Toss of the Dice Blue Dovirauth

Every aspect of this blue is willowy and thin, narrow of neck and chest and limb. Viewed alone, he is long and stretched, elfin features leading to delicately curved headknobs, which in turn frame thin, pointy ridges that spike from the back of his neck. Tapered legs give him an almost felinic gait, slow and ponderous when he walks, swift and sure when speed is of the essence. Smooth cadet blue shrouds his upper half like the hood of a cloak, maw and 'knobs dipped in a faintly darker color. Pale periwinkle rings his neck like a collar or ruff, thin in the front, bulkier in the back, splashes of twilit darkness ticking it throughout. This same deep denim sweeps over membranous wings, a fine filigree pattern wrought in steely tones giving him an almost feathered edge. The rest of him is cloaked in a soft sky-blue gradient, broken only by midnight boots and gloves that push up all four legs. It's only when he's next to others that his diminutive size becomes apparent, as though some trickster gave him every beautiful hallmark of height except the actual height itself.

Egg Name and Description

BLACK AND YELLOW BLACK AND YELLOW BLACK AND YELLOW BLACK AND YELLOW. That's it, y'all. That's the entire theme of the egg: black and yellow (black and yellow, black and yellow). It covers this obbligato ovid in peppermint stripes that cut across the whole of its shell in diagonal dissection. There's a little black here, a dab of yellow there, a touch of some more black for some diversity, and a splash of even more yellow just in case you thought this hypnotic swirl was lacking some pizzazz. SEE? This egg can be fun too. You are definitely not getting sleepy.

Hatching Message

Wobble Message
HONEY BADGER DON'T GIVE A EGG wibblies and wobblies and does a little spin, perhaps just trying to keep up with its other shell-sib's sick dance moves. It aspires to them anyway, twisting in the sands, heaving back and forth, vibrating as whatever's inside shimmies and shakes and tries to get out.

Crack Message
HONEY BADGER DON'T GIVE A EGG might well be trying to hypnotize the crowd, what with the way it spins in a dizzying hypnotic swirl of black and yellow (black and yellow, black and yellow) — right up until a large shard of egg goes flying from it. The spinning slows, one, two, three tumultuous bumps taken over sandy-divots before it comes to rest again, only somewhat further than where it started. Ah well, it's all about progress, not perfection. Whatever's inside seems to be content with what strides it's made and goes still.

Hatch Message
HONEY BADGER DON'T GIVE A EGG thinks it's got it this time, it just… needs… CRACK. Theeeeere we go. One massive fissure splits the length of this ovid, crumbling away from the center, revealing the egg-wet droop of an itty-bitty nose, and itty-bitty toes, and itty-bitty wingy thingies that drag on bits of sand as it stumble, wobbles, whoops into an almost graceful heap. What, Moooooom? It totally meant to do that.

Sands Pose #1
Toss of the Dice Blue Hatchling rises on limbs long and unsteady, tiny form trembling from exertion until it finds proper footing, limbs akimbo, wings tucked in tight at his sides. For just a moment, it seems as if he doesn't know what he's even doing here; for just a moment, it seems as if he'd rather run away and tuck right back into his shell, untouched and unbothered by all of this grand-entrance hullabaloo. Look, suddenly all (or, well, enough eyes) are on him and that tiny blue draws himself up, wavers on the precipice of indecision until — oh. Oh yes. Hello, you young, white-robed things. How are you doing? Attention drawn, curiosity wins the better side of caution, and that first step is taken in a gambling bid to meet his destiny.

Sands Pose #2
Toss of the Dice Blue Hatchling didn't expect to find so many dashingly-dressed ladies here. A hello to you, and to you, and — oh my. You look stunning in white, darling. At least, the lingering gaze of faceted eyes seems to say as much as that easy gait carries him forward over the sands, brings him down along that row of standing candidates, dodging the varied interest of his clutchsiblings as he makes his way down the line. He stops at one candidate in particular, extending his neck out, tentative in that first delicate sniff he takes before jerking his head back. WUFFCHOO. Yes, that's a sneeze, one that's probably made some poor soul more wet than they were before he shakes his maw and draws away. No, no. That won't do. To the next, then.

Impression Message

Public Message
Toss of the Dice Blue Hatchling HAS BEEN WALKING FOR DAYS, DAYS. The sands are… probably hot, the crowd is watching him, and if he has to take ONE. MORE. STEP, HE'S GOING TO — whump. Sit. That's what he's going to do. He's going to sit right here on these here feet. Yes these feet, the ones that belong to you, you with the dark hair and the dark eyes and the matching — oh. Whirling faucets lift with the rising angle of his maw, a kind of backward tilt that finds him looking back, back, back and up. Boop. The tip of his snoot meets with curious reverence on the tip of one of Xanadu's gardener's nose. There you are. Home at last.

Private Message
The crash of tossed dice rattles through your mind, the sound cleaving heated sands from beneath your feet, ripping away the high-domed peak of Xanadu's crowd-pressed stadium and all the chaos within from your mind. Something important is about to happen. Where once there were dragons and white-robbed comrades, now there is only the vast, depthless spanse of sky or water (or both), calm infinity pools reflecting one another with no real sense of which direction you're heading. Are you falling up, or are you falling down? « I get lost in there too, » comes with a hint of amusement, a ripple over the surface of those ever-calm mirrors as inky darkness bleeds out color, leaves you standing adrift in starlight. « They could put up a warning sign or something. A dragon could get killed in there. » Something about this is funny, laughter underscoring the shuff-shuff-shuffling of cards. « By now I'm sure you're asking yourself, who is this? What's he doing here? Hmm. Let's play a game. I'm going to think of a suit of cards, and if you guess right, I'll tell you. If you guess wrong… I'll still tell you, but I'll be disappointed. Go on then. What am I holding? » There's a beat, two, allowing your mind to choose between hearts and spades, clubs and diamonds, giving time for your vision to solidify before a single card is tossed from his mind into yours. It matches. « Spot on. I knew there was a little luck in you. Your reward, then: I am Dovirauth, a dragon and your lifemate. » A beat, the gambling den in his mind shorn by the cut of a blade until there's nothing left but clear, calm blue. « And you are my Kasle. Now come, the rest of the world awaits. It's time to toss the dice. »



Why hello there, Kasle! Welcome to the wonderful, mythical, magical world of blueriding. This is Dovirauth and there are two very important rules that he would like you to remember now that your mind has joined his in this irrevocable union of souls: Never kiss a girl whose brothers have knife scars, and never gamble without knowing a back way out. Fortunately for you both, you took a gamble on the sands and won. Unfortunately for you both, there's no back way out of this one.

That's right, Kasle, there's a no return policy on the dragon who found you. You are stuck for time immemorial to suffer (by which we clearly mean enjoy) the sometimes good, sometimes bad, always true presence of this brazen blue, this gambler rogue, this shirker of duties, this Dovirauth who, despite being quieter than any number of dragons born beneath Xanadu's banner (or come to call her home), has not escaped that utterly undauntable sense of fun. Oh yeah, your troublemaker is into mischief making, and it shows most in his youth, when even the newness of the world (or perhaps because of it) and the novelty of freedom does nothing to curb the way his mind tends towards the humor of practical jokes. That's right, Kas - you’ve got a prankster on your hands.

They're never pranks whose origins rest in mean-spirited dissidence, but that doesn't mean he isn't not going to try and convince you that Weyrleader R'hyn has a plethora of cats and wouldn't it be funny if somebody (you) just so happened to dump a dozen of them in the barracks. He will absolutely enjoy the occasional tunnelsnake takeover (don't worry, he only utilizes those of the non-poisonous persuasion), and the very-very-definitely-rare invasion of the VTOL kind. Think about the chaos. Think about the horror. Think about how good it would be. It would be remembered forever (okay maybe for a month, but listen Kasle, his memory is short; that's long enough for him) and, no matter what the resulting backlash might be (a thousand scratches, a room in disrepair, a disapproving Dad-Look from R'hyn), you both would go down in Xanadu Infamy.

Did you shy away from one of those pranks in particular simply because we conjured the Weyrleader as its subject? Sorry, Kasle; the reality is that your Dovirauth, while charming enough when he chooses to be, holds absolutely no lasting deference towards authority. Even when you factor in the fact that Xermiltoth is his dad, and Leirith is his mom, and that practically makes him royalty, he will never quite lose that disdain he has for dragons and people he deems higher on the hierarchy than you and himself. There's not a single bone in his tiny-even-for-a-blue body that is afraid to challenge those higher ups, that will simply obey a command without question because it came from somebody whom societal norms dictate he should respect. It's not that he's derisive towards them simply because they hold power, but he certainly isn't afraid to knock them down a few notches if and when they mess up.

We will toss the dice however they fall, and snuggle the girls be they short or tall.

This indifference towards authority will not change as he gets older, and neither will the fact that your Dovirauth, straight from shelling, will always enjoy the finer things in life: sunbathing, lady dragons, herdbeasts, lady dragons, a good game of dice that goes in your favor, and lady dragons just to name a few. In case you didn’t quite get that: he loves the ladies. He loves the ladies so much, in fact, that it would not be a stretch to imagine that half of what drew him to you, that half of what made his soul yearn for yours from the first moment your fingertips lighted upon his black-and-yellow shell until that moment on the sands, when he'd burst from it, dripping, and wet, but gloriously alive, was that you are a woman. While he and Kovagath share that same debonair disposition, that same penchant for flirting with the fairer sex, they differ in their approach. Dovirauth can be a touch more love-them-and-leave-them, for one, but more than that, he'll spend half of his time waxing poetic about some green or another, and the other half of his time will be spent complaining about just how little he knows about women at all.

And how better to wax poetic about his great loves or many woes than in a beam of sunshine. Dovirauth is a sun-seeker, a heat-finger, and will find as great of pleasure in a lazy afternoon spent with wing-spars spread beneath Rukbat's heated regard as he will anything else. There’s just something about heat seeping into his bones that brings him real contentment, true peace… and also a fair bit of stubbornness. Share his sunbeam? Fat chance. Give up the nice warm spot you left behind on the dragon couch? You didn’t call fives. Hoping to get back into that hotspring after you dropped off your jewelry? Not likely, he squeezed his skinny butt in here fair and square.

His other vice is, of course, gambling, as simple or complex as you might wish to make it. It could be a simple flip of the coin, a pitched guess as to who is going to fail or succeed, or putting your marks on red or black. But the higher the stakes, the better. He will enjoy learning the complexity of card games, the manipulation of dice, the best breeds and lines of runners that take part in races across Pern. Will this require quite a bit of participation on Kasle’s part? Probably, but you’re in this together, aren’t you? Besides, he’ll be sure to make it fun, or at the very least, worth your while. Who’ll cross that finish line first - Navenath or Kovagath? He’ll dive for your favorite fish tonight if you pick the winner winner, salmon dinner.

Luckily for you, there is something else he likes to do outside of gambling, and flirting, and soaking up sunny rays! Unfortunately for you, it’s that Dovirauth also likes to complain. Dovirauth likes to complain about everything. Everything. The sky is overcast. The ground is wet. His food bucket only has fifteen pieces of meat left in it. His blankets are too scratchy. His blankets are too soft. His straps are too tight. You fell out of his straps. Faranth forbid someone give him something to do - if there is a modicum of personal responsibility that falls into his lap with a request, he will let you know just how little he's going to enjoy it. He doesn't want to do it, Kasle; he doesn't want to practice wing drills, to get fitted for straps, to listen to another lesson, to be prodded by the persistent hands of dragonhealers. He. Doesn't. Want. It.

All of that cat-like pranking and complaining may lead people (and dragons) to misunderstand Dovirauth in a big way, and the problem with that is Dovirauth won't care to correct them. He will never challenge those unflattering perceptions; in fact, he probably enjoys them if only because having dragons and people believe that he is somehow unreliable, somehow uncaring, somehow incapable of looking at any given situation with a grain of serious consideration means they might not ask him to do it at all. And honestly, Kasle? He doesn't want to. He wants to be that reckless, uncaring, flirtatious, that's-a-you-problem persona he presents to the world. Dovirauth would prefer to spend his days sunning, watching the herdbeasts in their pen, shooting winks at receptive greens, but he has a strong sense of duty regardless of how he might denounce it to you and the world. No matter how much he might complain, Dovirauth always answers the call — begrudgingly, no doubt, but he does pull through.

The innocent died along with the guilty. And if you did nothing, then only the innocent died.

Which is why it would be safe to say that Dovirauth is somewhat of a reluctant hero. While it’s unlikely that you will ever find yourself in a situation where Dovirauth is facing insurmountable odds, where his choices could mean life or death and herald doom for all of Pern if he weren’t somehow the luckiest dragon alive… But if there were ever a situation where the whole damn tide depended on Dovirauth turning it, he would fight like hell to win, and aim to retire before reaping any of the glory. Believe us when we say that were the odds in his favor, he would be the clandestine hero that shied away from the limelight.

Everyday heroism, well… that’s a whole other matter. Kitten caught up a tree? Little kiddo in need of being reunited with their parent? Old lady in need of her supplies carried back to her weyrbarn? Even slightly-more-daring antics the likes of which duty in the search and rescue wing might provide? Even as he comes into his wings, there will be a distinct resistance to being acknowledged for any of his deeds. The reality is he was probably trying to run away in the beginning, and halfway across the field, he realized he just couldn't do it. And okay, if we're being honest, Dovirauth might tell you he isn't going to save anybody, but the fact of the matter is that your blue will jump into the thick the moment he realizes somebody actually needs help.

I didn’t do half of what they say, and the other half wasn’t my bloody fault.

He will never be one to boast or brag about any of his accomplishments. He won't even be the first one to volunteer himself for any heroic deeds or strategic offense. It's not that he's humble, per say, but he doesn't like the attention. He doesn't want people to think that he's somebody they should rely on even if it's pretty inevitable that people end up depending on him anyway. He simply just wants to live a quiet life, to exist in a space where there is limited responsibility, where he is just another face among a crowd and his hardest decision of the day is which rock he wants to cast himself upon in order to soak up Rukbat's rays.

As he grows, you'll come to find that he's lucky — to a point that it might almost be uncanny even if a majority of it seems innocuous at the time. Please do not take this to mean that Dovirauth is invincible, that he is not beholden to consequence like every other dragon is because he is. It's just that he seems to find himself in the fray of poor choices less often, that if you're flying blind in the mist, Dovirauth might decide to bank right when you've told him left and, surprise! If he had gone in the direction you chose, you'd both have had a rather unpleasant acquaintance with a cliff face. It's nothing that puts him at an advantage to his peers, but it certainly helps you both to avoid a situation that may have proven dire under any other circumstance.

“Al dival, al kiserai, al mashi!” For light, glory, and love!

As Dovirauth comes into his own, you will find that he loses some of that mischief, just enough for it to be a quiet quality that lingers in expressions and words rather than in action. He will be no less lazy, Kasle, but he will give up the misdemeanors of his youth and become more malleable, willing to prove to you — to himself — that he is more than capable when he puts his mind to any given task. There is no doubting that he is born to be a leader, that he has some natural talent one simply cannot learn. He is good at rallying spirits, good at inspiring loyalty, and half of that might just stem from the fact that Dovirauth, for all that he is capable, is unerringly humble about it. The fact that he's quick of wit and clever of tongue, coupled with his wicked sense of humor, doesn't hurt, either.

It comes from a lifetime of bowing out of his own limelight, of letting Sir Boast-a-Lots steal his spotlight, and not caring two wits about it. At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter who the whole entire world thinks is successful, is great, is the undying champion worth painted portraits and great lauds - all he cares is that he has you. He will be your support system, unfailingly loyal not only to you, but to those with whom he considers family. He loves you in a way that he can love no other, in only a way that dragons can, that all-consuming, unending love that - though it is not blind - is nevertheless ultimately forgiving. You are his. He is yours. At the end of the day, that is what counts.



"Sa souvraya niende misain ye." I am lost in my own mind.

Dovirauth’s mind is simple in its complexity… or is it complex in its simplicity? There’s a vastness to it, see, a limitlessness that is either still water or endless sky, or maybe both, one reflected in the other. It changes not with the world beyond his mind, but rather with his thoughts and moods, slow dawning accompanying his learning and understanding, relentless sun when attempting to compel others to see his point of view, and studded with stars and moons when he’s trying to set a ~mood~. The ranges in-between are as limitless as your imagination - or perhaps, more accurately, as limitless as his.

It’s easy to lose your way, in such a mind, to forget which way is up, and which is down, for there is no ground to speak of. Symbolic imagery does nothing to alleviate the issue, and in fact likely conspires to fuel befuddlement, the glinting curve of the dagger cutting through sky-water, but somehow, this is not reflected in the air above… or is it exactly the opposite? Is that seeping, dark infection from the blade’s passing spreading through what should be his sky, leaving calm-water thoughts as the last bastion of his sanity?

It is unclear, and just as you begin to unravel the mystery, to grasp at true meaning, dice clatters as clearly in your ears as if they were being cast upon a table before you, and suddenly it is something else entirely. There was never festering worry, oozing concern, paranoid hostility blooming in visible, sickly bleeds beneath his mind’s surface - now there is only the flight of an arrow, straight and true, its passage guiding you back to the real word where, doubtlessly, something important is about to take place, leading you to forget that sickness ever existed in the first place.

Weaponry is a common theme, truth be told - one of the only real through-lines in his mind. Whether that ill blade of his ruder thoughts, the arrows of surprise, or the practiced swing of a naginata spear, there’s usually a glint of one or another found in his thoughts somewhere. So, too, feature elements of various forms of gambling, though these can be much less predictable, far less precise. Dice almost always sound when something important is about to occur, but a peek of playing cards can mean he’s on to someone’s scheme, or he’s letting you in on a secret. The skipping bounce of a roulette ball can be used to distract another dragon from whatever they were about to say, or to agree with them, as though landing in red were his own way of saying that thought was a winner-winner-wherry-dinner.

Whatever he uses to speak to others, that endless world and its equally endless sky… that space he reserves for himself, and for you… okay, and maybe that green he really wants to chase so bad, but listen - typical Dovi, am I right?


Fortune rides like the sun on high with the fox that makes the ravens fly. Luck in his soul, the lightning his eye, he snatches the moons from out of the sky.

YOUR DOVIRAUTH IS A GANGLY THING, KASLE. A looker, yes, but long of limb and tail and face. He's still a handsome beast, but in a way that falls more squarely into exotic than traditional, made of cirrus, feathers, fur, and felinic curves that are symmetrical and wrought with beauty in mind. It's like mother nature saw the potential of what he could be and gave him every marker of unseemly, otherworldly beauty. … And then she forgot (or simply decided not to) grace him with the towering height that the structure of his body says there should be.

All these willowy extremities means in the very, very beginning stages of learning, when he's first shelled and the wind is just as new as the hot sands beneath his feet, he'll probably have to learn exactly how to carry his wings, how to hold his tail, how to place his feet so that he doesn't trip all over himself. As he grows (and his confidence does too), you will come to see him in a different light than that egg-wet hatchling that could be toppled by a stiff breeze. He is agile and swift on his feet, carrying himself with a supple, cheetah-like grace that might call to mind the casual gait of a predator in motion. Despite the presentation of one lackadaisical blue who just doesn't care, there's a confidence in his posture, a poise that bespeaks to one who knows what they are capable of and doesn't feel the need to prove it to anybody. He's borderline cocky, suave despite nonchalance, somehow both unassuming and imposing at the same time. This will be a trait that becomes more pronounced as he grows, adopting and adapting to those hard-won lessons learned in his youth.

Dovirauth is no less capable in the air, but unlike some of his siblings, he doesn't feel the need to engage in all those heart-pounding acrobatics. He is content to simply fly, to feel the rush of wind beating him back, to feel the pull of gravity as he defies her with every wing-beat. Overlong wings and thin sails give him a massive spread with which to capture the wind and push him higher, but while he's as swift and graceful above ground as he is upon it, he’s just not as capable of stunts as other dragons of his color. Why? Because practice means doing, and we all know how very fond your Dovirauth is of doing anything.

He's a small blue in every respect, from build to height, and what little he has, he’ll have to work for despite his lack of interest. Luckily, he has exactly one motivating factor: ensuring that one day he will be capable of not only carrying himself upon Pern’s winds with his wings, but also you. His desire to keep you safe, to work just hard enough to get by will find him wrapped in lithe, wiry musculature, definition marked but muted beneath the ripple of his hood-cloaked hide. Otherwise he errs on the side of thin, the kind of thin that could devour a hundred thousand herdbeasts overnight and still not have a single ounce gained to show for it. He by no means looks emaciated, and the dragonhealers will even agree that he's a steadily healthy weight, but he just doesn't bulk up like the rest of his brothers (and yes, okay, his sister Navenath, too).

But he doesn't need to be a bulky dragon conjured from hard muscle to be strong, Kasle. And he is strong. He's capable of holding his own in a fight, of stalking herdbeasts in the pens and felling them with a single blow. He will not struggle to keep up with those of his ilk in lessons or life-made situations that require him to do some heavy lifting. He's more agile than strong, sure, but he's still a dragon, Kasle. Swimming might be more to his advantage than hauling rubble from the ruins of a collapsed cavern, but that doesn't mean he's incapable of the feat.


Women are like…goats…

See previous: he likes the ladies. Maybe a little too much. And what better time to gamble, to potentially win or crash and burn than when those greens are star-bright and proddy? It's not that he targets those a-glow, but it's not beneath him to give compliments where they are due, or to draw them into a verbal engagement… Mostly because he would have done it anyway. He enjoys his conversations with the fairer sex, most notably when they are receptive to his ready jokes and banter, able to keep up with his lightning-quick wit. This is comfortable. This he gets. It’s only when he comes upon a green whose thoughts are rude and scathing that he stumbles. We want to say he enjoys that too, but honestly, Kasle? It just confuses him.

Part of the problem with Dovirauth is that he appreciates all the lady-dragons, and sometimes that means one particularly grudge-prone green might remember a time that he courted her (or, at the very least, told her that she was pretty) and then turned around to tell that green across the way the same exact thing. Oops? He doesn't mean any harm by it; the truth of the matter is that Dovirauth means it every time he says it, but simultaneously wants literally nothing to come of it. He's not seeking for there to be more when he offers up a compliment, there's no ulterior motives at play behind his panegyrical nature. He's a simple dragon: he sees something pretty, and he tells it that it's so.

“The Empress will follow where you go."
"So she will," Mat said. "As I'll follow where she goes, I suppose. I hope that doesn't lead us in too many circles.”

But Faranth take the wheel if any of those ladies he has an actual keen interest in show any modicum of interest right back. He's not exactly a come-to-heel kind of guy, but the flirtations will only get worse the more into it she seems. And you, Kasle, yes you, might only be saved from finding yourself in a thousand and one chases by Dovirauth's positively lazy nature. HE DOESN'T WANT TO, REMEMBER? Half of the time the part of him that enjoys the chase, the flirting, the game, will come to the fore, but the other half of the time, he just… can't be bothered going round and round and round about it. There's so many other dragons there to chase, and what if he has to fight for her honor and, gosh, Kasle. THIS WHOLE FLIGHT THING IS STARTING TO SOUND LIKE A CHORE.

Should Dovirauth choose pursuit, however, he is quite capable in the skies. He's smaller, which means that he can navigate the tighter spaces between his larger brethren. It also gives him an advantage of speed when faced with the likes of a bronze and a brown. Unfortunately, it also means that he has to play a more clever game, because as capable as your dragon is in a fight, those larger males are in a different weight class altogether. Winning means that your Dovirauth will be content — he might even dote for a little while (should the lady not protest) before moseying along on his way. But losing? Well. It's not exactly the worst that it could be, Kasle - he got to rest, after all - but prepare yourself for him to launch into an hour-long diatribe about just why lady-dragons are so dang confusing in the first place.


Hello, Kasle! Welcome to Weyrlinghood here in Xanadu Weyr!

First of all, we would like to congratulate you on your lifemate gamble and making it to this point! YOU DID IT! WOOOOOOO! IT'S ALL DOWNHILL FROM HERE.

The theme for our clutch was Fictional Factions, and your black and yellow (black and yellow, black and yellow, black and yellow) specimen was based on the Hufflepuff House from Harry Potter. Risali is a Hufflepuff, you see, and so Risali has a rather HEART-FOND FONDNESS FOR ALL THINGS BADGER, ALL THINGS BLACK, AND ALL THINGS YELLOW. The inspiration was drawn from a few aspects of the Huffly-puffly culture. Its dormitory, for one, and it's outlook on people, for another. There were also a few elements of Newt Scamander what with his Fantastical Beasts turned into books of memories for your perusal.

Dovirauth's name comes in part from an Old Tongue phrase, "Dovie'andi se tovya sagain." (It's time to toss the dice.) The ‘r’ in his name comes from a previous version of his name, but we liked the ‘-rauth’ ending so much that we kept it! And of course he owes the ‘-auth’ itself from Mat Cauthon, because who can resist snipping a part of a name when it so perfectly fits!!

AND LAST, BUT CERTAINLY NOT LEAST: YOUR DRAGON. As stated above, we pulled from multiple aspects of Mat Cauthon’s personality over the Wheel of Time series. We tried not to draw too hard from any one aspect, with the hopes that you will get to enjoy him growing into his own skin! Dovirauth draws some of his physicality from cats, and while nobody quite knows why, well… “Men teach cats curiosity, but cats keep sense for themselves,” don’t they? He also has touches of foxes and crows in his description to match the Prophecies of the Dragon, since it just felt like it fit to us! He specifically takes markings from silver foxes and hooded crows, in case you were curious where we drew inspiration!

BUT LOOK, KASLE, we did our best and we really, really, really hope that you like him. We had fun digging up information on Mat and tried to incorporate those running themes we found. But worry not, if he is far from what you imagined he would be! The truth is Dovirauth is all yours, everything written above are little more than suggestions that might help you navigate his growth if you choose to use it. Please play him as best suits your vision, and what works best for you!

Thank you again for choosing Xanadu Weyr and allowing us to write for you, and one more big CONGRATULATIONS!!!!! from all of us here on Co and Staff!

- R'hyn and Risali! <3


Name Dovirauth
Dam Leirith
Sire Xermiltoth
Created By R'hyn & Risali
Impressee Kasle
Hatched November 14, 2020
Xanadu Weyr
PernWorld MUSH

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