If you don't look too closely at this brown, he looks pretty ordinary. Ordinarily pretty, yes, with that warm gold-touched hide, the soft sandy caramel that makes up the majority of him. A desert sunset in motion, this brown seems to flow almost, the minute color differences between one shade of sand to the next an interesting backdrop for his relatively plain figure. From certain angles, maybe he looks like he has too many wings, or heads, or — no, no, he's perfectly normal, thank you very much. He's got a handsomely-shaped head, with nice shapely cheekbones and a maybe slightly roman nose, dusted 'round the topline with sooty umber. The shadowed shade sweeps elegantly over wide eyes, (definitely only two) down long headknobs and jagged neckridges. It darkens the warm sandy brown of his slightly cresty neck only slightly on its way down to powerful shoulders, where the gathering umbra ranges once more. This time, it springs wildly up the broad undersides of seemingly-impossibly long wings, darkening from umber to near-black along the very trailing edges, yet not so much as touching the caramel of sides, hips, sweeping tail. No, those get the faintest touches of salmon here, copper there, an impressionistic flare of color that stains the upper part of those long-long wings slightly brighter than the rest of his already-bright body.
Egg Name and Description
Pretty Sus Egg
There's just something not quite right about this egg. Granted, nobody has seen it do anything out of the ordinary - it's just been there on the sands, minding its eggy business, doing nothing to nobody - but maybe that's exactly the problem! It's too good at being an egg, at blending in with its siblings, at being a cutesy little green ovoid just going about its day-to-day. Though it never quivers or moves within eyesight, doesn't emit any senses (dread or otherwise), it seems to follow its brethren across the sands, never quite in the same place or next to the same egg twice from week to week. Maybe a person can blame the clutch parents for giving it a little necessary extra attention, or maybe there's something more nefarious going on behind that egg's candied shell. That wide, visor-like blotch of black that decorates its upper third is the kind of thing a person would wear to conceal their devious intentions. Whatever, the explanation, it's darned suspicious if you ask us…
Hatching Message
Wobble Message
Pretty Sus Egg isn't moving. You definitely imagined that. Nothing to see here, look elsewhere. Keep on movin', now.
Crack Message
Pretty Sus Egg still isn't moving, the sand is being shoved off of it by a neighbor, is all. Maybe there's a small earthquake happening, very locally. That must be it! The ground's shuddering, causing little fissures to rise up the surface of the green-y shell. Somebody tell the ground to keep it quiet! Some of us are trying to sleep. Not hatch. No, why would you think that.
Hatch Message
Pretty Sus Egg has to give up the ruse sometime, and boy, does it go out with a bang! No, really. It goes out with a literal BANG of motion and sound, whether it be internal or the sound of it whacking against a neighboring shell, who's to say. The brown that flings himself out of the shell does so without grace, rolling headlong into a wickedly jagged shard of his shell. When he stands up, after a beat, the Regret Nothing, Until It Is Too Late Brown is dripping ichor: a small wound, curved up along his cheek in a knife-gash of a smile. It doesn't seem to faze him, however. The brown doesn't even seem to notice the cut, blinking dazedly at the world around him. Oh. Well.
Sands Pose #1
Regret Nothing, Until It Is Too Late Brown started off in the world upside-down and in pain, and whether or not that's the way he goes out of it is, thankfully, yet to be seen. Yes, one half of his maw is sliced pretty good, but the brown hardly seems to notice the pain in his drippy cheek. No, he's much more busy staring in wide-eyed awe up at his parents. WHAT ARE THOSE! They loom like monsters, abstract (thank you, ichor in the eyes) and horrifying, shadows streaming from their wings, eyes whirring, and oh man, he is not here for this. With a sound like creaking metal, the brown closes his eyes, and very abruptly moves, marching, uh, not even sort of in the right direction. Unless the right direction is Away From The Unseen Monsters That Lurk, Waiting For Him, in which case, success! He's right on track! Goodbye monsters, hello…rock? Hm. This would probably work better with his eyes open.
Sands Pose #2
Regret Nothing, Until It Is Too Late Brown seems to be holding some sort of conference with himself. Or possibly the wall. It's hard to tell, especially in the chaos of the sands, where he's only one sand-colored sand-covered hill of ichor and confusion among many. After considerable time, the brown seems to come to a conclusion, and draws himself up, puffing scrawny chest out, overlong wings lofty. Carefully ignoring the looming shadow of The Horrors, the little dude takes off at a slow march towards his doo- destiny?, looking like he's smiling grimly the whole way. He's not, of course, but maybe you can imagine that the little injury there is a smile for you, candidates. You can imagine the way his wing-claw skims shoulders and chins is a caress, not clumsiness bordering on near disaster. You can imagine that he's looking at you, blondie, hope in those fathomless eyes. He's not, of course. He's making a slow march, shoulders a little hunched under the gaze of his dam and sire, under the gaze of /so many here on the sands with him. Maybe it's for the best that he's not staring into your soul, huh?
Impression Message
Public Message
Regret Nothing, Until It Is Too Late Brown hasn't found that it's too late, yet. He's still on Phase I, 'regret nothing', apparently, since he's still trailing among the candidates languidly. Does he even notice that his face is dripping ichor? It doesn't look like it, as he pauses, abruptly, to examine his dam from afar with intense suspicion. Only when he's turning his head (after an entirely unsatisfactory examination of the gold, still SUS) to eye the other big lug does he spot Him, just standing there, perfect, wonderful. Just standing there! The brown's face does something terribly grim when he spots the man, falling open in a scream, or a squeal, or some sort of noise that maybe indicates happiness. He takes one, two, six bounding strides before the decorum of The Thing catches up with him, and the Regret Nothing, Until It Is Too Late Brown remembers that he's got to look the part. So he strolls. Strides. Ambles with extreme grace (don't laugh at him!), mysterious and magnanimous, and meets his lifemate's eyes with a gape-mouthed grin that probably only makes one or two of the candidates near the broad-shouldered man barf. Hello, you!
Private Message
« Let's talk about safety, » A voice hums, soft and deep. There's no other visual distortion, no diving into the void or into the strange, odd vehicles flying in the sky above. It is, simply, a voice, speaking quietly and hoping that you will hear it: which, of course, you do. « You should really be drinking water, Ly'iir. The sands are hot, and we may not know how they are so very hot, but that doesn't make them less hot. You don't want to be dehydrated, do you? » The voice seems to come from everywhere and nowhere, and yet theoretically, it belongs to the gold-touched brown at your feet. Does it really, though? There's something about the distance in his sweet rainbow eyes that suggests that perhaps he's not the source, yet — « Yes, I suppose you could say that this is me, Khoszeth. Are we ever really sure, though? How could you say that my voice belongs to me, and not to the things that exist beyond what we can see with our eyes? Well, anyways, there's probably nothing to worry about. There's certainly nothing we can do about it, right now, right? Maybe we should eat. I hear that they're serving something called 'porcine swirl' at the feast, and I don't know about you, Ly'iir, but that sounds just right up my alley. »
Personality
Sleep heavily and know that I am here with you now. The past is gone, and cannot harm you anymore. And while the future is fast coming for you, it always flinches first and settles in as the gentle present. This now, this us? We can cope with that. We can do this together. You and I, drowsily, but comfortably.
It's hard to put Khoszeth into a neat, tidy box, the kind you'd put important memos or a calendar or something else that you need to live your day-to-day life. He's a shifting, changing creature, like every one of us, and he's no more the same from one day to the next than a pile of meat is the same from one day to the next. Now, he'd have you know, is the only thing that's truly important, but perhaps we can describe Khoszeth in broad strokes.
Difficult.
Alright, that's unfair. Khoszeth does not mean to be difficult. He means to be himself, live in his truth, and his truth just happens to sometimes not match up with the truths of those around him. That's hardly his fault, though. Rain is sometimes dry, if you think about it, why does Arlesth insist otherwise? Just because most rain is wet, falls from the sky because it cannot any longer stand to be among the clouds, doesn't mean that all rain is the same. It does not mean that there is not a rain of dust or pollen or the vague feeling of dread that you get before you step out into the rain.
You'll get Khoszeth. Whether you actually understand or not is debatable, but you're an immutable point on which he fixes, on which his whole world settles. Khoszeth trusts that you will, in some way, get him in a way that others might not. Your understanding is all that he really needs. If they can't see, then they can't see, and that's hardly Khoszeth's fault, is it? In the early days of your life together, this will be absolutely invaluable.
When nothing else works, eating sure does.
At first, when few things bring Khoszeth joy, mealtime will be a delight for the brown. He has…something of an unsettling love of the viscera, the blood, the innermost parts of the 'beast that. Well. You can blame it on instinct, right? Those parts have all the best minerals, right? That you'll have to steer him away from decorating the barracks with real actual hearts (and probably fail sometimes, because you have to sleep, and you can't have your eyes on him all the time) or soft meat garlands is beside the point. Probably.
Khoszeth will not be a picky eater, beyond his very, ah, odd choice in favorites. He won't be a heavy eater, either. No, Khoszeth's more interested in playing with his food than actually eating it, really. Unless it's downright strange. Near-boiling caramel? Interesting, bring him a bucket. The spiciest pickled cabbages the weyr can produce? Amazing, and congratulations to your roommates on that. He'll pick and eat whatever you make him eat, but there's no real passion there. Now, for the seventy-six candied flowers that were meant to be for the turnover celebration? Oh, those he longs for. They're so red, so…lovely. He does so love red, does young Khoszeth.
Khoszeth won't really be able to focus on much at all, in those early days. He just has so many thoughts, so many things to contemplate, and he's able to think now, with you here. You are a sounding board, somebody to hear him, when he's been alone for his whole unborn life before you. Sleep? Perhaps, when it's time, but is it ever really time? What is sleep, but something to while away the time that you would otherwise spend thinking thoughts that you shouldn't have? Thoughts that they don't want you to have? Thoughts that are so violent, but he loves so much while he sleeps? No, no, it's best that you do other things.
The outlook on sleep in those first sevendays after Khoszeth hatches is not so…very good. Unfortunately for his clutchmates, they are also party to his nightly contemplations. Their bondmates. Their firelizards. Whoever Khoszeth thinks might enjoy his thoughts on the day's meals, on the way Teimyrth acts around rock walls and trees, on how interesting the insect life around the dragon latrine pits is. He absolutely will share with the world at large, but they aren't nearly as important as you, Ly'iir, don't worry. He'll always find a way to include you in these reports, sounding magnificent and incredible. Aren't you, though? You are. You're so talented. Why shouldn't the world know about it?
I like my coffee like I like my nights: dark, endless and impossible to sleep through.
…lessons? Sleep? Oh. Those. Well, if he really has to, but wouldn't you rather hear about the conspiracy among the baking staff? Getting Khoszeth to focus is going to be a profound kind of challenge, and what's worse, he thinks his clutchmates should absolutely be in on it.
This is definitely going to make learning essential rider-things a little on the hard side. You'll have to figure out how to be firm with Khoszeth, because he will absolutely not settle on his own. He's got more important things to learn about than how you make straps, or exercising those wings. Shouldn't you be more concerned about the march of VTOLS reportedly coming in from the south? The destruction that such a thing could bring upon the Weyr at large? Is there any such thing as a march of VTOLS from the south? …maybe, but truth is pretty subjective, wouldn't you say? For instance, whether you live or die astride Khoszeth in flight has very little to do with the stitching on your straps, and more to do with whether the sky agrees that Khoszeth should be allowed to sail it on any given day. You should really be more concerned with the whims of the skies than whether the bits of meat you're feeding him are small enough.
The weyrlingmasters will almost certainly find them on Khoszeth's bad side. He will absolutely not be silent about his dislike of them, either. Why should he? Their corruption and autocratic approach to the handling of his life is intolerable.
Will he lead revolts among his siblings? Absolutely. Can he convince them that he's right in this? Oh, if he talks long enough, he can almost certainly manage. He's a convincing dragon, is Khoszeth, social and friendly to a fault most of the time.
You say your life is unraveling. Your life cannot unravel. Your life is your life. You haven't lost it. It's just different now.
It will take time for Khoszeth to grow into himself, but grow into himself he will. Weird and beautiful and completely baffling even as an adult, Khoszeth will never make a lot of sense to people who are not…well, you, Ly'iir. Khoszeth seems to flip-flop from mild-mannered and absolute trust of your Weyrleaders' and Wingleaders' desires, to intense conspiracy about why they want what they want from you.
Khoszeth trusts no authority figure, save perhaps you (although you're really more of a partner, which is considerably better than an authority figure, since absolute power corrupts absolutely, or so they say. So. They. Say.), and maybe his dam on a good day. To trust would be to give up his own person, but for the most part, Khoszeth accepts the whims of Those Whole Rule with a sort of peaceful ambivalence. If they want him to dress in drapes and wander as a shambling ghost, well, that's just his civic duty. Getting him to perform his wing duties maybe won't be a breeze, because they're dreadfully boring no doubt, but Khoszeth is nothing if not dutiful. His duty to his community goes deeper than his own desires. It's important that he do his part, that everybody does their part, or their little community won't flourish. Nobody wants that, right?
If Khoszeth actually comes to somewhat respect his 'leaders, though, he won't even quietly sew the seeds of revolt. Khoszeth is a loyal dragon, even to a fault, unable to see the fault in those who he holds dear. Do you, Lyu, have any faults? Of course not. Your wingleader must have a reason for dragging the entire wing out of bed at three in the morning for emergency drills, and that reason is obviously more important than sleep. It's best just to go along with these things. You don't want to upset the wrong person, you know.
With wingmates and non-authority dragons, however, Khoszeth is just about as friendly as can be. He's always got a story to tell, always got an interesting anecdote about the dragon in question or their rider, and how does he remember these? A gentleman never reveals secrets, of course. (Is it 'he makes them up, and the other dragon goes along because it can't remember either'? PROBABLY. Will he acknowledge this? Not on your life.) Khoszeth is a rallying point for wingmates, and would probably make a good 'leader, himself, some day. Well, he would, if the only quality one needed was 'very capable of inspiring others to follow his lead without knowing why they are', which, well. Maybe that's not how things work, but that part can be your job if you go that route, right? You have to do some work.
If you're not available for a meandering philosophical discussion on the nature of life or lima beans, anybody will do, really. Khoszeth isn't all that terribly picky. He doesn't actually need (or, perhaps, want) any sort of response from his audience member of choice, and actually, if responded to by his…fortunate…volunteer, will usually be pretty surprised. You heard him pondering the existence of redfruits? Well. That's interesting, isn't it. Maybe Khoszeth won't always mean to be heard, but once he is, he's not shy. Go on, talk to him about the subject he's been in on! He enjoys a rousing debate about whether meat is real or not as much as the next dragon, and he's sure that your perspective could really be important. Just maybe don't mention this conversation when you talk to your boss. Or the guards. Actually, maybe don't mention speaking with him at all, yeah? You can do that for him, your friend, right?
Look. Khoszeth somehow manages to make things sound worse than they are for him, a skill that is both impressive and not in the least bit useful. It might get him in trouble, if he tries to convince your wingleader's impressionable ten turn old daughter that revolution is The Only Way, but hey. At least he's out there living his best life. You can't say that everybody lives their truth like Khoszeth does.
Khoszeth's truth is an ever-shifting thing, just like everything in life. It may not be the same from one day to the next, but nothing is really/ the same from day to day. He is a humble brown, who loves his rider, who loves his Weyr, and that…doesn't change, really. Maybe that's the core of him. Maybe the core of him is made out of spaghetti. You just can't know. You //can know that there's little that Khoszeth wouldn't do for you, or for his Weyr. He expects that of everybody around him, too. It would shock him to the very hearts of himself if the wellbeing of the community wasn't in everybody's deepest of desires. Maybe he doesn't always go about it the right way, maybe nobody needs ten thousand fruit flies that he ordered from Ierne to feed the frog population, but he tries.
There is nothing more lonely than an action taken quietly on your own, and nothing more comforting than doing that same quiet action in parallel with fellow humans doing the same action, everyone alone next to each other.
You try, too, Ly'iir. You're a warm, hard-working, wonderful person, and the warmth that lives inside of you draws Khoszeth like a moth to a flame. You are his center, his peace in a frequently scary world, the one thing that will always make sense. As long as he has you, well, things can't be so bad, right? Even when the moons might have turned into jell-o (why else would they be orange?), even when the rain turns dry, he can count on that. That's enough.
Mindvoice
If you see something, say nothing, and drink to forget.
Getting used to Khoszeth's mindvoice is going to take some doing, and you're not the only one who's going to have to. He is a remarkably sociable dragon, and while mostly this extends to other dragons, if you're not willing to give him human input and he needs human input, he's going to get it. He's not shy at all, is this brown.
For the world at large, his mind is a relatively quiet thing. There's the soft hum of distant machinery, beeps and whirrs and low frequency chanting. Er, chanting? I meant. Groaning. No, that's worse. Look, it's best not to think about what's happening in the background. No, no, focus instead of the lovely, sonorous quality of Khoszeth's rich voice. He's not a loud dragon, but his voice nonetheless can cut through just about any chatter, making up his own chatter which is obviously more interesting. There is no mental imagery, no sights or smells or otherworldly visions, for those visitors unto his mental process. No, just him, just his voice, and isn't that enough?
You, Ly'iir, get the full show. The distant smell of rust (is that rust? Hope that it's rust), of dust and old klah. Soft musical interludes when he's feeling good. The soft crackle of radio static when he's thinking hard, the smell of paper when the wheels are really turning. Khoszeth is not a particularly visual dragon when he's awake, preferring to stick to audible cues for mood and to help understand what he means, but oh, those dreams, Lyu. Sometimes you might just want for the healers to prescribe a sleep aid, because they can get pretty wild. In his dreams, Khoszeth's Mr. Hyde runs wild. Sticky blood seems to coat every surface, things grow from ceilings, the sun scorches the earth and sets fire to the very air. And Khoszeth? He seems to enjoy these, doesn't consider them a nightmare when he's dreaming, seems to revel in the sheer chaos and awfulness of it all.
When he wakes? Well. He won't remember a thing. Unless he's sleepwalking. You really, really don't want to deal with a sleepwalking, bloodthirsty Khoszeth. Seriously. Gotta nip that one in the bud.
Physicality
It's…hard to describe what Khoszeth looks like. Just, he's got a face, you know? Two eyes, two headknobs, two wings, probably four legs, right? Like, he's a normal dragon. Is he built heavily, though, or light, nimble? Do his wings seem to stretch ever on into the sky until they blot out all light? Are his eyes so, so haunted, having seen things that they never were intended to see? Do his claws grow into the ground, rooting him there, holding him in place, drawing energy from the barren earth beneath him?
…Khoszeth is a dragon. He's got every feature that a dragon normally has. It would be nice to say that he is perfectly normal-sized for a dragon, but he is not. Khoszeth is quite large for a brown dragon, matching more than one small bronze for size. It's not all neck and tail, either. He is a nearly perfectly-proportioned dragon, if not a normal sized one, only one anomaly: those wings. Oh, those wings. They do seem to stretch on and on, broad and aquiline, lending him an impressively steady flight pattern. He can fly for hours, if only you'll let him. Beyond that, it is fair to say that Khoszeth is, well. Normal. Isn't he? The way he seems fuzzy at the edges when you turn your head, that's probably just a trick of light. The fact that he seems to see behind him (how) as well as sense, that's just that ol' dragon sixth sense. Khoszeth is a perfectly. Normal. Dragon.
Ahem. On the ground, there's something about Khoszeth that makes people get out of his way. He doesn't move quickly, or erratically, and he doesn't mow through crowds, so it's not out of malice. There's just something about the purpose in his stride, the way he always seems to know just where he's going, even if the very opposite is true. Khoszeth is not, perhaps, an elegant dragon, but the way he moves could just about be counted as such, if sometimes…more than a little unsettling. How did you not hear a dragon in the upper third of dragon-sizes come into your weyr? Coming up behind you? Khoszeth has a way of appearing, seemingly out of thin are, that is probably not at all something you'll get used to. Well, it's not like he's trying to be weird, at least. Not that he cares that it is weird that he's got the silence of a jungle feline on his very large side. He also doesn't particularly mind that if he doesn't watch it, his wings will definitely knock over small children, runners, workers — that's just toughening up, you unobservant person, you! You should get out of his way if you don't want to be knocked over, isn't he right, random stranger?
Flights
Love is a shambling thing, gray-faced and gasping. It moves in from the west, the setting sun behind it. Those who see it avert their eyes. Love stumbles and shutters, love grasps but is not grasped. It sees a man, and the man does not look away. Love reaches out a gray hand. The man touches the band just lightly, just on the palm, and the man feels heat inside of him. His heart is on fire. This is not a metaphor. His heart is on fire and so, soon, is his skin, his hair, his teeth become more and more visible as his face shrinks and melts away. Love watches dispassionately. Love does not love what it does, love only does it. Love does not have eyes and neither, now, does the man.
You know how Khoszeth is a sociable, friendly, very charming dragon? How he can soothe with words alone, no matter if what he's saying is utter nonsense? How he's a strange, but sweet sort of dragon?
Yeah uh, proddy dragons bring out…a different side, to this brown. It's not every green, not every gold, but if they've caught his eye? If there's something about them that intrigues Khoszeth, something happens.
It's like a switch flips — his mind grows shadowed, distant, heavy with the scent of iron and damp earth, and no, you don't want to look too closely into those shadows. You don't really have to, though. No, Khoszeth has style, and by style, I mean. A love of striking horror in the sane and reasonable denizens of Xanadu. Shut up, they're there somewhere. Look, you don't see too many of them lovingly crafting crowns of bovine intestines for their intended, do you? Braiding with delicate skill and humming delight, making sure to get just the right amount of blood and gore on the finished product. Whether the proddy Intended appreciates his effort or not doesn't mean a whole lot, really, because Khoszeth does. He seems to think that being absolutely covered in blood is the only way to impress a lady, and the more Bits he gets wound around his headknobs, the fresher the blood, the better.
Maybe, for your sake, these whims will come infrequently. Maybe he'll go through a phase of chasing every tail he sees, though, and Faranth help you with the bathing if he does. Trying to convince him that bathing is Appropriate in these instances will be hellish, too: Khoszeth in a Mood about a proddy female is nearly as bad as a proddy gold. His aggression isn't bold, isn't in-your-face — no, no. Khoszeth woos and croons, lovingly cuts deep mental gouges when he's crossed, keeps a friendly tone and doesn't once break character as he rejoices in the suffering of it all.
« No, no! Turn that frown upside-down, grumpy pants, we're so productive today! Look at all we've gotten done, you and me. We're on the same page, aren't we? »
Thankfully for you, Ly'iir, you aren't often on the receiving end of these mental spats. That's more for rivals, for wingmates, for the lady herself, because what says love like a mental storm of blood and pain? That's love, baby.
With time, Khoszeth will settle. These fits won't change, but he will change, perhaps focus his attention on one or two golds or greens. The fewer he focuses on, after all, the higher quality the attention! He can make twice as many meat crowns for half as many ladies, you know. And oh! If Khoszeth ever catches a gold. He'll never quite lose that manic, sadistic edge, but it will mellow as the eggs are laid, then sit on the sands. A broody Khoszeth, though, is another beast entirely. Every bit as fearsome as a gold, he'll be liable to come just shy of physically mauling the potential bonds of his children if they step out of line, but well. The mental damage might be far worse than any possible physical. Look. He'll be a protective papa, alright.
Inspiration
WELCOME TO WEYRLINGHOOD LY'IIR!! Thank you very much for being a part of our class, we hope that you enjoyed it!! We enjoyed having you!
The egg theme for this clutch was "Fictional Factions", and the Pretty Sus Egg was based on the Impostors in "Among Us", the online multiplayer game! These little guys wreak havok on the crew of their base, sewing discord among the ranks and sabotaging the mission. Are they still adorable? Absolutely.
Your dragon was based, as requested, on Cecil of WTNV infamy, with bits of Kevin here and there, Kevin-y dreamspace and flight temperament and other little bits, but you're welcome to include more of sweet smiling Kev!! I admittedly was a little unsure on his exact temperament, so he could be a little sparse for you — go hogwild with him in your play, though!! Khoszeth is yours to play, and all. <3 Can I mention, thank you from the actual bottom of my heart for reuniting me with my very first love in podcasts, WTNV? I very much enjoyed reconnecting with it, and writing your Khoszeth! :D!
His name is a combination of your request for uncommon letter combinations and my favorite good-boy cat, Khoshekh, whose name means 'darkness', did you know? I thought that was cool. More or less fitting, too.
Also, I definitely chose Ly'iir of all of your names because it kind of has the same sound as 'listener' if you squint and tilt your head sideways.
Credits
| Name | Khoszeth |
| Dam | Leirith |
| Sire | Xermiltoth |
| Created By | Citayla |
| Impressee | Ly'iir (Lyubomir) |
| Hatched | November 14, 2020 |
| Xanadu Weyr | |
| PernWorld MUSH |