The Will Which Says Hold On Brown Asceorth

From elegant, wide nostrils set in a slightly roman muzzle, to the tip of his slightly-short tail, this massive brown seems carved from living sone. His head is exquisite: wide-flaring, sharp eyeridges, soft and expressive eyes, back-swept headknobs. His neck is on the short side for a dragon, arched and muscular, matched in powerful shoulders. Barrel-chested and sturdy in flank and hip, this brown's tail is powerful, if not long and whippy. He's got massive paws, deceptively heavy leg bone, matching the robustness of the rest of him. In the sun, this brown shines — not quite metallic, but he's got a sheen about him that's nearly there in the brighter shades. Charred umber, a shade or two from black, almost balances out vibrant mahogany, settling heavily over all of his edges. It moves down his refined head, nearly to his neck, down the almost comically large 'ridges there. Up from those large paws, the char fades out slowly above his knees, before picking up again along the spars on his wings and down his tail-ridges. The bright, ruddy brown set against the scorched klah is still somewhat dark in glowlight, but vibrant in the sun, nearly brick-colored. Soft dapples of paler caramel flash here and there, quiet against the bolder shades of the majority of this massive dragon.

Egg Name and Description

Steadfast Satellite Egg

Hatching Message

Steadfast Satellite is loud when it breaks cleanly in two, as if cleaved…cleft? Cleaven? As if smushed by some deft weapon. The dragon that sits, proud of his efforts, in the shell is…loud. With a trumpet of bright joy at its own prowess against the shell-y prison, the The Will Which Says Hold On Brown stands. Immediately tries to leap into action, lurching towards the candidates. He falls on its face instead. Well. You can't win, every time.

Impression Message

« Z'eir! » THUMP. There'a a brief flash of pain, something like searing heat on your backside, but suddenly that's not so important. The warmth of a summer day — somewhat less oppressive than the sands, at least — settles like a blanket, soft and pleasant. It almost blocks out the gaping emptiness where food should be, yesterday, sometime last sevenday, maybe a turn ago given the strength of the — « I'm sorry,» Asceorth murmurs, somewhere between chagrined and amused, soft baritone wobbling on a laugh. « It's been forever since I've eaten, though. » Nudge. Nudge. Beat. « Get it? Because I've never eaten. » He lets that (frankly, awful, but you're the one who signed up for it, aren't you?) joke sink in for a moment, riffing his own harper's accompaniment of cymbals for the punchline. And although you already know, just as intrinsically as your own name or where you were born or that he's just so hungry, the dragon-shaped lump currently griddle-pressing you into the sand like a breakfast sausage sighs « I'm Asceorth, mine. And I'm really hungry. » like that's an afterthought. Not as important as the pressing issue of cuddling you real good, anyways.


The second thing that will stand out about Asceorth — after just how loud he is — will easily be the protectiveness that he expresses over those he cares for. Even as an egg-wet hatchling, he'll likely be fretting over his clutchsibs. You likely won't get a lot of rest in the first days, since whenever he's not eating or attending to other business like sleeping or pooping, he'll be trailing his clutchsibs.

« Iczobyth, you know, if you ate while you had your nose in a book, you might get bigger. You're so much smaller than me! Here, I've got — »
« What? Just because Tsarziath doesn't appreciate advice doesn't mean that Iczy's not smarter than he is. Here. I brought you the best part of the caprine, look, it's an eyeball! Isn't it great? »

Yeah, he'll probably be a little bit obnoxious, but Asceorth really does mean well. Even as a very young dragon, he'll be prone to nightmares and night terrors — he'll quickly develop a not-so-good relationship with sleep. That is to say, he'll stay up as late as he possibly can, talking with Talanoath about the stars or pestering Rosalyth about some minute detail of the barracks or other. He'll have a seemingly-innate ability to guess what a person or dragon needs at any point: but whether he acts on that or not seems to be random. Is it more funny for him to poke and prod for several hours than it is for him to simply offer a shoulder or a theoretical ear for troubles? Well, they both have the same result in the end, and he does love to tease his clutchmates and you and anybody else who he can get the ear of. He's a sociable, bright little dragon, and he doesn't have any problems with talking ears off, especially in the pursuit of what he feels like is helpful to others.

A lot of these early moments of dubious tenderness will come on the heels of a sleepless night. His aforementioned night terrors will come and go seemingly at random, but stress and worry seem to set them off with a particular ferociousness. If you hurt yourself, or one of the Weyrlingmasters is particularly wrathful over your or their performance, or one of his clutchsibs is injured, you'd better get out some study material. It's going to be a long night. As a younger dragon, he'll have more trouble sleeping than as an adult, but it will likely never completely go away. When he does sleep, Asceorth does so with a passion, dead to the world and snoring loudly enough that some might worry he'll strike up an earthquake. It's easily disturbed by nightmares, though: almost always starting the same, with cold, clammy darkness creeping in on both of your consciousnesses, bringing visions of the things that your little brown fears the most. As a hatchling, it'll be more abstract, but as he gets older, this might get to be a little more troublesome for you, too. Asceorth has a remarkable imagination for a dragon.

In his late-night moments of wakefulness, Talanoath might be some comfort to your young Asceorth. They both have a habit of sleeplessness, at any rate, and Asceorth won't hesitate to ask for help from his clutchmate — or anybody else, really. « Let's find where belior goes, brother! » And you'd better believe he'll be off, whether or not there's any rules constraining them to the immediate area. Rules? What are rules for, if not to be pushed? « How else are they going to know that we're ready to be doing more, Z'eir! Keep up. Let's go! The moons are setting fast. I bet we can catch them. »

And he won't listen to any nay-saying from Tsarziath or any of his bookish siblings, either. It's not really about catching the moons.

These moments will probably be considerably easier on your nerves, and the nerves of his classmates, than the games he comes up with when left to his own devices. Asceorth is a clever little dragon, and when bored, he gets creative. If there's nobody else to wrestle with or chase moons with or even just talk to (he does like to talk), he will plan out elaborate pranks, or worse, new games to play with the weyr at large. This varies, from earlier iterations of 'jump out and scare the crap out of Rosalyth because she walks around with her head in the clouds', to more elaborate schemes. Competition. Can Leirith beat him for number of people startled into keeping more on their toes? You had better bet that your Weyrling Asceorth will try and find out. How many buckets of water can he make you balance precariously above doors? How many times can he set up trip wires that release a jar full of some sort of angry insects into the general area? These early late-night expeditions will be the start of your dragon's budding sense of duty, of protectiveness over others — no matter how much it just seems like he's trying to be a brat.

« Honest, Kalcyth, I was trying to help Nyth! She can't keep up, she just needs better muscles! You can't tell me she's not getting them, running away from all those spinners. »

And the thing is? He's serious. Sure, it's kind of hilarious, but also, he worries. And if he can do something to help, well.

As he ages, Asceorth's playfulness won't wane, but his sense of duty will grow more and more with every passing sevenday. As an adult, this brown will actually take his wing duties very seriously — to the point of severity, sometimes.

« Get your head in the game, Savarseth! Why are you here if you should be napping? You're going to get Yours hurt. »

He won't pull any punches, whether physical or mental, and don't expect a whole lot of tact from this brown even as an adult. He won't be quite as exuberant in his high thoughts of himself as some might be — actually, Asceorth seems to be relatively humble, more prone to amused chagrin at his faults than pride of his superiority. That doesn't mean that he won't have his foot in his mouth pretty frequently when it comes to his interactions. He has a specific vision for the world, a stubbornness that's prevalent in his clutch, and not a lot of patience for things not going his way. That being said, however, Asceorth will never lose his playfulness. As long as his wingmates, as long as those around him aren't putting themselves or others in danger, your brown will generally maintain an air of easy affability that isn't too troublesome. Usually. He'll keep a bad habit of not thinking before he jumps into a situation. He'll never stop dealing with some of his troubles by wrestling the nearest dragon until they're both too tired to argue any more. But he won't always be as mischievous as he is as a baby.

Asceorth won't lose his restlessness, though. As an adult, he'll have fewer nightmares, fewer nights that he wakes up in a blind panic, but they'll never go completely away. On these nights, you'll find Asceorth wandering — not necessarily disturbing your sleep or anybody else's, like he did as a Weyrling. No, he doesn't require constant attention (coughTalanoathcough). In fact, he seems to prefer his nighttime wanderings to be solo missions, time for him to collect his thoughts while he checks up on the Weyr. He'll have a regular path: and no stone will be left unturned. Your dragon is a very thorough dragon, and he'll know the Weyr like the back of his paw. He'll rarely miss things that need fixing, or tending to, or minor dips in the condition of the herds, or overgrown trees around the observatory. Even on peaceful nights, before he beds down for the night, Asceorth will make a lap of the Weyr. Just in case. Just to set his mind at ease that all of the things that he loves are where they ought to be, safe and sound and cozy in their beds.

(If they aren't? Well, he's not above herd-canine-ing them directly into bed. « You need sleep, Mine's friend. Please. Let me walk you to your cottage. There are felines out in the forest, you know. »

How does he remember your friends? Faranth knows. He doesn't necessarily remember names, but he sure can tell them apart from others. Asceorth may or may not specifically drop by their cottages daily on his rounds, to ensure proper safety protocols and general well-being.)

Overbearing? Not quite. Certainly a little smothering, from time to time, especially on bad nights where he's had a particularly troublesome nightmare. Between patrols, he'll train for hours, rigorously practicing moves he thinks he might need for his duties — search and rescue? Transport? Even diplomacy? They're all important — occasionally letting others join in. If they're up in the middle of the night, they might as well be doing something useful, right? Sometimes, the laser-focused attention can be quite sweet. The care that an adult Asceorth takes with Weyrlings will be a real treat — he's so gentle. Like he might break them, if he roughhouses too hard, although don't get him wrong, he's still gonna wrestle that baby. He just has a soft touch with babies that's not there with his wingmates, with other adult dragons, even with you most of the time. He knows you can take it, but Weyrlings? They're so small, so fragile, was he ever that fragile? Nyth might have been, sure, but…honestly!

Asceorth's propinquity for gentleness with animals does not…exactly carry over to his hunting habits. He hunts the strongest bovines almost exclusively, watching and picking out the ones that can put up a fight before he goes in for the kill. As long as they have a reasonable chance (they never do, he's sharding massive, but it's the thought that counts?) of besting him, well. That'll do. He also has a taste for fish, and in his slower hours can sometimes be found trailing down to the docks to beg any remnants that the fishermen have from the day's catch. He's not real picky about what they give him — it all tastes good. He might even try fishing, himself, just not…so very successfully. He's just too big for it to be so easy, other than a lucky scoop of a mouthful out of a passing school.

Your dragon's tender hearts for little things will have a sometimes-unfortunate side effect. If it's smaller, and hurt or scared? It's his. Full stop, he's going to take it, and he's going to protect it, and he's going to rip the wings off of anything that tries to hurt it. Unreasonable? Absolutely. It will probably not be as bad when it's a human child who might have been on the bad end of some teasing, or a tumble off of some rocks. Human children know the giant brown dragon who's kidnapping them probably doesn't mean any harm, even if he does refuse to put them down (« Little one, you're bleeding. The healers will know what to do. Steady, don't fall… »). Hurt caprines? A herd of escaped bovines? An injured canine pup? They don't so much know that he means well. And he does. He won't really grasp any sort of logical explanation. The kitten was scared and cold and hurt. It only made sense to carry her home, she didn't hurt him that bad, it's just little scratches. Unchecked, he might actually accidentally kill some fainter-of-heart animals — wherries just don't have the mental fortitude to cope with a dragon mothering them. They just kinda drop dead after a while.

If only he could remember that, after the fifth or sixth time. He won't, though.

« It'll be different this time! She was dying, mine. Come on, Lady Avian, here's some fruit. You should eat, you look pale. »

You, though? Certainly, Asceorth is protective of you — he'll protect you with his dying breath. He'll have your back always, through big and little crises, through thick and thin. But you? He can trust you to have his back. You will. He doesn't have to doubt it, doesn't have to worry, because you'll be there. Maybe that's why he chose you, out of all of your peers. Maybe he liked your hair. He'll probably never be able to answer you clearly, but you won't ever have to doubt his love for you, Z'heir. You're the bedrock on which this dragon stands, and he loves you with all of his hearts, and he'll never be shy in letting you know.


Asceorth is rarely going to be missed — whether by the comfortable chaos that surrounds his mental presence, or his exuberant physical presence. If this brown is in the room, you know about it. He doesn't necessarily try to grab the spotlight, but sometimes it just happens, whether he really intends to or not.

This brown is big. Among the largest you're going to find, he's just…big, in every dimension. He's got heavy bone that calls back to a draft runner, maybe, with shorter legs but more power behind them. He's roughly within the range of proportionate — his wings are on the longer side of average, but they're the only thing that isn't quite as well-balanced. Powerful shoulders match powerful hips and massive wing-shoulders, a heavy neck with a proud arch to it. His head is elegant but maybe a little awkward, as large in bone as the rest of him with eyeridges that sweep out wider than usual and headknobs that are just too long. Asceorth covers ground with huge strides, and tends to charge in before he's really thought it through, headlong into danger or fun or even just into his wallow. It doesn't seem to matter. As an adult, he'll manage to do this with a rough sort of grace, more elegance than you would ever expect from a dragon as large as he is. As a hatchling, well…not so much, but he'll try.

In his earliest days, your dragonet's awkward proportions will be almost crippling. He's just so awkward — his paws too big to control, his knees big and unwieldy, his wings so so long. What's he supposed to do with all that developing muscle, anyways? Growing pains will be a serious problem for this young dragon, and keeping him fed enough that he won't constantly starving will be a problem for you. Best not to consider the amount of oiling required to keep your bumbling, horrendously awkward hatchling in good condition. In the first sevendays of his life, you might as well just tape some pillows to Asceorth and call it a day. It might help protect him, if not you, or your classmates. He'll have a hard time walking, with those paws and all those big, awkward, toes that don't seem to want to cooperate, much less finessing not trampling over the smaller dragonets.

It will get a little easier as he gets bigger. His legs will lengthen (there will be several sevendays when you might wonder if you've got a newborn colt for a weyrmate, with those too-long legs that suddenly match his wings), his tail will stop dragging. He'll gain more spatial awareness, not quite so overwhelmed by the input of those overlarge headknobs. However, even to his first turn, your brown is not going to be a paragon of elegance. He just won't. His first (five or six or eighteen) flights might be a disaster. Keeping him from taking a tumble over wings that won't catch up until well into his second turn will be a struggle you'll just have to come to terms with. He'll keep bulking out and gaining more muscle far later than his clutchmates, too — while he'll look normal and sleek at around a turn, just you wait. He'll nearly double his mass during that second turn, gaining muscle and bone and more gravitas as he goes, thank Faranth.


In the air, this brown is a dynamo, and he's near-unstoppable when he wants something. He fights hard for the few flights he participates in — he's not picky, exactly, just…sentimental, for a dragon. He'll have a small number of dragons whose chases he will always show up for, and fly his hardest for. Gold or green, it doesn't really seem to matter, to him. Asceorth's affections are patient and lasting, but not posessive. He's not one to pine or tantrum over being scorned: rather, he celebrates the victor, once the temporary sting of loss wears off. If he's not good enough, after all, why should he win? He'll be better next time. He will. He makes a point of spending time with those he's closest to, includes favorites in his patrol routes. It's important to Asceorth that he maintain a connection to his paramours, and he puts the same earnest effort into these relationships as he does into every other thing that is important to him.

Should he win a gold's flight, your brown will be over the moons. He will dote on his mate, dote on the eggs almost obsessively. Are they warm enough? Do they have enough air coming around them? Should they be positioned a little closer together so that they can talk? If the dam desires the finest caprines from the furthest reaches of Pern, she will have them. If the eggs need special sand, or blankets, or sunlight, Asceorth will find a way to make that happen. He'll make a protective, but not violent father, always vigilant around the candidates but not prone to snarling or snapping. Rather, he'll probably be unsettlingly observant, prone to pacing among them and poking and prodding just, you know, to make sure. If a particular favorite gold of his has clutched recently, even if he's not the father, if he's allowed…well, it'll be hard to keep him off of the sands. It doesn't really matter whether they're actually his or not, in the end, does it? What matters is that they know that they're loved. And protected. And does his favored gold need some of those nice caprines…?


Whether on a bold fanfare that he supplies for himself — he can't hire a harper troupe to follow him all of the time — or in a rare (relatively) quiet moment, Asceorth is not a dragon to be missed. Most of the time, it's because noise is the harbinger of this brown, a homey kind of barrage of sound. Fire crackling somewhere. Leather creaking. The distant murmur of voices, of wind, of the avians in the trees and insects in the fields. He's never completely silent, this brown, never one to set well in an absence of some sort of noise. So he'll supply his own. Don't worry, he's pretty good at it.

In quieter moments, he's as still as distant fields, only the comforting-to-him stirrings of insects and maybe a nearby creek to keep you company. Petrichor and peat permeate dreams he'll never remember much of, the formative moonscape of quiet moors that he retreats to in fear or concern for you or others he loves. Contemplative Asceorth is heralded by outbursts of thinking-out-loud — you're his wall to bounce ideas off of, rapidfire, colorful bursts of thought just as easily snuffed out into a more tranquil twilight. Only anger disturbs his peaceful mental backdrop: dims the light, draws in the chill, the silence so very unlike this dragon.


Welcome to weyrlinghood, Z'eir!! We are so happy to have you! :D And it was a genuine pleasure to write this dragon for you. As always, he is yours, and any changes you want to make? Totally cool!

Asceorth's egg was based on the fairytale called "The Buried Moon", a part of More English Fairytales by Joseph Jacobs. The dragon himself drew an inspiration from a number of literary protectors — the first one that comes to your mind? Yes, probably that one. I also included as many allusions to runners as I could, in him, to mirror Zash's love of runners in his dragon.

You asked for a name with meaning, so Asceorth comes from the old english words "ascildan" and "gebeorgan", both meaning something in the vicinity of "protector, defender". His hatchling name comes from the poem If by Rudyard Kipling, a poem which I thought fits Asceorth pretty well. :D

By Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

Name Asceorth
Dam Leirith
Sire Garouth
Created By Holriat
Impressee Z'eir
Hatched Winter 2018
Xanadu Weyr
PernWorld MUSH

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