Name: Daxirren
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Rank: Former Dragonrider
Appearance:

Personality:

History: Born in the Weyr to a pair of dragonriders Daxirren’s life was never anything out of the ordinary. His parents weren't a couple and neither had a particular interest in the child outside of acknowledgement of being related. Daxirren grew up in the crèche with numerous other children and was popular enough. At the age of twelve he became a candidate and was squired by thirteen. All Daxirren had really wanted growing up was to be a dragonrider, he didn’t have a back-up plan, being confident enough to believe he didn’t need one. During candidacy he excelled in the physical aspects of the training, but was less enthusiastic about the academic side. Being raised in the Weyr meant that he had a better education than most on Pern and by that time he could already read, write and work with numbers better than many holder children, yet this didn’t hold much interest for Daxirren.

It was just as Daxirren was entering candidacy that the dragonplague hit. The man cannot remember many of the specifics, but he can recall the keening of dragons and the screams of riders as their dragons died. Too young and inexperienced to fully understand what was happening, the young Daxirren hid for a while, frightened that he too would become sick in the plague. As more dragons fell the boy’s resolve to be a dragonrider seemed to strengthen. They were losing so many, they needed as many new riders as possible and he would be one of them. He resented that he was not about to stand to impress at Hireath’s clutch. They needed to make sure every dragon impressed. So what if his training wasn’t complete?

The next turn Daxirren is squired to a rider in 3-1. And a bronzerider at that. True it wasn’t the first wing and yeah the rider is a woman, but still it’s not something to be sniffed at by any means. It was about this time that Daxirren took to being called Dax, mostly because his Squiremaster could not remember his full name. The lad enjoyed his time with L’ssa, the woman knew that physical prowess trumped all that bookish stuff.

In 196 Dax stood for Evmeth’s maiden clutch. Mind set on a bronze, just like his Squiremaster. This however was not what was in store for him. Before any dragon could even take a look at the boy a large green powered over and laid her claim. Daxirren was Naraleth’s and no bull headed bronze, clumsy brown, slinking blue or flighty green was going to change that. Dax’s colour biased was snuffed out immediately as the rainbow gaze of that regal green met his. No dragon could ever be better than Naraleth, no matter what colour they were.

Weyrlinghood went as well as could be expected for the pair. Daxirren continued to excel in practical aspects and struggle in matters of theory or politics. He just wanted to be a fighting rider. It’s not like he was ever going to be Weyrleader or something, so what did it matter? It’s more people that Dax remembers that what he was meant to be learning. Friends were made, rivalries created and there was always someone trying to encourage him to pay more attention to the things he wasn’t interested in. Everyone knew thread was coming and that meant knowing how to fight was the most important thing. Right on schedule Daxirren and Naraleth graduated with the rest of their class and took their places in their wings.

For several turns things were fine for the pair. Life in a wing was different, but not a challenge they failed to meet. Occasionally D’xir would get into trouble for questioning rank or being too hot-headed and jumping the gun, but the majority of the time Naraleth was able to hold her more impatient rider back from what she deemed more foolish decisions. Nothing major happened and all was right with the world.

Then first fall came. The pair flew into action with their wing and were struck with the reality of what being a fighting dragon and rider was. Of having death be that close to them and really having to fear for their lives when it comes. When the fall is over a head count is taken. Many have perished, yet, despite that, they will soon have to rise into the sky again. When the time comes the two go, as is their duty, and face thread again. This time however things do not go to plan. Naraleth catches sight of a blue, one from her clutch, about to be struck by a stray patch of thread. The pair break rank and sear the patch before it can strike the blue and his rider. A heartbeat later Naraleth hears and shrieked warning in her mind. Thread is above them, they must move! The dragon twists in the air and screams as the thread strikes her side. Throwing them between the pair emerge above High Reaches Weyr and crash to the ground.

What happened next is a blur in Daxirren’s mind. The pair were physically separated, but he refused to let go of Naraleth mentally. The thread had caught Daxirren down his left side, catching most of his body and face and it needed to be checked. Naraleth’s pain almost drove him mad, a gold being called in to keep the green under control, lest she hurt herself even more. Naraleth had taken the brunt of the damage, mainly to her chest and side. The damage to her body was excessive. Daxirren is able to join her long before the healers are finished and it is late into the night when the two are finally left alone. At some point D’xir finally managed to slip into sleep.

It was near dawn when Naraleth gently called to her rider, apologising for waking him. Her eyes dull and voice weak, the dragon tells D’xir she is tired. Everything hurts. She cannot stay any longer, but she could not leave without saying goodbye. D’xir pleads with the green to let him go with her. They cannot be apart, without her going on isn’t an option. Yet Naraleth refuses. D’xir will heal, he will live. She cannot and will not allow him to die. The green forces, commands D’xir to promise he will not follow her. That he will stay, live his life and continue without her. The green is forceful even as her strength wanes and finally D’xir relents.

The healers found Daxirren alone in the infirmary, a keen for the green ringing in through the Weyr.

Daxirren soon takes to drinking to find comfort. He cannot sleep at night and locks himself away during the day. Turning from friends the former rider lashes out at anyone who seeks to comfort or engage him. For well over half a turn he shuts himself away from the rest of the Weyr and seems bent on destroying himself. What else is there for him to do anyway? His dragon is gone and there is nothing else out there worth getting up for. Gradually people stop trying to pull him out and for a while Daxirren gets the loneliness that he sought. He drinks himself to sleep and does little with his waking hours.

Eventually guilt begins to set in. Naraleth made him promise to move on and there he was wasting his life doing nothing. Being mean and cold to the people had once not only been his friends, but hers as well. She never would have let him act this way. Let him wallow in his own self-pity and shut everyone out. Approximately ten months after Naraleth’s death Daxirren emerges from his Weyr. His appearance and demeanour noticeably different, but alive and sober at least. As time went on he focused on trying to mend friendships. Most were forgiving of his actions considering the circumstance, but he still felt the need to apologise. For Naraleth if anything. At present the former-rider can function in day to day life, but still drinks more that is recommended. Mostly this is at night, as sleeping is still not something that comes easily. He is often seen wandering aimlessly around the Weyr, at a loss for what to do with his life. With no back-up plan, what does he do now?