This blue is sleek. Cut. Defined. Not a scrap of him is to spare, for a true gentleman cannot abide by an untailored appearance. A lethal sort of grace defines his form, a stern, angular visage complemented by powerful muscles and a coiling gait that speaks to a temperament that is leashed only because he desires it to be so. The deep dark of a starless night defines the majority of his form, a blue so inky it might as well be black, broken only in tiny fragments that do nothing to alleviate his overall air of intimidation. Palest moonstone curls about his neck and forepaws singular bands, embellished by a sphere of silver at the very center of his throat and the outer curve of each wrist. Slashes and flecks of purest white streak the long line of his spine, a mix of wolfish brindle and dusted starmatter that lend credence to the wild nature subdued by nobility and the sort of manners that maketh him all that he is.

Egg Name and Description

An Egg Only A Mother Could Love
There is nothing particularly striking about this egg — except, perhaps, its remarkable ability to be completely unremarkable. In fact, it's rather ugly and plain when compared to its cohabitants, whose shells are made of vibrant shades and alluring patterns meant to captivate and lure the attention. This ovoid is a sickly pale grey, the only discernible pattern on its matte surface a flurry of fine white veins that lend an appearance of feathers. It's not even properly oval, this ugly little thing, and it sits disproportionately larger than its siblings.

Hatching Message

Wobble Message
An Egg Only A Mother Could Love Egg goes over sideways in a spectacular roll!

Crack Message
An Egg Only A Mother Could Love Egg shimmies back to life, fine cracks made in plain shell splintering out with each movement the life inside makes.

Hatch Message
An Egg Only A Mother Could Love Egg gives one more brilliant shudder and bursts! Bits of egg go in every direction, revealing the hatchling inside with dripping wings and a bit of ugly-white shell clinging to snout.

Sands Pose #1
A Modern Man’s Armor Blue Hatchling stands there, dripping egg-goop at those in attendance. He’s a picture of the perfect calm before the storm – and by storm, we mean the flinging about of goop and fine egg-matter as he shakes his body and rids himself of mess. In every direction. Still, he finds a rather proper pose in which to lift his maw just so, affecting an air of one Untouched by his seconds-ago show of impropriety. There are candidates to inspect, and he takes that first step towards them.

Sands Pose #2
A Modern Man’s Armor Blue Hatchling perhaps miscalculated those feet-things. He stumbles but does not fall, going still in lieu of a faceplant and all under the guise of pausing to watch those who watch him. He tilts his head to one side in a manner altogether curious, intent on those who stand on the sands in robes of white hoping that they will be the ones. He moves again, an uncanny lupine grace suddenly found that carries him forward and just out of reach for curious hands.

Impression Message

Public Message
A Modern Man’s Armor Blue Hatchling makes a round, perhaps enjoying the freedom inherent of breaking out of his prison shell, perhaps simply because he just wants to be sure that he’s picking out the right person for him. Those whirling eyes fixate, that yet-to-be-big chest inflates with an attempt at confidence, and he strides forward, right into the chest of his picture-perfect forever.

Private Message
Were ever there the heat of the sands, it’s a mere afterthought to the sudden, cloying, spicy-sweet scent of vanilla that attempts to permeate your very existence, a hint of something more that can’t be named but certainly exists — if only in your mind. Walls replace domes, faces, fragmented bits of eggshell that lie scattered in the wake of so much new life being born onto the sands. It is suddenly gone, replaced with an empty room, white-washed walls filled with such potential, but for now, for this moment, there’s only you. « And me. » There’s amusement in the lilt of baritone reprimand, a reminder lest you forget him, a presence to mark the sudden sanctuary inherent to the room that comes to life, filled with metallic finery, crafted tables, dainty biscuits and tea set out for polite company. « Though I am yours enough to be ‘you’ in the ways that matter. » There’s a rush of warmth, the burning sensation of a strong drink at the back of your throat that hurts but hurts so good. Be calm — he’s as new to this as you are, and there’s no sense in either of you forgetting your manners. « And you are mine, my N’kon. Irrevocably. Forever. » He pulls you with him, through the fine elegance of a parlor, through the extravagance of a ballroom beyond the explanation of mere words, past the threshold of a room filled with the rustle of wool and silk, guiding you to a mirror. « I wish you to know all of me, and me all of you, mine. » But there’s a shiver of something straining against careful control, vanilla permeating every sense, pushing towards the edge of too much as he stops you from placing a hand against metaphysical glass. « But not yet, N’kon. I am your Tsarziath, and I have come to this party they have thrown for you, for me, for us. It would be rather impolite if they did not serve food in our honor, and I am rather hungrier than expected. Curious, is it not? »


Miss Tarabotti was not one of life's milk-water misses—in fact, quite the opposite. Many a gentleman had likened his first meeting with her to downing a very strong cognac when one was expecting to imbibe fruit juice—that is to say, startling and apt to leave one with a distinct burning sensation.

N'kon, N'kon, N'kon. What have you gotten yourself into now? From humble photographer to a man saddled with a dragon who has a thing for dirigibles (too bad they don't exist), manners-that-he-sometimes-forgets, and - of course - a deep appreciation for tea. To be fair, thing could be worse; he is not dense, nor excessively brutish, and he is not a homebody to exclusion of all else. He will gladly accompany you on whatever adventure you aspire to on any given day, and - woe betide - he might even like it, but he will demand that, no matter how great that shot, or how pretty that view, or how cooperative nature is being for your camera lense, you are home in time for tea. And a treacle tart. And to clean yourself up, you scoundrel.

In this, as in most things, your Tsarziath is strong-willed almost to a fault; he's blunt, he doesn't tolerate nonsense kindly, and he views the opinions of others as something to be weighed and measured, rather than something to suffer with blind acceptance simply because they have more supposed ‘experience’ in the matter. Especially in the beginning, this may mean that it's hard for him to make friends, but don't worry overmuch - he will find those who he tolerates with a fondness, those who match his wit, and return his ridiculous insults, and still find a reason to like him, even if it is just a treasured few.

“There is nothing noble in being superior to your fellow man; true nobility is being superior to your former self.”

When we say ridiculous by the way, we do mean ridiculous. Tsarziath's insult repertoire is rather lacking for the times, but he seems to find them to be excellent defamations when delivered with the correct panache. From words like ‘reprobate’ and 'fuddy-duddy' to threats involving getting one's mother to handle the situation, he will ensure that whatever it is sent telepathically down the line is just as proper as he is. He doesn’t do this to make himself feel superior, however, nor does he use it to inflict said superiority over others - he merely does it because he enjoys it, and sometimes, a well-turned phrase is exactly what is needed to drive home a point. This isn’t to say he will always be right, or that he will never be rude, but he's a lot more inclined to empathy and a desire to help than he would like any of you to believe; he merely hides it under a weight of quick words and self-deprecating humor meant to deflect attention back to the subject at hand.

This verbal repartee will become something he strives for, as he ages. We hope you like to argue, N'kon — or, perhaps more accurately, banter (argue is such a terribly primitive word) — because there is going to be a lot of that with Tsarziath as he attempts to develop and hone his ability to hold his own in debate. The sky is blue, but sometimes it is grey - yes, yes it is, he can see it with his own two eyes and with yours! Oh… that is because there are clouds… What are clouds? You will definitely need to be aware of your thoughts and actions around Tsarziath, especially when he is young and growing, because he will question everything. He has a thirst for knowledge, a want for books and learning that's unrivaled by almost all except, perhaps, for Iczobyth. In this, he and she will likely form an early bond, devouring as much information between them as possible while matching wit with humorous banter.

Due to this bond and undeniable shared interests, Iczobyth (and therefore, Ricki) are also the most likely to adventure with you, because much like his clutchsister, Tsarziath's desire to gain first hand experience with the world will translate into many adventures out into the great wide world, which will in turn translate into all of them following you. It’s like your own personal entourage, paparazzi for the paparazzi if you will. The irony is not lost on us.

But we are getting ahead of ourselves. Before ever your Tsari can take wing and visit the great wide world beyond Xanadu weyr, he must first manage to survive weyrlinghood with you in tow. So what are some of the things that you need to know in those earlier stages (and, let's be honest, well beyond)?

Alexia did enjoy dancing, so she would have liked to attend at least one ball as an available young lady rather than always ending up skulking in libraries.

Well, one of those things you might find alarmingly suspect is that Tsarziath likes to dance. Oh, you didn't think that Leirith was the only dragon on Pern who liked to get down and jive to the music, did you? Surprise! Your Tsarziath will take after his mother in this one very-alarming respect: he likes to move it. Luckily for you, perhaps, he has slightly more refined taste in music, preferring violins and orchestral accompaniment over a pounding bass, but there’s no denying that when sounds of excellence reach his ears (er, headknobs), he will be overcome with temptation to move to the beat. Whether this remains a secret between you two or becomes a thing of common knowledge is up for debate, for even when he is young and still learning to build on his manners, he will wait for the proper times to indulge in such behaviors — even if that time is sometimes never.

“You do realise modern social mores exist for a reason?"
"I was hungry, allowances should be made.”

Tsarziath also has a thing for food — to the point of absurdity. Is he upset? Give him food. Are his delicate sensibilities offended by Asceorth's complete disregard for etiquette lessons? Give him food. Has Talanoath declared his superiority one time too many? Give that dragon some food! His favorite thing is raw meat (are you surprised?), and you will find him deeply distressed whenever a morsel of Delicious Meat Stuff is trodden upon or left to the mercy of clumsy-baby-dragon-butts along with an offend that might just linger for a candlemark or two longer than necessary. He might well also develop a taste for sweets, preferring tarts and biscuits and cookies meant to go along with teas. He understands they’re rather hard to come by, considering the sheer quantity he requires in order to feel satisfied is outlandish at best, but whenever he can come by an old favorite or - better yet - something entirely new, he will take to it with gusto and his best attempt at a refined palate.

Along with his affinity for the culinary, you will also be quick to learn one of the many, many reasons Tsarziath chose you: he has an avid fascination with all things tech — from your multitudinous camera lenses, to the computer databases housing AIVAS, to the satellites and Dawn Sisters sitting in the sky. He will be mesmerized by them, asking you a thousand questions, admiring your work, admiring the work of other techcrafters if only because their minds (filled by all that complicated intellectual mumbo jumbo) are something that he has an oddly keen mind for. Sometimes he might even make a nuisance out of himself in his pursuit of being a part of that world, casting shadows with his big blue body and jarring you at the last possible second when he squishes his maw against your precious face so that he can see through the viewfinder (and, consequently, ruin that PERFECT shot).

Eventually he will learn his place, but never will he lose that fervor or passion for the unknown. As he grows older you will come to find that you've impressed yourself upon a dragon who is fearless. He may not be the most fond of watching you climb to those dangerously precarious perches in pursuit of the best shot (sometimes he might even give you a firm reprimand and tell you no, on no uncertain terms are you to walk out on that branch it-is-clearly-rotten, Ni-ko-lan-mine get. back. here!), but he's certainly not afraid of adventure. Good manners and physical propriety aside, Tsari is not afraid to get into the thick of it, to wade out in the middle of a bog or remain crouched on a ledge for hours, shielding you from the cold to capture images of elusive creatures. If nothing else, you are safer with him there where he can watch over and catch you should you fall, and in the end that will have to suffice. Compromise.

Professor Lyall grinned. “I keep them around for when his lordship gets particularly testy. Such offerings keep the beast under control for the most part.” He frowned and then added a caveat. “Excepting at full moon, of course. Would that a nice ham and pickle sandwich was all it took then.”

As Tsarziath comes into his prime, it will take a very firm hand to keep him from becoming alarmingly autocratic, even with you (we meant it about him insisting you be home for tea), and it comes because he doesn't seem to enjoy feeling like he is not in control. This does not mean that he's cruel (though he can certainly be bossy), he just more or less does not like to feel like he is out of control of a situation - of himself - and sometimes that translates to him trying to manipulate outcomes in a way that might rub others raw. Like just taking matters into his own hands:

“Why did Iczobyth just ask who died and made you wingleader?”
« Well. We were not performing up to standard. So I might have… sent Becath… away on a fool’s errand. She was a weak link! I had to. »

Likewise he will tell you that he positively abhors violence (it is such a boorish pastime in which to partake), but believe us when we say that in the same breath he will be sticking dragon-talons into nostrils (okay, not really, but you get the point), shoving offending dragons away, smacking them on top of their oversized noggins with his tail, and all while reminding them they should be utilizing their, « Manners! » Yeah. Have fun with that, N'kon. At least, with time, it may become apparent that Tsari’s worst moods seem to coincide with lunar activity. That is to say, on nights when one moon or the other promises to be full, he is at his most terrible, and when the sky is near-black for their absence, he is on his very best behaviors. Dragonhealers might have some insight on the matter, citing lunar thrall or somesuch, but Tsarziath views it as mystical nonsense at best and will not accept their word as truth no matter how ardently you might insist.

“What’s wrong with you? Are you ill? I forbid you to be ill, wife.”

But beneath all of that hard-earned gruff bluster and unsubtle arrogance, there is a dragon that still cares, that still worries about the people and dragons that he considers to be his. This circle may be very small indeed, comprised at times of you and only you, but he will express his concern over matters as small as sniffles, and even though his words might come out in their with their usual delivery comprised of clipped disdain, he will still be there, offer aid in the form of recitation of stories, fetched soups from the kitchens, an extra blanket snuck from storage, and most importantly, his presence curled about yours to keep you safe and comfortable in this time of weakness.


No Place Like Home

Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home.

When the world is your stage, the sky your mistress, the mountains strong as brothers, the rivers playful sisters; when your rider has a talent for capturing this and more with his lens, forever, there is no reason to keep the whole world in your mind. It would be a waste, a pittance, compared to the art inherent in the images his rider captures, and so he does not bother.

Instead, Tsarziath’s mind is home. It is proper, but comfortable, sprawling yet somehow modest, as though there could be more but there isn’t and one should perhaps admire his restraint. For the public, his mind is careful, refined, as much a show as his hide and mien; for quick conversations, he speaks in a cultured baritone, a subtle lilt of some highland accent hitting his tones when particularly amused or particularly not. Along with this comes a flashes of silver and brushes of gold, glints of light off crystal, the rustle of turned pages, hints of vanilla, and quiet, distant song, as though an orchestra was playing in a different room. Flirtations are edged with the brush of rose petals on skin, frustrations, with an angry spill of red laid bare by the cold, hollow shine of damning moonlight.

For those he allows in, or for longer, more convoluted discussions, these elements will become clear, sensical, for his public mind is that of a grand ballroom, white walls trimmed in ornate rococo gold, frames surrounding art that ever-changes (some of which N’kon may recognize as his pieces transformed to meet Tsarziath’s style) depending on his mood. Soft gold curtains frame windows that always open upon moonlit gardens, allowing soft scents of roses to drift in on a breeze, explaining the presence of bountiful bundles tucked into vases placed throughout the room on fine furnishings. There is, of course, tea, and cognac, and a number of other suitable, obvious choices in food and drink, present less to be mentally imbibed, and more to be tapped into for suitable response: tea, for thoughtfulness and discussion, cognac to soothe him back from tempers, and a plethora of sweets for every mood in between. Served on silver platters, in painted bone china and delicate crystal, the mind he presents to everyone else is exactly what one would expect: noble, graceful, and unquestionably cultured.

She smelled warm and spicy sweet, like some old-fashioned Italian pastry his body could no longer process but whose taste he remembered and craved.

But there is always a hand at work behind the scenes of these grand balls, and your Tsarziath is the one who guides that, too. This is Tsari’s quiet side, no less regal, no less refined, but gentler, somehow, for inhabiting this space. Furnishings are softer here, more homely, speaking to grace but also to comfort - a carefully stocked library here, filled slowly over time with books you have read, covers lovingly tended to even though their contents will fast fade from his memory. The same elements are present and accounted for - tea, alcohol, sweets, flowers - but presented differently, betraying the mind of a dragon who is hasty, sometimes absent-minded, but ultimately caring. Tea may be left unfinished, to be swept up and tidied at the end of the day as you both mentally prepare yourselves for bed. Roses might be plucked up, considered, left abandoned upon a piano forte upon which he creates the music that underlies his words himself. The scent of liquor on the air runs heavy on days of the full moon, as though trying to drown out the things that make him tempestuous at best, nightmarish at worst, hoping the harsh sting will drown out the pounding red headache echoing through his skull.

But on most days, his mindspace is clean, orderly, careful, because one of you has to be, a constant mental battle between propriety and his haste to cope with N’kon’s artistic whims. Each room - library, study, even a kitchen once he starts indulging in culinary curiosities, is permeated with a soft scent that you will come to define as inherently Tsarziath, warm vanillas laced with a spice you might never find in the real world, that might only ever exist with and for him, though not for a lack of trying. It floats on a gentle breeze, a constant, though perhaps heavy, almost cloying when he is at his most amused.

And yet, it would not be Tsarziath’s mind at all without a little danger thrown into the mix. Step into his tailoring room, press a mental hand to the mirror across from the door, and down, down one will tunnel into thoughts that are regimented, organized, smug. This is his best-kept-secret, a place only he and Niko will ever see, a place for training as well as study, to sharpen their combined mental acuity, to work at making themselves better, stronger versions of themselves. A wide, low, industrial hangar space, it is filled with bits and baubles to appeal to them both: techcraft and a screen with which to replay or imagine photographic shots in the mind’s eye. A space to replay the day’s failures and plan how to never make them again. A space to store information too dangerous to leave in the public eye: how kill with precision, disarm and disable, ways to provoke avalanches and predict storms, things that they may someday need for one reason or another, but that no one should know they possess.

As you age together, you or Tsari both may find need for the addition of more rooms, to his living space or his bunker or both, but for now it is sufficient, it is elegant, it is home.


Miss Tarabotti knew full well her own feminine appeal. The kindest compliment her face could ever hope to garner was “exotic,” never '“lovely.” Not that it had ever received either.

Which brings us to physicality.

Your Tsarziath is a champion of blues: big, handsome, exotic. He will come out of the shell with a lupine grace envied and unrivaled by many of his clutchmates, even if they will never, ever, ever admit to it (because they're cocky — YEAH WE ARE LOOKING AT YOU, TALANOATH). He is comprised of the kind of muscle-mass and bulk that will give future dragon-ladies heart palpitations, even outside of flights, and complement his sometimes-air of mystery, preeminence, and danger.

Tsarziath will be a force to reckon with. He is built deceptively big — strong — for one who maneuvers with so much agility and ease. He's the one you might secretly suspect of having been sneaking out at night to practice all those leaps and sharpen those hunting skills because he's flawlessly suited to it. He is strong (in body and mind), if a bit… well… soulless. He's also one of the biggest blue dragons, not only in Xanadu Weyr, but throughout Pern. This is a good thing, because his strength and maneuverable capabilities on both land and in the sky mean that you will find Tsarziath to be a more malleable dragon, one of those rare few that can readily fit into any role that you desire to pursue.

If you desire a life in search and rescue, his strength, stamina, and pure determination of will will do you both great justice. He can handle situations that his smaller brethren (and sisters) cannot while still being just small enough to find his way into crevices, crooks, and crannies that his larger brethren (and sisters) cannot. He's a force of nature in every respect, steady and graceful in the skies and light-footed on the ground; he will prove a most capable rescue-dragon with a keen mind for trouble and a knack for sheer dumb luck to find his way out of the most hairy situations. If your desires find you more inclined to a life in transportation, or even simply remaining with your craft as a craft rider, he will be more than happy to explore, to provide company, to pull you back from every ledge (proverbial or otherwise) and see to your happiness.

That being said, Tsarziath also makes a great leader, so WATCH OUT! He doesn't mind asserting himself (obviously; you will find this out with much chagrin as he gets older), and that big-ole-body will prove useful in games of dominance (that he detests physically, pish-posh) should it ever come down to an altercation. He's a fighter in so much as he denies being one, and he will utilize muscle, teeth, claws, and barbed wit if it means defending you or coming to the aid of others. He can also handle smaller (and smaller-large) dragons if The Path leads you towards a forever of bossing Weyrlings around. Really, the point and the fact of the matter is this: Tsarziath's body and mind both are capable of great things. He knows it, you know it, now it's up to you as to whether or not you both want to make sure the rest of the world knows it too.


N'kon, you knew we were going to get to this topic eventually, and here we are. Thankfully Tsarziath came out of the shell blue or you'd have quite the struggle on your hands: flights. That's right, that time when pretty greens (maybe even his sisters) start to glow; when dragons take to the skies and allow themselves to be overcome by baser natures — to violence, to carnal needs, to a perennial urge that drives them to dizzying heights. Your Tsarziath is no exception to that rule, but let us start with how he flirts.

All of that decorum and proclivity towards flawless manners wanes slowly until it is lost altogether — but your Tsarziath is choosy. As a general rule-of-thumb, Tsarziath leans towards those green ladies that show a propensity for wit and daring; who break the mold and challenge him, who tend towards being voluptuous instead of dainty because a bit of meat on the female form means that he has more to grab onto once they take to the skies — and more to chew off (IF YOU KNOW WHAT WE MEAN).

“I kissed her," he explained, aggrieved.
"Mmm, yes, I had the dubious pleasure of witnessing that, ah-hem, overly public occurrence." Lyall sharpened his pen nib, using a small copper blade that ejected from the end of his glassicals.
"Well! Why hasn't she done anything about it?" the Alpha wanted to know.

If it is a green that your Tsarziath has shown preference for in the past (even if she spurns him the first one or seven hundred times), you will come to find that his manner shifts when he is around her. To be more blunt, he seems to have only two modes of operation when those stars start to glow in favored hides: annoyed, and aroused. He will do his best to be near her, show an inclination for violence and perhaps even a streak of dragon-esque jealousy at the mere mention of another male dragon's name (but he will only express this to you, and simply bare his fangs for the rest).

When the time comes to chase, your Tsarziath will be a force to be reckoned with — and not merely because he is big and strong (and badass, thank you, Leirith), but because he seems to lose himself to those flights altogether. Suitors will find themselves at the mercies of claws and too-sharp teeth; he will rend, and tear, and fight like those wolves in old terran-myth, reckless in pursuit of those worthy greens. Flights will be tempestuous for you, more than simple flightlust giving way to a transformation of you both — where blood calls and debauchery rules and victory is the only acceptable outcome.

So prepare yourself, N'kon, because Tsarziath is one hell of a stubborn dragon, and in times like these, the only thing you can do is buckle up and enjoy the ride.


N'kon! WELCOME TO THE PARTY! On behalf of Xanadu Weyr's SearchCo and Staff, let us just start off by saying that we are excited to have you in our weyr, and we look forward to any and all chaos that you have in store for us. BRING ON THE SHENANIGANS! With that being said, let us jump into those important details of the 'what' and the 'who' — or what inspired your dragon, and who had the pleasure of creating him.

Egg: The egg theme for this cycle was 'Fairy Tales', though we stuck loosely to that term and allowed the inclusion of folklore, etc. so that our options were opened to a whole world of the dark, twisted, and surprisingly sweet stories to inflict upon you all. Your particular egg was themed after The Ugly Duckling — and not the bittersweet retelling by Disney, but the actually pretty depressing original by Hans Christian Andersen. You know, the version where its mother and siblings turn on it, then it finds friends that all get killed, and when it decides Death By Beautiful Swans isn't such a bad way to go, it discovers that it's a swan. Yeah. That Ugly Duckling. The face behind this egg and its horribly personal touches was Risali!

Dragon: One of your proposed themes was Kingsman, and we were only too eager to get to include elements of this fabulous movie to your dragon. His title, ‘A Modern Man’s Armor’, comes from a quote from the movie: “The suit is the modern gentleman's armour. The Kingsmen are the new knights.” His description is by and large set to match, a dark suit trimmed with crisp edgings, with only the barest hints of his werewolf legacy left to tear through. His name, likewise, comes from a Kingsman background. Based off the Knights of the Round Table, its agents were given aliases based off the original knights. Yours is named for Ser Gawain, with adjustments made to certain letters to maintain the integrity of the name whilst also complying with what you asked for. We’ve taken to calling him Tsari for short, but we hope the name opens you up to a few monikers that will leave him with his dignity intact despite their use.

In order to mold your Tsarziath's personality, we tried to give you what you asked for: a dragon that wasn't afraid to go on adventures with you, but who certainly knew when it was time to come home. The bulk of his personality is Alexia Tarabotti of Soulless: quick, almost-monotone wit, a soft-spot for tea and treacle tarts, a love for all things tech, an emphasis on manners because she feels she was born without a soul to affect proper morality. We gave him bits of Conall Maccon as well, more emphatically in his inspiration for flights and his sometimes-alpha-male exterior. We wanted to give you the duality of their personalities so that you had a little more freedom with how you wanted to play him, but in the end, how you play him is completely up to you. We made him for you to enjoy, to have fun with, and we hope that whatever path you both end up wandering down, you do whatever feels best for N'kon, Tsarziath, and you! He's yours to do with as you please, and we look forward to seeing what personality and shenanigans you draw out of him.

— <33 Siobhan and Risali


Name Tsarziath
Dam Leirith
Sire Garouth
Created By Risali & Siobhan
Impressee N'kon (Nikolan)
Hatched February 24, 2018
Xanadu Weyr
PernWorld MUSH

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