The Cruelest Irony Green Saelcuhth

Hatchling Description


There are things that haunt the dark corners of the world, things whose names are forbidden to speak, for their mere utterance lends them power. There are monsters that prey upon dreams amidst black nights, whose warped aberration can twist even the most innocent of imaginings into untold horrors - and then there is this wicked green. She is something of terror to behold, pestilence given mortal form, a creature of undiscovered deeps and the fathomless space between stars. Sickly iridescence coats her hide in an oily sheen, rippling from bruised absinthe to bloodied emerald in a manner that's faintly nauseating, if only because it never seems to shift the same way twice. Dark waves of her natural hide shine through over lean ribs and preternaturally long legs, scaly bubbles and savage pockmarks giving the impression she's covered with a thousand undulating tentacles that have seen enough chaos to know where this is going. Unholy fires lick the trailing edges of stygian wings, the curves and blades of chartreuse flames giving her sails an impression of raggedness. A slim nose, swept knobs and a narrow chest lend reassurance where ripped depths might not: this is a beast built for flight, one whose height and size set her up to be a veritable titan of stormlit skies, the maelstrom mistress of air and darkness.

Egg Name and Description

Feeble Fortress Egg
It is the blue that gives it away. Satin-smooth and clear as a summer sky, the color crowns the top of the egg while pale fingers trickle down the sides before the base obscures them entirely. The base blends almost seamlessly with the sand, lifting up in lumps and bumps that slowly form shapes against the baby-blue backdrop. Arches and turrets have been risen from the ground, wobbly and lumped, as though carefully crafted by tiny hands and unskilled fingers. It leans precariously to the left, threatening to topple at the smallest provocation despite being immortalized on the side of an egg. The crowning achievement is the sight of what could be a little flag, planted at the top of the tallest ‘tower', a cheery spot of yellow, flickering in an imaginary breeze against the shell's baby-blue sky.

Hatching Message

Wobble Message
Feeble Fortress Egg twists in the sands, toppling onto the summer skies blue of its tippiest toppiest eggshell in one fantastic somersault that turns into two. It slides down its own small mound of sand, leaving a divot of egg-sized proportions in its wake until finally, inexplicably, it STICKS THE LANDING. 9.8. 7.6. 10.0!!!

Crack Message
Feeble Fortress Egg bets that you thought it was through after those clearly underwhelming scores, but THE JOKE'S ON YOU. It wasn't laid to be a quitter!! It practically vibrates with sudden energy, twisting and rolling and shuddering against the backdrop of the sands until one hairline fracture split spiderwebs its way up the length of this shell, promising better things yet to come.

Hatch Message
Feeble Fortress Egg doesn't so much explode as it caves inward, the forever leaning print on its side crumbling towards that pitch within, cheerful flags and all. It gives way to taloned paws and the tip of a snoot as if its inhabitant is trying to escape all at once from this single, narrow opening until finally it shatters, leaving the egg-wet silhouette of a new hatchling dripping goop onto the sands.

Sands Pose #1
The Cruelest Irony Green Hatchling IS FREE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES, XANADU WEYR! She stands in graceful repose, wings wilting at either side, pock-ravaged maw lowered toward the sands with too-long legs held fiercely akimbo the moment lightning deigns to add a flare of the dramatic to her entrance. She looks like an honest to Faranth villain come to life, a creature made for suffering and torture, born of nightmare dreams and the insidious hopelessness of an ending. Everything about this newly hatched green seems to be incorrect, right down to the way she moves when, despite the clumsiness of unfamiliarity, she undulates her body until she's turned to face her dam and her sire. A beat, two, three, as too-large eyes take in the fearsome bronze and the darling queen she came from, and then those sails snap to attention as she HISSES AT THEM BOTH. It's all good and fierce and full of tiny terror except the effort it costs her to exert such DIABOLICAL EVVVVVIIIILLLL seems to result in a bad case of these-legs-are-brand-new-help because DOWN SHE GOES, right into the sands where she thrashes for just a moment as if she might defeat THAT into submission too. It's not until she gains her footing once more that her inarguably (and disappointingly) adorable kreels of MALEVOLENCE cease. NOTHING TO SEE HERE, FOLKS (says the flick of one wing that gets kind of flopped at that angle after). THE SAND JUST NEEDED AN ATTITUDE ADJUSTMENT. EVERYTHING IS FINE NOW.

Sands Pose #2
The Cruelest Irony Green Hatchling is pretty curious WHAT YOU THINK YOU'RE LOOKING AT. YEAH YOU, THERE, IN THE STANDS. YOU. THE ONE WITH THE HAIR. AND THE FACE. SHE SEES YOU. SHE SEES YOU AND YOUR VILLAIN MOUSTACHE. Or maybe she doesn't; maybe she just got some sand in her eye. NO MATTER. She still looks wicked and fierce even with her nictitating membrane partially closed. And half of villainy is all about the presentation, darlings. WATCH AND LEARN. She moves, something alien and predacious in each step that, even with the awkward acclimation of newly-discovered appendages, promises to be something horrific when she comes into her power. For now, she just looks wrong, carrying herself with a stilted quickness that's all the more alarming for just how straight-outta-a-horror-movie it is to witness. Determination carries her far from both Inasyth and Garouth, outward and away towards those white-robed hopefuls all lined up in a row. FOOLS. YOU SHOULD HAVE RUN WHEN YOU HAD THE CHANCE, and now you shall all PERI — what's this? Are these… are these FEET? Her attention shifts (lucky for that poor, poor candidate who is just trying to LIVE THE DREAM), and with one alarming shake towards her almost-victim, she prowls on. YOU'RE NEXT. But only after she discovers just how nemesitical these toes over here are threatening to be.

Impression Message

Public Message
The Cruelest Irony Green Hatchling is sad to report that they weren't nemesitical at all and tasted a little funky to boot. They did not stand up to the scrutiny of her LERO LERO LERO. Which is just downright insulting. NOW SHE IS INSULTED. Which is probably why she's smacking every candidate she passes with her wings and stepping on delicate toes, on purpose, along the way. YOU. BE LESS HUMAN. YOU, BE TALLER. YOU!!! BE LESS OF… ALL OF YOU. She seems to be enjoying it, the fear she inspires as those smart enough to move backpedal and those unlucky enough to have their attention everywhere but on her find out just WHY IT WAS SUCH A BAD IDEA TO LOOK AWAY. At least nobody is getting maimed as she savage, classy, bougie, ratchets her way down the line with her head tilted at an angle to imply she'd be laughing if she were capable of it. But she's not. So she isn't. She's all regal benevolence until — oh. Listen, everybody's toes were pretty gross, but these toes had a particular squish to them. Wing sails pull in tight against her body (by which we mean they try, and then kind of flop, uselessly) as she turns all of her attention onto the candidate unlucky enough to have caught her attention. Ah. Dark brown eyes and red hair. Perfect. It's good to see she's found someone without a soul. You'll do.

Private Message

Darkness bleeds like jagged cracks from every corner of your mind's eye, drowning out Xanadu's gathered crowd and the heat of the sands until the whole of your focus is on her. Just her. Her mental assault finds you strapped in a chair suspended over a pit full of ravenous, swarming sharks that roil in anticipation of your demise. « I am Saelcuhth. You are A'den. I will take you and your… what are those disgusting things on your hands? Thumbs? I will take you — and your thumbs — for my own. » A thousand schemes and mutinous plots drown out the gasps and cheers from the sands, plans that will only get worse as she comes to understand the world she stumbled into if the abject despair in each image is anything to go by. It seems so wrong given the lilting innocence of her very tone. « Now, you will take me to the food, and we will procure the food, and then we will eat the food. All of the food. And then we will eat the food of our rivals as well. » The restraints keeping you suspended in the subspace of her mind snap and collapse, color bleeding in as your surroundings morph and take new form, a sinister kind of delight underscored by amusement at whatever thoughts might plague you now. She's in those too, now. Forever. She's everywhere, growing and multiplying in size until the echoes of her nightmarish touch are more akin to a thousand tentacles reaching at each thought from a hundred foot tall kraken. « Well? I do not like to be kept waiting. »


Kronk: Hey, that's kinda like what he said to you when you got fired.
Yzma: I know. It's called a “cruel irony”, like my dependence on you.

And isn't this just the cruelest irony of them all, A'den? Stuck with a terrible little monster like Saelcuhth until death do you part - just remember, you asked for this!

Though she'll always be dependent on you, in her own way, her early days will find her particularly… needy. Is that a nice way of saying ‘demanding af'? MAYBE. MAYBE NOT. It is fairly normal for dragons to awaken their new lifemates when they're in need of food, cleaning, or care, but is it normal for them to wake you not five minutes after you've finally fallen asleep every time? Every. Time?! Is it normal for them to demand your attendance on their person when, in those five minutes, they've managed to roll in all manner of muck and misery that it's now your job to wash clean? Seems a little sus, if you ask us.

Simply put: your Saelcuhth is a porsche with no brakes. She's tiny, and unstoppable, and a LITERAL DEATH TRAP. She is fiercely confident in every single thing that she does — even when she's messing up. This could be a good thing, you know, if your Saelcuhth's default setting wasn't PURE, UNADULTERATED EVIL. She's plotting, A'den; she's always plotting. One would think that her reasoning might be found in all of those villainous schemes intended to take out your competition and get you to the top (or at least get herself there), but the reality is that some dragons just like to watch the world burn. (It's her. Saelcuhth is dragons.)

She thrives on chaos, on anarchy, on pandemonium. She flourishes when giving direction to you, to young, impressionable baby dragons, to riders susceptible to her unfailing charm, on tasking you, her faithful (or is that faithless) companion, with setting those nefarious snares she's incapable of setting up herself BECAUSE SHE HAS NO THUMBS, A'DEN. IT WAS A GROSS OVERSIGHT ON THE PART OF BOTH HER PARENTS AND THE PATHETIC HUMANS-Y BEANS WHO BIOENGINEERED DRAGONS LONG AGO, BUT THAT'S WHERE YOU COME IN. WITH BOTH OF YOUR DIABOLICALLY CONTEMPTIBLE THUMBS!!!!

And okay, it probably is of note to mention that your dragon isn't nearly as evil as she thinks she is. But she tries. She really, really tries. She tries despite the fact that, at the end of the day, she's still a dragon and subject to that oft-times morally-grey-but-not-exactly-actually-evil-either that makes all dragons allowed to stick around in Weyrs. She just might be a little more vicious (even if that viciousness seems pre-destined to fail at every turn) than her fellow dragonkind when it comes to the defense of her home and the treatment of its inhabitants. And you. And the herdbeasts. And her clutchsiblings over there.


Regardless, her penchant for emotional terrorism will manifest early in her youth, making weyrlinghood a very interesting time for you both (or, well, specifically you since, as mentioned, you will be her main target and it's probably because she's gearing up for all that infamous villainy she's going to get up to later in life). While you certainly do not have to be complicit in her whims and an accomplice to her fantastical collusions (she is just as capable of being subdued as any bonded dragon), she will — and does — make you regret it. Mentally. With vicious alacrity. But we'll get to that later, because great news for you both! WE JUST SAVED HUNDREDS OF DOLLARS ON OUR FLIGHT-INSURANCE BY SWITCHING TO GEICO.

Luckily, she's really easy to distract from her failed ideas and your incompetent impertinence. And, she admits it, she kind of actually likes you, so she never commits to any attempts aimed at driving you mad. But even when she is plotting (which, in case you missed it, is ALWAYS), it's hardly anything that's going to find the Weyr in flames or boasting a trail of bodies in her wake. Mostly it's small acts of sabotage or just complete and total fails: a missing pillow (they can't outrun you if they're too tired to run); a favorite doll, savaged; a pebble in a boot (the most EVIL of pebbles, she will have you know, an absolute BOULDER of a pebble); a well-timed tail at the most (in)opportune moment (YOU SHOULD HAVE JUMPED, YOU FOOL). You know and she knows that she meant to enact something significantly more sinister, but she is what we will call… inexplicably inept. It isn't that she WANTS to be, it's that fate conspires against her terribleness and somehow, someway manages to make it less. Because life is cruel. Because everyone including ANCIENT OLD FARANTH is against her. Because this is your fault somehow. Because— Well. You get the point.

Megamind: You're a villian alright, just not a super one.
Titan: Oh yeah, what's the difference?


As she grows, her schemes will become increasingly more elaborate, sometimes bordering on ridiculous, a rube-goldberg device of chaos and terror. Though really, truly, HONESTLY SHE SWEARS she is out for misery and vengeance and et cetera, the fact of the matter is that some of the things she pulls off are downright impressive, even if they don't work. It's as much about the DRAMA of the thing, after all, as it is the actual distribution of homebrew chaos. What's the point in just offing someone, stealing their dearest thing, robbing them of their hope and their future if she doesn't do a damn good job of it. Everything must be perfect, down to the tiniest detail, and if it isn't — BACK TO THE DRAWING BOARD.

While she might be mischief incarnate (and sometimes so preoccupied with her own machinations that it seems impossible for her to have the mental capacity to focus on anything else), she is actually extremely invested when it comes time for lessons. You can probably chalk it up to that whole WORLD DOMINATION thing, because what better way to climb to the ladder than to be THE BEST at what you do? She can't learn how to aerodynamically hand another dragon their ass if she doesn't know all the finer points about being aerodynamic, CAN SHE? YOU might be bored by those hunting lessons, but she is taking note of how to pose her body, how to step to make the least amount of noise, the precise force it takes to end a life and prolong its suffering AND OKAY, we admit it, she's REALLY CLUMSY half of the time and disappointed in you the rest, but nobody can take the fact that she is determined as hell away from her. She paints no less terrifying a picture of what potential sits coiled tight around all those tiny, malevolent bones even when you factor in the fact that fate and success aren't exactly on her side.

This changes as she grows into her body and her wings, not so much diminishing but transitioning into a quiet conniving that's much more elegant and subtle than her initial incarnation. She's never quite the super-villain she wants to be, all poise and grace and terrifying finesse, but she does refine her plots even if they still fail in often spectacular ways. But she will always have to one up you. And them. And every-dang-body. She doesn't lose with grace even if her dignity somehow manages to stay vaguely intact as she limps away to lick her wounds and PLOT HER REVAHNGE. Lucky for you both, all you have to do is keep her distracted for a couple of days, ensure she doesn't slaughter an entire family of herdbeasts (or your sock drawer; she's not very picky so long as somebody is suffering) and then that dragon-mind will kick in and she'll forget all about it! WHAT'S A FEW DAYS OF TYRANNY AND TERROR AMONG LIFEMATES, A'DEN? YOU GOT THIS. WE BELIEVE IN YOU!!

Rasputin: In the dark of the night I was tossing and turning, and the nightmare I had was as bad as can be. It scared me out of my wits; a corpse falling to bits. Then I opened my eyes and the nightmare was me.

Oh right, and we kiiiiind of maybe forgot to touch back upon that whole NIGHTMARE-INSANITY THING (our bad, our bad), so here we are. You should probably sit down for this, A'den. And forget how to dream. You see, for all her hilarious failures, there's an honest-to-Faranth kraken lurking somewhere in Saelcuhth's mind, a sentient being slumbering at the bottom of a tidal wave, waiting to rise up from the deepest, blackest pitch of your imagination and rake away every piece of sanity left from your hindbrain. There's fuel for your nightmares and all the madness within dystopian dreams that rears when she is upset, one that tears at coherency and reason as if some kind of ancient being has looked upon you and cast its judgment, finding you lacking.

Rasputin: Come, my minions, rise for your master! Let your evil shine!

It might sound like a contradiction to everything Saelcuhth is, but if given the chance to lead, she would be a fearsome force. There is something about her, an innate charisma, a je ne sais quoi that lures people in and begs them to trust her. To their peril? Probably. But it doesn't change the fact that she has the ability to move mountains and command those ensnared in her thrall. She also has henchflits. WE DON'T MAKE THE RULES, A'DEN. HONESTLY, NEITHER DOES SAELCUHTH, BUT THAT DOESN'T STOP HER FROM TRYING. If they aren't yours, they're probably someone you know's, or at worst, wildlings that she has promised ALL THE HERDBEAST THEY CAN EAT in order to be prepared for the execution of her demonic plans. She is almost guaranteed to send her henchflits to wreak havoc (to steal laundry/paperwork/act as distractions) while she sneakily sneaks around on self-made reconnaissance missions, villainous tail swerving sickeningly behind her, personal evil themesong in her throat.

She's only too willing to use her deviousness to further you and your career, or to secure for you your deepest desires. For all that she might be deserving of those facepalms at times, she is fiercely loyal at her core — to you. To only you. You are her forest, the magic in the trees, her wings, her ambition, the one single point of pride she is in constant possession of (even if she can be pretty poor at showing it sometimes). She will offer herself, her mind, her vulnerabilities and insecurities to you in a way that she will do for no other because she loves you, albeit in a twisted, alien way that's hard to describe. It's why she chose you, though, why she let you in, why her castle of sand crumbled to remove that last barrier between you and herself - forever..


Evil Lair of Evilness


Your poor Saelcuhth. All she wants in this world, all she lives and strives for is to be taken seriously for the evil genius she is.

This means, of course, that as a brand-new hatchling, she has one of the single most darlingest voices to have ever graced the brainspaces of human- and dragon-kind. It isn't quite as saccharine-sweet as the mind that once resided in her egg's shell, but it's definitely high and lilting, as though - in another time, another world - she ought to have been a princess locked high in yon tower, waiting to toss long golden tresses down unto her waiting prince.

It's disgusting.

So naturally, she'll have to overcompensate with the visuals. Have you ever seen the traps they use for wild canines, A'den? How about sawblades? Shark tanks? Flamethrowers? Poisonous spiders?! She's got them all. Every conversation is a booby trap, a GOTCHA lying in wait. While others might bemoan the intricacies of their lifemate's thoughts, you might well find yourself lusting over something as simple and harmless as feeling drunk and rowdy all the time, yearning for the stagnant simplicity of a stinky swamp or a spinning whirlpool that isn't trying to maim you.

You had both. Just last week. AT THE SAME TIME. See? Never let it be said that your Saelcuhth can't be benevolent and obliging.

There's probably a perk in there somewhere - something about exposure ridding you of all your fears, given the very second she learns you have any, you can bet your ass she'll be exploiting it - but I guess it remains to be seen how much of an optimist you'll remain after the fifth or twentieth attempted assassination by mental garrote wire.


When she isn't making you jump through (flaming) hoops just to hold a conversation, you'll come to realize that she's always in the back of your mind somewhere, and it isn't always fun and games. The more she grows into herself, the deeper and smokier her voice becomes, the subtler her terror is destined to be. It's a hair-raising sense of trepidation that haunts your every step, a dark spot in the corners of your vision, a shadow that stretches counterpoint to your own, existing where it should not be, even when the skies are grey and the sun has set. It is the personification of foreboding, the feeling of being watched, quiet footsteps late at night, the brush of talons across glass, the dripping, goopy plop of something utterly inhuman that's the dead giveaway that something is amiss. She haunts you, in your dreams, in hers, sometimes even in waking moments, and in all of them she looms demonically tall, a thousand appendages of mind-breaking proportions bearing countless eyes that see all - know all. You might come to think you will never break free of the madness.

Thus it might be a relief, the sound of Saelcuhth's silence, but it's quite likely you'll only make that mistake once. A quiet Saelcuhth is a real and legitimately dangerous Saelcuhth, one in need of immediate intervention of some ilk or another. Run, run, run, as fast as you can, and hope beyond all hope you make it in time to stop her.

Megamind: Aahh, I tell you Minion, there's no place like Evil Lair.

But, lest you begin to feel like your dragon might be totally irredeemable (I mean, she is, but that's besides the point), let us reassure you: she has a good side. It might be her smallest, least visible side, the side that few other than yourself will ever know, but there are times that even Saelcuhth must rest, recharge, tap into her inner beauty and peace. Noone will ever believe you, but deep in her mindspace of terribleness there exists a cave of wonders, a quiet, cool space where tiny alien flowers glow amidst the blackness, their forever-light reflected in a glass-calm pool beneath them. Dark waters ripples in time with ideas that would be turbulent, anywhere else in her mind, Jurassic Park-quakes that swiftly soothe back into splendor. Bioluminescent thoughts drift from these flowers in tiny orbs, their touch a soft jolt, as though it should hurt, would sting, but lack the true malice to manage it. It is peaceful, serene, a respite from a cruel world she only makes crueler, but perhaps it's enough to redeem her.

Yeah, no, we didn't think so either, but it's a start.


Look. Listen. There have probably been creepier-looking dragons unleashed upon these sands - just take a look at Zyddagath, for example - but it's a near thing. There's just something about her, about the way she moves that takes her from the realm of ‘undead' straight into ‘holy shit what is that burn it'. Maybe it's in the way she carries herself, each movement sleek and smooth to the point where one might wonder if she's double-jointed, or if she has joints at all. She shouldn't be able to meld beneath fencing, ooze into cracks that present much smaller dragons trouble, shouldn't be able to appear like she's undulating when nary a single inch of her is moving at all.


She's also fast, a word which here might be interpreted as ‘quick-moving' or ‘speedy', but what we mean is, you'd swear one second she's lying in a patch of sun across the bowl, and the next she's behind you without having telegraphed her intent to move. She must have, dragons can't just teleport when they're standing on dry land, but you'd swear you weren't so inattentive as to miss her running over, but… maybe she did. She does seem to be humming a screechy little themesong-ditty, after all. Maybe she's just that sneaky.

Nightflights and stormchasing will no doubt be her favorite things, once she grows into her form. She has the coloration for it, for where she's a dark and obvious blot against blue skies and a rising sun, she's subtle to the point of being nearly invisible beneath moonlight. There's not much to hunt or prey upon in the dark, but trust us: if there's something to be found, find it she will.

Though she is a dragon built for mastery of the skies, she's unusually suited for spending time under water as well, her sleek, streamlined build propelling her just as easily though sea and surf as in the air. Long enough to suit her body, her tail is also thick and blade-like, an excellent propeller once wings are pulled in tight against her sides.

The rest of her is planted square in the uncanny valley. It takes more than a passing glance to notice it, but dragonhealer inspection is sure to note that her eyes are several sizes larger than they should be, and that her legs are just a little too long for proper proportions. Her wings would be textbook perfect if only they didn't bend in unusual, borderline impossible ways, and upon reaching adulthood, it's rather clear she has one too many canines set in her maw. It's like someone took an idea of a dragon and tried their best to get it right and, in the attempt, made something so very, very wrong along the way.


Will this stop her from attempting to wrench every available male from the skies when it comes time for her strange, strange hide to let off an even more unholy glow? Absolutely not. If anything, flights are something she'll revel in, a golden opportunity for her to unleash her will upon the world in a manner she sees fit. There's no holdbacks here, no challenges presented by her lack of thumbs or a humanity-imposed moral compass. She can be whatever she wants, however she wants, and if that happens to be super-dee-duper violent, all the better. The weak won't show their snivelling faces next time, now, will they?

Hopefully not. Hopefully they will cling to their traumas and the well-polished memories of their riders, but probably not. A dragon's ability to remember is limited and lacking, after all, and your Saelcuhth is no exception to the rule. It doesn't really matter though. She will perpetuate the cycle every rising because she will have no qualms or compunctions when it comes to reminding them (and herself) just why the weak of mind, body, and spirit are unfit to parade before her. It's not necessarily that she's cruel when the stars beneath her hide start to glow, hinting at impending doom (or the fact that everybody in the Weyr should hole up for the next day or two), it's just that she adopts a predacious kind of cunning. And that whole I'm-Petty-And-Now-You-Must-Pay-For-Your-Sleight thing? It overtakes her. Tread carefully.


Before she grants you the relief of being ensnared by talons and dragon tails, she becomes the physical manifestation of wicked smiles and no-good plots, a force of nature scheming for unrivaled domination that refuses to bend for any male who does not deserve her (and if we're being honest, she doesn't even really bend then). She doesn't shy away from attention, but she doesn't seek it out, either. She does, however, hold tight to every compliment and insult hurled her way for the duration of her cycle, and she is always, always, looking for the best way in which she can enact her revenge — even if it's as simple as pretending they have simply ceased to exist.

After the flights, after she has railed against whatever dragon caught her, your Saelcuhth isn't very likely to stick around and cuddle. She doesn't need romantic words or grand gestures of affection — in fact, she kiiiind of hates them. WHAT IS ALL THIS FEELSY, ROMANTIC STUFF? LOVE DOESN'T EXIST. IT'S A FANTASY YOU PATHETIC HUMANS MADE UP TO JUSTIFY DOING YOUR LOATHSOME HUMAN THINGS. LIKE HAVING A FAMILY. AND BABIES. AND KISSING. EUGH. GET IT OFF. GET IT AWAY. BURN IT WITH FIRE!!!!! Or, you know, burn him with it. She's not picky. Look. The point is, flights are one of those battles she's never guaranteed to win (and she oh-so-very hates to lose), so it's hard to say whether you'll need to give her space while she comes to terms with her 'loss', licking her wounds and lashing out with exaggerated contempt to prove she's just as fierce and vile as she believes herself to be, or if you'll need to mentally prepare yourself for the palpable smugness of a dragon who believes she's won. Which one, of course, depends on how well she favored her captor.

We hope you have a lot of booze stored up somewhere, A'den. You're probably gonna need it.


On behalf of our SearchCo and ALL of Xanadu Weyr, WELCOME TO WEYRLINGHOOD, A'DEN! We hope that you will find few fires and maintain your hold on sanity as we usher in a new generation of dragons and their FABULOUSLY YOU riders. We're excited to have you, and we hope that you're excited to have us, too!

Our theme for this clutch was — DRUMROLL, PLEASE — BEACHES AND SUMMER! Your egg in particular (which is probably the nicest thing about your dragon, if we're being honest) was based on every child's favorite beach thing in the world: sand castles! THAT'S RIGHT. Sandcastles, complete with all the feelings and warmth of childhood and hot sand beneath your feet. The genius brain behind the making of your eggie was none other than the fantabulous Sh'y, so you can thank them for ALL THE CUTE that came before the TERROR. And we're almost sorry for what comes next. But only almost.

As for her personality, well… we're not saying we took every terribad villain we could think of and threw them into a pot with a heaping helping of OMG GET IT OFF ME WHAT IS THAT EVEN?!??!, but we're not saying we didn't do that, either. (We are still not saying we're sorry for it, though.) Saelcuhth is an amalgamation of many demons, much evil, from Maleficent and Cthulhu to Megamind and Yzma, with a touch of Scar and a dash of Rasputin for the smell.

Her name is taken from the Sleeper of R'lyeh himself, and was combined with the word ‘selcouth', which means ‘strange and yet marvelous' - needless to say, it fit. We think given her head, she would have named herself something much more along the lines of Sael'la'brasraedecuhth, but alas, naming conventions being what they are, she was talked down to a nice crisp Saelcuhth. We've been pronouncing it “sale-cooth” but you are, of course, welcome to interpret it however you please!

Which is, of course, something you should apply to all of her! We tried to give you the unholy terror that you asked for, lightening her up around the edges to keep the RP fun and flowing, but only YOU can prevent forest fire— no wait. ONLY YOU can really play Saelcuhth to her utmost potential, so anything you wish to keep, to change, to make lighter or darker, we hope you do! This is just a guide, an evil springboard if you will - it's up to you to really take the plunge!!

<3 — Risali and R'hyn


Name Saelcuhth
Dam Inasyth
Sire Garouth
Created By R'hyn and Risali
Impressee A'den (Arden)
Hatched August 13, 2021
Xanadu Weyr
PernWorld MUSH

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