Magael's Roamin' Roman Harley-Bronze Theronth
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Gaudy Gaudi Egg
Tangling vines at once defy and define the shell's broad-bellied architecture, sliding sensuous brown shadows about stucco as yellow and undulant as noonlit sand. Stars may only silhouette structure's protective symmetry, an oval not unlike the others; it takes warmer light to tease out the exhibitionist dimension, tasty snail-spirals that convolute into trompe l'oeil hollows in which, in turn, swim scales of fishy, fissured iridescence.
Gaudy Gaudi Egg teases no more, or else forevermore: an internal quake capsizes it like a tent about a curled-up ball of a hatchling. Whose nose peeks out, beneath a wing -- or is that a paw? -- and then retreats.
Roamin' Roman Harley-Bronze Dragonet
Battle or travel might have battered that dragonet's long, lean lines, smoked the bow of his neck and stubbed his short tail; for all that he's inlaid with dark, fine-grained mahogany, polished with lemon and lime into lustrous bronze, even the tips of his wings are blunted. Those wings: hooked with talons' chrome, they sail out from slanted withers in gossamer translucency -- but over them spin out ebony smudges, tire-tracks gritty enough in their shadow to confound the light.
Magael stands, rooted in place, faced with -- /him/. That bronze, that bronze right there -- right *near*. This, of course, brings more sweat to his brow, to his neck, and to those already moistoned palms. "Uhm."
'Uhm'. But then, Roamin' Roman Harley-Bronze Dragonet doesn't seem to have been looking for a harper, does he?
Roamin' Roman Harley-Bronze Dragonet's whirling gaze fixes upon Magael.
Vibration. Did it begin, some time ago, or did you only now realize what has always been? Vibration. Dark, full -- oh, that battered dragonet, he's staring at you, that's what it must be, mustn't it? The hatching cavern isn't going to fall down about you, is it? ...Maybe it is; a rich mahogany sensation tugs at your recalcitrant thoughts, padded only by black leather. Tugs again, this time sharper, chrome. Again -- and then releases the emotional tug-of-war, spilling you heart-over-heels into fuzzy blanky-blue.
Magael gawks, really, just -- stares, wide-eyed and somewhat surprised. Then something, something makes those knees buckle forward, down into the sand. "Theronth, you say?" But he knew, didn't he? He knows now. Theronth.
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* Why this name? We liked it. 'Theronth'. THAIR-onth. It happens to mean 'hunter'. It has something of a Roman, respectable, starched-collar feel, and yet it's not long and ungainly. 'Two syllables; no more, no less. Done. Next?'
* Why this egg? You were attracted to it, the way it was written, and we enjoy how it expresses a duality of its own. Its natural name-puns, too, fit ever so nicely with your dragonet's.
* Why this art? We came up with a dragon to fit you, and then picked an art form to fit /him/. A Strad was our first idea -- Stradivarius made cellos as well as violins, we're told, for all that it wasn't a Stradivarius violin that Nero is said to have played as Rome burned -- but then ahh, the Harley. Vroom, vroom. Who says a good machine can't be a work of art? ...And he'll take you anywhere you want to go.
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Roman toga-man, meet James Dean. You asked for rough-and-tough, act now and thinking later... well, you got it. In a sense. ("Be careful what you wish for...")
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Physical Description:
Your Theronth is no giant prawn, but neither is he a shrimp, even as bronzes go; he's a classic centurion, middle-to-big, packing most of his volume in that long, lean frame and large wingspan -- but not his tail, oh, no; that's short and stubby. Aside from said tail, his lines are clean, just somewhat battered around the edges. What else would you expect from a dragon who has hyperdrive?
Color-wise, he's lustrous like a cello and dark like his dam, the bronze composed of mahogany brown polished with gold and green. Chromed-shiny talons and winghooks allude to his sire, as do the tire-trackish ebony marks that spin out over his gossamer wings that, translucent as they are, catch the light ever so bright. The amalgam, the attitude, that's all his own.
In movement, once Theronth gains control of his limbs -- and given that he does generally have long limbs, that'll take a while -- he'll be practically panther-like... 'til he gets excited, and then it's monkey-motion all the way! When he learns how to fly, he'll be quite the distance man, but with some flexibility as well; he can't manage the tight turns, even if he'll try (and when those motorcycles tip, it isn't pretty), but a long-distance march is right up his alley. (And what an alley it is...) Vroom!
Maturing: he won't be slow or fast to mature, particularly, just right on schedule. Even at sexual maturity, Theronth will never be one to care about male vs. female when the females aren't proddy; all he cares about are -- can they match his pace? (Or, big lug that he is... can he match their style?)
Itchy spot: while a growing dragonet itches everywhere, here's the itchiest of them all -- at the base of his tail, dorsal side. Think of a cat; he might stick his rump /way/ up in the air, tail high, crooning like mad. Okay, so it might be a little embarrassing. At least it's not the ventral side, eh?
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Personality:
o/~ Leader of the Pack! Vroom, vroom...
...Well, that's what he'd like to think; the reality just doesn't measure up to his fantasy. (And keep in mind, the 'leader of the pack' in the song didn't get the girl.) Theronth will be bounding along the bowl, eager to get the other side first, he's winning the race -- only to look behind him, seeing what his clutchmates are doing... and find /they've/ gone in a quite different direction. Oops. Well. He'll catch up. Even if it takes him a while.
Attitude's the key. Theronth might want to be dignified, but he might come across more like a hood, all ready for a rumble as he usually is. And, gosh, he reacts very positively when he's allowed his fantasy. ;) Affectionate tolerance is the way to go. Poor fellow, he /looks/ so much like the stereotypical bronze -- but the 'feel' he puts out, he's more a creature from 'The Outsiders' ("They weren't looking for a fight. They were looking to belong."), and boy, can he lean. On anything that doesn't move. Or, sometimes, that does... pity you won't stay large enough (compared to him!) for long, but he still might allude to it with a paw wrapped comfortably about you later on.
See, your Theronth, he's a creature of dualities. Cello and Harley. Roman and roamin' James Dean. Fastidious... and quite the opposite. He has, well, the occasional Mood, and may go into an orgy of feasting to Make it Better, or try. (Of course, you may feel his stomachache, afterward, not to mention thick-tail...)
Normally Theronth's fastidious, yes; but when he's unhappy, or maybe the sun just hasn't risen far enough to suit him -- oh, he must be oiled and washed, washed and oiled, and oiled once again. That may still seem fastidious, and likely would be, were it not for his proclivity to curling up in a little ball -- make that, a /big/ ball, once he gets his growth on him -- in the mud. (Especially when he's been upstaged.) Think hedgehog... or, better, pill bug. Normally, long and lean dragons sprawl out; but not this one. He gets moody, he finds the mud puddle, and curls. He loses a flight, and curls. He's told to stay put instead of roamin' all over, he curls. Shut out the world, please; I want to get off. And did we mention what mud will do to those straps?
Other habits:
Theronth has a thing for curios -- knickknacks, even. Clutter? No, they're decoration. After all, he has such a poor memory, and, well, yours... these just remind you. >> Well, put them somewhere so I don't step on them, then! << Shelves. Shelves are good. He doesn't always notice things in his way, whether they're physical (e.g., a rock) or metaphysical (e.g., an obstinate idea that someone has) and has a tendency to bump into things (especially during weyrlinghood) and into egos (all throughout his life). Theronth has an unconscious ideal, an intuition of 'The Way Things Should Be' -- to be dignified and proper -- but gosh, sometimes he just does things without thinking and gets into 'hyper and manic' moods. Good thing, too, shakes him up a little. (And you.) That stubby tail gives him more reason to poke at it, especially when he's bored, sometimes to the point of harming himself. >> Why aren't you bigger, Tail? Get bigger. ...Maybe if I pull, just a little... Here, M'gael, you try. Of course I'm sure! ...Ow! << (And then he'll forget, and do it again.)
Watch out for when he's feeling just too big and bulky and can't fit into the Interesting Places his clutchmates do (such as the, ah, living cavern, or at least they might try), or fly when they do, too. >> No. They... my tail... I don't feel like playing in mud. << Sulk. ...But then, with a hitch of his wings -- like pulling up a leather jacket; no doubt if he had hair, he'd flip it -- somehow, for some reason, things are All Better and why, he /will/ have that mud, thank you very much.
Sweeps, why, he'll enjoy them. With his draconically short memory, every day is a new, exciting adventure. Rain? No problem. Glaring sunlight? Just close a set of lids. Sure, he may sweat, but he'll like the smell.
And the smell of the local ovines, which get their own sniffing, and the herder that cares for them. And even those musty hides. (Until he sneezes.) ::Between:: is a wonderful thing; travelling is wonderful to him, y'see, but coming home, home to your very own couch and weyr, with a pad for the stone and the prospect of a good ol' oiling... ahh, that's the life. His overall good temper will make it easier for you to enjoy sweeps and whatnot, and perhaps be lulled into a sense of security that makes it easy to overlook certain black-market shenanigans... or even that you two have unwittingly wound up participating in them.
If Theronth's a rebel, though, it's nothing calculated: more of an acting-instead-of-thinking instead of a thinking-before-acting. You spoke of a dragon that's strong and persistent and even rough, a dragon that'd push Magael as Magael pushes back -- and that's indeed Theronth for you. Of course, in that emotional tug-of-war, he'll instinctively learn to be not above tugging and tugging until you're committed -- and then suddenly letting go, spilling you heart-over-heels. He won't understand the mental analysis, but he'll know there's something there, and he'll niggle at it like that aforementioned panther cracking the marrow out of each and every bone. As for pushing Magael to 'Do this, do that, do it right, and do it now,' he can and will certainly do that, ...but be entirely lazy about other things. Sometimes, you and he will overlap; sometimes, you won't. Venn diagram?
Could be. Hope you brought a lot of paper, and a fully inked pen! A compass, too, wouldn't hurt!
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'Voice':
Mentally, think a cello: smooth, slick, full-sounding, with dark undertones that can vibrate to the dickens when made to -- keep in mind, a cello can play both Vivaldi and Metallica. When Theronth's excited, it squeaks. When he's tired and lazy, it scratches into sandpaper. Associated colors tend toward mahogany and black leather with chrome highlights, those 'cool cat' colors, ...and a fuzzy blue blanky for that fetal-positioned streak in him. Mmm. His physical voice is a lesser echo of his mental vibes; even his roar, his rumble, why they're all very well and good, but... well, almost inconspicuous, compared to some. (And then there's that squeak, especially as a dragonet.) That said, he also often keeps up a vibration like a well-oiled (or ill-oiled, depending on his humor) motorcycle or the cello itself, whether crooning or humming or just plain snoring. ...And, after a while, you might find that you just can't sleep straight without it.
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In short, this is your taste of Theronth, who'll live and grow as you play him. While there's no map, here's your lunch -- enjoy the ride!
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Credits:
Egg: Arien, based on the amazing architecture of Gaudi.
Dragonet: Adara, Arien, Lynda, Telilah
Current age >>15 turns
Impression date >> March 20, 1999
Clutch parents >> Fiona's gold Gyrfath & Gr'ym's bronze Kolyath
Clutch siblings >> C'aen & green Paxith; Gretchen & gold Jespeth; J'cent & brown Byrnith; Laria & green Seelinth; Rhali & brown Kefteth; Sissi & blue Klimth
Hatching log >> Fort's 15th hatching
Flights >> Zephre's green Miyoth; Arien's gold Katrineth (PC clutch); Yli's green Nyasuth; Zureile's gold Suryareth (PC clutch)
Clutch children >>
with Katrineth (October 1999)
Miafah & green Aliath; K'rali & blue Rhioth; Nada & green Siyaneth; K'rill & bronze Llynth; Vinne & gold Vyath; A'ria & green Orsylth; Kourrem & brown Jurayath; Keryn & blue Dvath
with Suryareth (May 2002)
A'zain & green Lhokiyeth; N'lon & brown Rhyolith; Aeri & green Chevalth; Mara & green Nafanth
All references to worlds and characters based on Anne McCaffrey's fiction are copyright © Anne McCaffrey 1967,2000, all rights reserved, and used by permission of the author. The Dragonriders of Pern(r) is registered U.S. Patent and Trademark Office, by Anne McCaffrey, used here with permission. Use or reproduction without a license is strictly prohibited. For more information, visit the Worlds of Anne McCaffrey