragon. The Weyr is now full of outsiders, and it scares him. These outsiders are a threat to him, though he isn't really smart enough to explain why he feels that way. He doesn't like the criticism of Ista that's implied by their very presence, doesn't trust them, and desperately wants to show them that his family/group/home/Weyr is the very best and doesn't need their stupid help. The only place he's ever felt even remotely wanted has suddenly become very confusing, and the family he thought he had has been invaded by strange faces so that he doesn't know how to categorize, and he deals with it the same way he deals with everything else that confuses him – angrily.



Father: Long gone and not a factor in his life
Mother: Wilani, also no longer a factor
Grandparents, aunts, uncles, several cousins




None yet.




Dragon Name: Maraxith
Color: Brown
Age: 1 turn
Weyr of Origin: Ista Weyr
Weyrling Class: SkyRiders


Maraxith has grown from a roly-poly, awkwardly tubby little brown into a veritable BEAST. He ate almost nonstop as a youngster, slowed only somewhat as a young adult, but for all the jokes at his expense at the time, it didn't all go to his belly — he rapidly put on height and length and wingspan like it was a race to the finish, and as he neared his full growth he packed on considerable muscle to fill himself out, fashioning himself into a brown that can give even some of the bronzes pause. He is barrel-chested and broad-shouldered with a strong, powerful neck holding his head proudly aloft. His headknobs are a bit unusual in shape and angle, almost resembling horns, and his neck ridges are extremely prominent. He's a true beauty for all his indominitable strength; his hide gleams a rich cognac brown with cognac's characteristic red-brown sheen to it if his rider takes care to keep him properly clean and oiled. His belly and the undersides of his wingsails, meanwhile, are a brighter tawny brown, fading smoothly into the rest of his color.


From the day he hatched, Maraxith has been notably even-tempered and slow to rile. He rarely took part in his clutchmates' antics and games, usually sitting back to watch them dubiously, more inclined to stay comfortable where he was at then to try anything new. Despite the lack of a bronze or gold in his class, he never much felt like pressing himself forward as a leader, either. He's a very comes-what-may sort of fellow.
But as he grew larger and his classmates began to give him the precedence due to his size and a dragon's natural tendency to follow bigger colors, Maraxith accepted it easily enough. In fact, he hardly seems to notice it at all at times, taking for granted that others simply move out of his way to let him go first, or second-guess themselves at pushing him toward this action or another. It's almost as if he doesn't realize how big he is, or how much power he potentially carries. Certainly this has been an issue in the past when he /has/ been convinced to join in with the others larking about, and forgets how much more space he takes up or that he has to use a gentle touch with his smaller friends. He definitely forgets that his rider and other humans are not so big as dragons, or that there little workings scattered around the weyrbowl can be utterly upset when he moves through them. He has been chased more than once with brooms from around the gardens, and threatened with rationing if he leans even once more against the herdbeast pen fence.
To the amusement of some, he is rather sensitive. He craves proof of affection and lots of caring whenever he's over-tired or receives an injury, and needs a firm hand to jostle him out of his woeful suffering. He takes things to heart and cannot abide his close comrades being wronged, often the first to go shoulder-to-shoulder with them when need be.

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