If this blue dragon had emerged the depths of a moonlit ocean, he could not be any more perfectly suited for his environment. With sinister grace, he rarely takes a misstep — neither bulky nor scrawny, his liquid-undersea form is supported by a network of powerful, sleek musculature. Most of his body is shaded in that darkling shade of deep-sea blue, concealing all that power with shadows too dark for discerning between one limb and the next if you're not looking closely. From shadowed shoulders spring long and well-formed pinions - not over-long or over-broad, they hang in the middle, their sails every bit as deep as the rest of his body until you get to the trailing edges. There, the last foot or so shades out to moonlit-blue, like the surface of a stormy sea - barely-evident against the rest of his overwhelming hide. This moonstruck shade reflects subtly down the center of his handsomely-chiseled face and to his nose, then drifts absently down his throat and belly getting darker and darker as it goes until it is no more than a strange bright shadow down a well-formed tail.
Avenue of the Dead Egg
Resplendent in warm gold-touched greens, a lush jungle gives way to ruin across the shell of this mid-sized egg. At first it may seem to be a random mess of blotted greys sun struck with flashes of gold, but with closer inspection, details become more apparent. If an egg can be said to be sinister, the creeping dusk from the bottom of the shell would suit. It casts long shadows down a blotchy avenue of smoother grey surrounded by low shapes that might once have been pyramidal. Upon close approach they become clearer, all leading up to a massive multi-stepped pyramid of grey stone; behind which the golden glow seems to be coming from. That glow almost eclipses the large silver-bright object in the sea of gold-blue that reigns above the ruined structure, almost resembling a moon. In the shadows, though, the shadows at the base of that ruined temple - who knows? Just because a shadow seems to move doesn't mean that your eyes aren't playing tricks on you.
Sacrificial Drums are a steady thump-da-thump that surrounds you immediately — as soon as your fingers graze the shell, you are plunged into darkness, the hollow thudding sounding all around you. It may well be your heart, or perhaps what lies within the shell of this growing creature who lurks in darkness that it readily shares. Steady as yours might not be, it thuds on in a steady staccato rhythm in the deepest part of your mind, calling up the warring of instincts - calmness, for the arterial thumping, wariness for the overwhelming darkness. Out of the darkness comes a command, though, leaving you little time for wariness or any other worries: You! Who are you, who dares to disturb this one's slumber? Why? The being is not particularly shy about this demand, making it known without words or any exact sensations beyond the pressing darkness and thump-thump of hollow heart (or drum?) beats. What happens, with the wrong answer? Is there a wrong answer? The darkness waits with leaden patience, either way.
Sacrificial Drums go thud-thud-thud-BANG, springing to life in a sudden flare of scorching heat and fiery scarlet. Gold glimmers in shadows, but the crimson flare of light and pain that surround you is quite distracting. Distracted from its' meticulous search of something *behind* what answers you provided, the being snarls in a sudden flare of bass booming. Evidently, something does not match up, something is not what it seems — at least to its' inexperienced eyes. With the heart-drums thundering in dangerous clashes all around, a flash of white-hot lightning flickers across the combined mind-space between yours and the embryo's. Darkness descends like a trap, as if the jaws of some great tunnelsnake snap shut around you and hold you captured to itself. Are you certain of yourself? Do you hold yourself to be as you say — are you aware that it sees your thoughts? That with a flick (like *so*, it displays a strange early memory, more sensory input than anything coherent), it can lay you bare for all the world to see? Abruptly, the darkness recedes just slightly. You are spat back out into your world, to your own thoughts, your own conclusion. What have you to offer it?
Sacrificial Drums buffet your mind with steady percussion as you find yourself once more drawn into darkness. Now, though, riches gleam just out of the reach of your vision - as if through deep water, it shines occasionally. You float in a sea of black surrounded by your own heartbeat and the steady rhythm of some great sky-drum. Wary acceptance overtakes you now, curiosity taking the place of scarlet indignation and brief rage. Perhaps it was too quick to judge you. Perhaps it was wrong — maybe, just maybe, you will be sufficient. For what? Shadows tremble in an elegant counter-melody of softer thump-thuds but offer no clues at all to what the being within the shell might have in mind. You have been measured, weighed against something, and it's plainly evident…but against what? What had it so worked up, what calmed it? That remains a mystery, sloughed into the encompassing press of silken darkness from all around that seems to call you, draw you forth. Should you try to follow, however, you will be turned firmly back, the message clear: This is not for you. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.
Frustrated growling issues forth from the Avenue of the Dead Egg as dark-hued, wickedly-sharp claws emerge from a crack to curl about the shell. The tip of a tongue flickers out, whip-like to taste the freedom the owner still hasn’t claimed before it is withdrawn with a whine, followed by a hiss of determination, those claws doing a dance of impatience clicking loudly on the shell. Finally there’s a mighty heave-push as those claws shove the egg, shattering the restricting encasement, leaving the hatchling standing amidst the ruins. THERE! Snort.
It’s brightly lit here on the sands, but the night seems to invade the Arena as everything goes dark and shadowed. There’s no relief from the heat, if anything the intensity becomes greater, both within and without. A pressure, heavy and oppressive weighs on you like a leaden cloak. « I'srie! Yes, I like the sound of that, don’t you? » The words are calmly spoken but accompanied by the compelling drumbeat much like the snapping of fingers impatient for an answer. « Come, you need me. I will make something of you. I am, » the voice pauses significantly to wait for you to be suitably impressed, « Tscyleth. The answer to all your sorry problems. »
Maybe you missed it when he stepped calmly into your life, I'srie, but Tscyleth is a dragon who simply cannot be ignored. With a mental presence that is as steady as it is commanding, you'll find that any childish or show-offish habits you might possess get harder and harder to cling to as time goes on and he grows older — as well it should be, as far as he is concerned. From the very first days of Weyrlinghood, you will find your life with this dragon to be completely different than your life before - never what it once was, never simple or easy, but somehow he makes it worth it. Not so much a free spirit as a dragon accepting of duties and proud in his accomplishments, this one expects and intends that you should follow him into the realm of the great.
Weyrlinghood will be a major time of adjustment for you and your blue, here. « I'srie, I tire of your preening. Appearance can be taken into account later. » He may sigh, never quite accepting that you might actually /like/ to look nice. There are more important things to do — for one, listening to the Weyrlingmasters. You won't find him to be a willing participant in any shirking. In fact, he will most likely rat you out to one of the Weyrlingmasters if you go AWOL. Any sort of apology for such things? Pah! « You are hauling firestone because you were out of line, mine. Perhaps next time you will not be so quick to shirk. » Calm, confident, he won't waver in his convictions, won't stray from his notion that you must do your best as a Weyrling in order to be something more as you grow. He is no fool, Tscyleth, and he does not put up with the foolish habits of your peers, either. As far as he may, he will do his utmost to make sure that /all/ of you keep yourselves firmly in line — don't be surprised when he teams up with Zhaoth, or, Faranth forbid, Jaesriuth. The AWLM's dragon will be entirely too pleased to assist in the upbringing of a pack of unruly Weyrlings.
Ruthless in his own way, this dragon has no time at all for weakness. Yours, his, your clutchmates - if they present themselves as somebody not to be trusted, somebody who is a slacker or who isn't useful, they're as good as dead. He'd as soon see them dead, but no, he wouldn't bring that upon them himself. And sully his handsome paws? Peh. Dragons don't kill people. /Stupidity/ kills people. « Certainly, Wingmaster is a dreadful bore, I'srie, but he still outranks you. » A sense of humor will develop as Tscyleth grows into his own - dry and usually sarcastic, he might make biting remarks for your ears alone — but should you take them too far, he'll quickly snap right back into offense and grumpiness. « /That/ was entirely inappropriate. Apologize, immediately. » Should you not do as he says? Don't expect to see him until you do so. He will make his absence painful and pointed, withdrawing entirely and leaving your mind achingly blank for the span of time that it takes you to cave in. It may take a few times of this sort of argument, but eventually, he knows you will see his way of things. You're very bright, after all, much like him. Why do you think he chose you?
Tscyleth has a strong sense of duty and his place within the Weyr — he will not disobey, he cannot, but that does not mean he has no hopes or dreams. One day, he /will/ rise to a rank which prohibits others from simply sending him off like chattel. One day he will command /them/. Prideful in his own way, you'll never be able to go a day without bathing him to a shine and oiling him so that he glows like a pile of wet sapphires. You'll never go a day without bathing yourself, either. In fact, you'll be perfectly-scrubbed every time you go into public spaces, no matter how many times you have to bathe. « You smelled like a wet bovine, I'srie. » At the end of the day, though, when duty is done and leaders satisfied…you're not budging this blue. Nothing short of some sort of emergency will move him from whatever the evening's entertainment is. He takes his down-time as seriously as his work and can be terribly petulant if roused. « Oh, come now! I did not rouse you from /your/ debauchery! What gives you the right to bother me? It is time only for /Whers/, I'srie. » He'll quickly settle, though, and go about with as much stolid calm as can be expected from His Lordship Tscyleth the Patient.
His Lordship is /quite/ sizeable for a blue dragon. He's easily larger than most and could probably beat a good few browns in size and strength. Though it's not immediately evident, he's no bulky fellow, no beast who cannot be mistaken for one to not mess with. Instead, he sports a warrior's physique — lean, sleek, tall and imposing without it being entirely clear /why/. His proportions are perfectly normal, too - no overlong wings, no stubby legs or long and whippy tail. His neck is neither overlong or too short, and his headknobs aren't anything but almost boringly similar to most other dragons'. He is a handsome fellow, though, and not at all unpopular with the ladies. He does unwind enough to flirt and admire the fairer sex, sometimes, though rarely does he indulge in any flight. Why should he? He has too much to worry about without worrying about spraining a muscle for some green. He will encourage you to seek out a mate, though — call him a busybody, but he has ideas that you might calm down if turned into an honest man. « As well it should be. »
So maybe Tscyleth will drive you crazy sometimes. Maybe he's too hard on you, maybe his constant care for rank and duty will chafe when all you want to do is run and be young and stupid. Perhaps he'll drive you to distraction with his cutting remarks. He'll also be your strength when you need him to be, he will always be at your side, he will /never/ let you down. This dragon will be all you need in a companion if only you let him — let him into your heart and see that he truly is a good being. That the fact that sometimes he puts the whole before either of you is only fair, because sometimes you have to think for others rather than yourself. Tscyleth might not be one to play or run like a puppy, but he /will/ do what is best by you. He will never betray you. He will always have your back, when it comes right down to it.
Tscyleth is by nature calm and longsuffering, choosing to speak to you in tones of silken darkness and golden glimmers in shadows with only the arterial thumping of a faint drumbeat to punctuate his more emphatic points. Should you be particularly dense, he’ll drill a steady staccato rhythm in the deepest part of your mind to drive his point home in a slap-you-up-side-the-head sort of fond rebuke. His annoyance in those times can take on an annoying rattle of percussion ranging to the depths of a bass booming. He’s not without a temper though and when he’s riled, it’s the flare of scorching heat and fiery scarlet flare of light that will explode in your senses. White-hot lightning flickers when he’s concerned for you, though he may not admit it outright, the pressing darkness and cardiac thump-thump of hollow beats actually speak of his love for you.
|Created By||Ontali with minor additions from Thea|
|Hatched||June 05, 2011|