Roguish. This man is outlined in shadows, from the dark rugged scruff which thinly covers his upper lip and squared, defined jaw to the heavy black brows that sit above piercing, hardened sea-blue eyes. It all gives his expressive face the air of the rapscallion he is, aided by that deep black hair kept trimmed 'round neck and ears, elsewhere falling into a lightly disheveled mess just long enough to lie over his forehead. His skin is well-tanned, and much of what is covered by his layers of clothing is traced in the faint silver of scars, some pinkened, fleshy with less age. Hands claim the callouses and dryness of a worker's, long since textured by the harshness of rope and salt air, with the left kept wrapped in worn black cloth 'cross palm and wrist. Rarely is he anything but poised of shoulder, tall, self-appointed, with his composed height at about six foot. He claims a conditioned build lending towards the average- toned but lean, muscular yet not sizable- and a suave aloofness about him, conveyed alongside an innate arrogance that quite simply drips from his very being.
A sense of the intimidating is at war with gaudy fashion. Black is prevelant, form-fitted black pants kept to his toned shape by a thick belt and prominent silver buckle, to wide-cuffed boots that rise to nearly his knees. A dark vest is secured by four large ornately swirled clasps down his abdomen and laced by crossed leather patterns at his sides. A light, thin black tunic excessively dotted with silvered buttons along its length lies closest to his skin, the arms baggy from the tailored shoulder, the wrists having wide and flared cuffs. Its lapels stand tall and uneven about his neck, and its neckline left open to bare his chest as if after so many buttons and clasps, he'd grown bored. A heavy silver chain hangs 'round his neck, holding a paired pendant at its apex. A dark earring is clipped on his right ear, and many of his fingers claim silver rings of varying widths clearly of masculine make; some simply bands, some of jewel.



He was born on the sea, but those aren't his first memories. The boy grew up in a cohort of children in a rough seaside holding most notable for its fishing and trade. For as relatively small as it was, it was busy, and equally as impoverished. Most children grew up as he did, under the rule of older children, making a fraction of a mark in whatever means they could to pay their sevenday dues. In trying to make right a mistake of being too scared to stand up for another, late one night young Kael attacked one of the older kids, and he fled with his brother and a girl he'd tried to protect to the shipyards before the repercussion of his choices caught up with them. The kids stowed away in the depths of a trading vessel, found out some klicks out at sea. Under threat of being tossed overboard, the lads managed to weasel their way into being cabinboys. The girl was dropped off at the next port, lost for a time in the series of events to come.

In their early teens, Wyaytt and Kaellian were taken on by the traders in truth, divided onto separate ship crews. It was only after a turn of doing what he perceived to be earnest work that he became savvy to the shadier goods being transported by the fleet. Another mistake- a mutiny led by naught but a boy. His words and actions swayed the crew. He took their favor and the ship. As an all too young captain, Kaellian split his time between hunting down the ships owned by Eliam to put a stop to his business affairs, and scavenging seaside villages to find Cait- the girl left at some unknown port ages before. Eliam, though, discovered the latter and not six months after Cait was brought aboard Captain Kaellian's vessel, he boarded the ship on one fateful evening. He killed her in retribution, leaving before a bound Kael or a distracted crew could stop him.

Lust for revenge was all-consuming, and he threw himself into his pursuit. It doubled in intensity, and while he wouldn't ignore other potential prey ships, he was far more aggressive at the sight of those familiar, abhorred flags. His luck held for quite some time. He was successful, he was dangerous. He became a name in some tavern song. But nothing lasts forever. Some ten turns since parting ways, a message came by firelizard from his brother. The letter was scrawled in familiar hand, stating in short that he was ill, and had asked to see him as soon as possible. It was a request Kaellian wouldn't- couldn't- refuse. But answering the request was his downfall, the trap one that let Eliam imprison him aboard one of his crafts.

"What is your freedom worth to you?" It was a question posed to him once a day, every day by a man of the crew who gave him no name. Kaellian gave him no answer. Day after day passed. Eventually, Kaellian caved under the pressure of confinement. The man asked for a deal. It bought him the light of day again, it bought him a renewed chance to destroy the man who had taken everything from him. The deal gave him his freedom, a ship and a crew in waters near Xanadu until they next spoke. The odd man wanted something of the nearby Weyr. Something that would only be presented in time. He would give him Eliam, he promised that much; Kaellian just had to wait.

Local Rumors

  • Pronounced "kill-e-an"
  • Captained the trading vessel Between's Black from southmost Southern Ocean to Lake Caspien to the Sea of Azov
  • He had a crew of about 25 men, though the numbers vary depending on the source of the information
  • Most harbormasters had no record of when or if the ship stayed in their port, with whole pages missing at times from the logbooks
  • It isn't clear specifically what he transported, though there are a few tavern drunken whispers that Between's Black's captain would transport anything.. if you had the mark for it. If anyone tested that theory, they haven't admitted to their business affairs.
  • A few months after Between's Black started frequenting Azov with a strange, almost routine regularity, there was an uptick in vigilance at Xanadu Weyr following concerns around Kaellian's arrival and an increase in pirating affecting protectorate and closer trade routes. While Between's Black has not been seen since this shift in attention arose, Kaellian had continued to appear for short stretches of time, then vanish again.
  • Known to very few, though many suspected, the white knot he showed up with for the party on the Yokohama was curiously no where to be found in the records of who were Searched. He was allowed to stay on as a candidate despite this fact.
  • Late in his candidacy, two Xanadu-bound tradeships went missing, causing mild hard-ships to the Weyr Crafters. Those who knew of Between's Black were quick to point fingers at it as the culprit.
  • Right before Xanadu's Hatching, he abruptly went missing for a day. When he returned, it was right when the dragons started humming. He was curiously distant from everyone, looking a little roughed up in the face. Fortunately, the middle of the night chaos of the Hatching masked just how exhausted, and perhaps injured, he really was.
  • Between's Black was reported as heading towards Southern Ocean open water, though those who know of her captain, knew he was no longer on-board. Mutiny was in the whispers of those who spoke about her.
  • Following a very distanced and disengaged weyrlinghood for a variety of reasons, Ki’lian was tapped into the Asteroid wing despite having no knot to speak of. He became less and less frequently present at the Weyr proper, spending much of his time somewhere abroad.
  • When Between’s Black was seen again in the Sea of Azov a couple of turns later, rumors of Captain Kaellian’s return blanketed the local taverns and docks. Predatorial territories of the less savory shipfaring folk started to shift, many even without news of violence or ship attacks. The apparently piratical boundaries of the Black hugged Xanadu and her protectorates, pushing other activities into less and less prominence.


That's a whole other conversation.


Hot Knife Through Butter Brown Quarter
"The rogue pirates are the ones that give no quarter, savvy? That means they take no prisoners. If they capture us, we're all dead." ―Jack Sparrow
Dark brown makes a firelizard well suited to the shadows, his body lean and sparing without energy wasted for more than needed muscles. His muzzle comes to a sharpened point, widening to his skull where broader jaw gives more strength of bite, and the planes of his face are sharp around wide-angled eyes and the backward sweep of elongated knobs. He's not unadorned in his darkness, for in the span of his wings his hue warms with a swirl of caramel and cocoa, a hint of buttery softness now darkened nearly bistre by the heat that simmered him to life. There's one more hint of hue to his hide, this more troublesome - yellow-tinged cream splashed against his forepaws in a marking between the dark of paw and the dangerous sweep of knife-like talons.
Quarter bares no evident band of his home.

Silence of the Sea Egg
Ancient, ageless blue cloaks this egg in a shade of absolute blue. There is little variation in this tone, for it is endless and forever, old and new, the beginning and the end and all. It is hope, wide, subtle bands of light that cast infinitesimally small bubbles into relief, but also it is despair, a sea with no bottom, or at least, none that you shall ever reach. To hold it is to be holding the heart of the sea itself, veritably vibrating with internal motion, heavy and yet somehow, strangely, not as weighty as it should reasonably be.

Credits: It's Leirith's Fall Firelizard Feast! This egg was written by Siobhan, and the firelizard is by D'lei. We hope you enjoy your new delicious friend. <3

I Am The Sea Bronze Curse
"Davy Jones cannot make port. Cannot step on land but once every ten years. Land is where you are safe, Jack Sparrow, and so you will carry land with you."
"…Dirt. This is a jar of dirt."
"Is the jar of dirt going to help?"
"If you don't want it, give it back."
"Then it helps."

Dead men tell no tales, but whispers nevertheless bubble to surface from the deep to press-gang good dreams into nightmares. Maybe the scuttlebutt speaks in spooked susurration of a bronze perpetually melting out of mist, lambent glimmer drawing a ghostly echo of what lies beneath weathered bronze rendered pale with residual haze. From the midst of this phantasmic pallor emerge luminous eyes, their cunning shrouded by distracting, dramatic streaks of kohl that underscore his penetrating gaze and define his eyeridges. The rest of him is no less mired in mystery, shades of salt-aged bronze deepening into a near copper sunset as it drenches his boxy-but-brawny frame. Cryptic knots of twined tentacles drip down his bulk, illusory undulations with his unnervingly lithe movements adding to his eerie effect. These, it might be comforting to note, are confined by cages of brown-tinged bronze wrapping his ribcage, save for where an embossed heart, touched with twin black spots at its center, neatly fits within the design squarely over where one of his hearts might beat - if, indeed, he has any at all. The skyward-side of his 'sails are splashed with the briny web of seawater long gone while the undersides seek to quench the eternal thirst with a rich rum tinge to their polished bronze. Motion that rocks him bow to stern has yet one more bewitching effect to lend, for here and there under close study, can be found the green of oxidized bronze, a coloring that winks into existence only when limned by just the right light, and even then, only for a rare flash, gone in a blink. Limbs like a leviathan, twined by muscle and sinew, make more monstrous the appendages that terminate in gnarled claws, barnacled with minuscule bumps, but no less deadly for those unlucky souls on the wrong side of them. His burnished tail tricks the eye with a texturing of braided bronze, as fine and fearsome as any bosun's whip. Wisps of legend cling to the very bones of this beast, bound in the relentless tide of mortality for one last lifetime.

Carry This Egg With You
To say the shape of this egg is odd would be an extremely kind understatement; it's weird. Where most eggs have that lovely curve, this one looks like a long-shackled prisoner, constrained to grow into what little space was afforded it. Rather more oblong and even a touch clunky, it would be cumbersome to any dam who had it in her charge. Its appearance is slightly redeemed by the high sheen gloss that seems to coat it everywhere save the brown splotch at its cinched apex, banded there by a taupe line lacking in gleam and looking like a leather collar that's seen better days. That glassy glaze accentuates the sweeping expanse of color beneath: beautiful, precioussand; clearly, the beginning sentence wasn't the only one expecting more of this egg. Alas and alack that this egg is but a humble vessel containing naught but grainy, gritty common-as-dirt dirt. But who knows, appearances can be deceiving and all that rot. Maybe there's treasure yet to be found within.

Credits: This egg is based on Jack Sparrow's Very Important jar of dirt from Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest, as pictured here: This was your idea for an egg to pair with the bronze based on the Dead Man's Chest with some twists of Davy Jones, his curse, and the kracken thrown in (because why make choosing a name easy~~). Inspiration images included: and . I hope you enjoy him at least half as much as I enjoyed writing him up, but with that said, your happiness is utmost so please edit or alter anything that makes him better for your play. <3 <3 <3 Tejra

Curse of the Aztec Gold Savvy
"Look, the moonlight shows us for what we really are. We are not among the living, and so we cannot die. But neither are we dead. For too long I've been parched and unable to quench it. Too long I've been starving to death and haven't died…. You best start believing in ghost stories, Miss Turner, you're in one!" - Captain Barbossa
Avast ye all, take heed. Beauty does become her, an ancient treasure of blood spilled. For every angle is rich in sheen of gold, and the promise of curse immortal. Every finite and delicate edge of her is chiseled and sharp, leaving nothing more, nothing extra than exactly what must be. Medallion gold spills o'er the length of her, darkening at each curve where unkind time has worn. It fades in its fall down limbre limbs, where each paw is buried in a fine granular sand to every graceful digit and each burnt talon. Thin avian-esque face is a visage of intensity, carved in an intricacy meant to be hoarded in avarice and secrecy, and crafted with large deep-set faceted eyes to see all who befall her without quarter. For here does a nigh serpentine likeness arise, tracing liquid curvature of slender neck, narrow body and endless tail. Moonslight penetrates through membranous sails already risen, basking their dwarfing size in a white-gold of an utterly sickly pallor. Where that forbidden light touches, revealed is a perpetual desecration. Neckridges stand sharply, irregularly, as if left in ravaged fragments to trail down her spine. Eternal malady trickles down the lines of her bony prominences, making her appear ever more skeletal, ever more surreal than this queen already is.

Egg that Cannot be Found
Dim greys twist and roll along the contours of this egg, undulating along waves unseen beneath the gentled mists that soften its shell. Hints of deep blue darken the fog in swaths and swatches, sparing no hints to what it hides. Only towards the base do craggy tans and stony browns rise, licked in faint mossy emeralds. Irregular and sharp, they contrast starkly against the dense, velutinous, smoky hues which mask everywhere else. The precipitous rock emerges and falls from the foreboding curtain, visible just enough to reveal the faint suggestion of an ancient skull.




Never Shall We Die Bronze Zyddagath
Blackened, battered, and bestial, this bronze is brutal to behold. His is the hollow visage of a wraith made living, skeletal frame animated by some dark power, impossible and yet so hideously, viscerally real. His cheekbones are sharp and angular, jutting from his face like the crags of high mountains, making what remains of his features seem gaunt by comparison. The rest of his form is no less wretched, breastbone a gnarl-boned figurehead protruding against skin dark and mottled with age and decay. His chest sweeps back like the keel of a vessel once-fine, now ravaged by war and strife, sepulchral hide pocked with a faint verdigris crust that corrodes him from sternum to stomach. Gunport holes have been blasted into dingy brass sides, splintered void-black markings that shimmer with an eerie, oily sheen in the just-right light. This color is matched upon each ‘ridge of his back, umbral tones pooling like so much pitch along the long, bony column of his spine before pouring down the length of each leg. Clawed paws end in silvery hooked nails, each viciously honed to a wicked edge. Wide wings fare little better, abyssal depths touched only by ghostly billows of smoke and ash, each a tattered sail that ends in ragged aileron. Only his tail shows any true promise of life amongst so much death, stygian depths etched with knots, twists, and leaves of near-gold along its bladed length.



Title OOC Date Cast
Lost Cogs September 6, 2018 Nessalyn, Kaellian
Count of Three September 9, 2018 Risali, Kaellian
Seaside Serenade September 22, 2018 Risali, Nessalyn, Kaellian
Monsters September 27, 2018 Risali, Kaellian
Don't Try This, Period October 5, 2018 Kaellian, Nessalyn, Risali
House of Cards October 12, 2018 Ila'den, Kaellian
A Dangerous Dance October 12, 2018 Kaellian, Nessalyn, Risali
A True Xanadu Welcome October 13, 2018 Kaellian, Nessalyn, Rinian, Taeli
For Science October 14, 2018 Nessalyn, Risali, Kaellian
Distant Shores October 19, 2018 Risali, Kaellian
To Disappoint October 19, 2018 D'lei, Nessalyn, Rinian, Kaellian
Mudfights, Victories, and Stolen Boots October 20, 2018 Rhodelia, Rinian, Nessalyn, D'lei, Risali, Kaellian
Picturebox October 27, 2018 Meion, Rinian, Kaellian
A Tale or Two (Ajral is Searched!) November 1, 2018 Ajral, Risali, Kaellian
What's Mine November 1, 2018 Rinian, Kaellian
Pillage and Plunder November 3, 2018 Kaellian
It's Nine in the Afternoon (Fourth Touching) November 8, 2018 Meion, Elayne, Kaellian, Sylvarin, Ajral, Risali, D'lei
Your Eyes Are The Size of the Moon (Fifth Touching) November 8, 2018 Cielo, Kaellian, Nessalyn, Risali
To Davy Jones November 8, 2018 Sylvarin, Teinon, Kaellian
Gold Leirith and Bronze Garouth's Eggs Hatch! November 30, 2018 Ajral, Cielo, D'lei, Elayne, Kaellian, Kera, Mathis, Meion, Merek, N'kon, Nessalyn, Percival, Rhodelia, Rinian, Risali, Sylvarin, Tanit, Xh'vyr
What's in a Name December 1, 2018 Airin, Nessalyn, Meion, C'iel, D'lei, Nailii, Risali, Ki'lian
Scraps of Beginnings November 30, 2018 Airin, Nessalyn, Meion, C'iel, Ki'lian,
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