Corrugated brass strains along every inch of this bronze, his titanic form appearing time-worn and mottled, if not full of predatory grace. Cobwebs of rust and sinopia spread across his hide like the veins of autumn's last leaf, clinging to headknobs and the craggy curves of his knuckles as though hoping to preserve itself through the bitter winter winds to come. Pale sparks of moonstone clap down the column of his throat and across his narrow, streamlined chest before fragmenting across the battens of his underwings in a rage of seafoam and sunlit fire opal. Indelicate spires of deep umber claw across the ridges of his spine from the height of his neck to the very tips of his powerful tail, sometimes variegated with a nigh-crepuscular shade of verdigris. Viciously hooked claws round out his raptorial appearance, their onyx shine matched in darkness only by a swatch of burnt sienna right between his shoulderblades.
Egg Name and Description
Diachronic Leviathan Egg
As though aspiring to overwhelm the senses with its perceived enormity and subtle splendor, infinity has been encapsulated within the confines of this metallic ochre shell. Though it is perhaps of an average size in reality, the Rococo-inspired ridges emerging from the egg's burnished surface gives the impression that it has something more prodigious to give to the world. Silver twists and arcs down from the ovoid's peak, circular patterns dervishing outwards until, when viewed from above, they could easily be mistaken for an outstretched pair of clockwork wings. A single speck of milk-white pearlescence exists only at the egg's apex, though glimmers of topaz and citrine gems occasionally spark in the hard-to-reach crevices of this well-oiled machine. Perhaps, in the end, that is what this egg aspires to be: a majestic machine, complete with the illusion of hundreds of cogs that materialize like holographs when light refracts off its surface; practical mechanics and decadent art are finally working in tandem.
With a loud screeching from the inside of the shell, the sound of scratching imitating some equipment coming to an abrupt halt, Diachronic Leviathan Egg's existence has finally come to its end. The mechanism holding it together begins falling apart in bits and pieces. Shatters along the cogs turn into large gaping holes, the egg being torn from the inside. A claw peeking through there, snout poking through here, and the hatchling inside slowly emerging from the confines of its egg until the last support is torn away and the rest falls down in a clatter around the dragonet.
In the midst of the hub and bub of the sands, a faint buzz jangles itself into the recesses of your mind, a low and steady hum of white static which flickers at the edges of your vision. Kssssssshhhhht. What was that? As if in answer, garbled voices try to reach your ears, but it seems that your mental radio is at a disconnect, for nothing makes sense. Is that someone talking to you? But before you can look, those crackles of static explode into a brilliant white light that blocks out the sands and all of its occupants. Nothing else exists; nothing could under this level of candescence, except for a stringy, high-pitched whistle that could effortlessly raise hell. Finally, in a cacophony of noises than can only be described as the sound of breaking glass, it all stops, a heavy, exhausted silence hanging in the air… No, not silence, you realize as your hearing recovers. There are wingbeats echoing in your mind, digging deep and settling in, accompanied by a voice, pragmatic and somber. « Apologies. I had thought that you, of all people, would be able to tolerate my true self. » A beat. « Perhaps with time. It matters little right now, as we have much to do, and very little time in which to do it. There are things at work here that we have only begun to realize, T'gon, and it is high time you join your Cynxirth in the pursuit of them. Don't you agree? »
Dean Winchester: I thought angels were supposed to be guardians. Fluffy wings, halos - you know, Michael Landon. Not dicks.
Castiel: Read the Bible. Angels are warriors of God. I'm a soldier.
Blunt. Flat. Uniform. Cynxirth may be a curiosity when it comes to looks, but the first impression that his personality gives off is nothing remarkable. He is, at base, a soldier: one of many, trained as a unit, blended into one efficient mind that encompasses all… And soldiers are not supposed to express individuality. His motivations never seem his own, but perhaps stem from T'gon's latent desires, or are directed to him by higher powers, such a wingleader or weyrleader.
In this, however, he is efficient and ruthless: if there is a task to be done, there are few that will follow orders as doggedly as Cynxirth. « No, T'gon, it wasn't merely a suggestion as to how to best spend our time. This is what we were meant to do. » A fatalist? You bet. Though it's certainly not of a holy nature, in the beginning, Cynxirth will likely put a lot of faith in destiny and its grand design. There is a place for everything, and everything belongs in its place. That is how the world works. Even when someone you know is struggling through a difficult time, if your dragon has heard wind of orders to be on the other half of the continent entirely, he will exact a relentless, unending pull in that direction. Everyone needs help, but that other weyr? That is where you are supposed to be. Nothing happens without reason.
Dean Winchester: Destiny? Don't gimme that holy crap. Destiny, God's plan, it's all a bunch of lies, you poor stupid sonofabitch! It's just a way for your bosses to keep me and keep you in line! You know what's real? People. Families. *That's* real. And you're gonna watch 'em all burn?
Castiel: What is so worth saving? I see nothing but pain here! I see inside you, I see your guilt, your anger, confusion. In paradise, all is forgiven. You'll be at peace.
Yet it is important to note that even the most devoted souls slip up; destiny, after all, is only so perfect. The longer Cynxirth lives, the more he will come to realize that the world cannot be black and white. There is no true right, nor is there a true wrong, because all such things are the result of opinion. After all, how is one to react when what is considered right by others (especially leaders), he doesn't agree with? What happens when man- and dragonkind don't stand up to his expectations? And worse, what will happen they exceed them? This, T'gon, he will learn mostly through you, though that is not to say he won't cultivate some knowledge and realization from others.
« … Nazeryth spoke with me today. He isn't as burnt out as he seems, is he? He's reckless, and makes a lot of decisions that are morally grey at best and terrible at worst, but he isn't broken. Not yet. »
It can be said that realizations like this will come as a shock to Cynxirth, who outwardly appears to have the great expectations of a cynical old man. Young he may be, but he understands suffering and tribulations, and knows for a fact that most of these things are brought about by members of one's own race. There are so many bad things in this world - what is there to stand up for, and why do people still strive to make it better when success seems so doomed? There are many times when he simply won't understand why you do something when it is irrational and emotional and out of the blue, but in the end, he will handle it with his accustomary blunt, stoic grace. … Well. Usually.
Castiel: I'm not a hammer, as you say. I have questions. I- I have doubts. I don't know what is right and what is wrong anymore, whether you passed or failed here. But, in the coming months, you will have more decisions to make. I don't envy the weight that's on your shoulders, Dean. I truly don't.
Perhaps, then, your Cynxirth is a student of Damocles, in that he doesn't entirely grasp the full gravity of being an emotionally-driven being, and he doesn't want to, either. In the Greek myth, Damocles, a courtier, told King Dionysius that he thought him incredibly fortunate for all of his riches and wealth. Immediately pouncing on the offer to trade places, Damocles enjoyed a wonderful meal, and adored the attentions being lavished upon him… until he looked up and realized that sharp sword hung over his head, held by a single horse-hair. Having it all isn't worth the price.
Does this mean he'll never become curious, never seek to invest in emotions himself? No! He simply doesn't know how to handle them when they manifest yet, and thus chooses to distance himself. A leader's fear, after all, is a complete fear, one of constant peril from those seeking to replace you… And that is a life which Cynxirth takes little pleasure in living. You will have his sympathy if you chose such a path, however, T'gon. His sympathy and most importantly, his support.
Dean Winchester: You have been with a woman before? Right? Or an angel, at least? … You mean to tell me you've never been up there doing a little cloud seeding?
Castiel: I never had occasion, okay?
In terms of experiences with female dragons, your Cynxirth will be woefully awkward for the longest time. This could be simply because he is capable of reading them better than he is males (« /What/? All I said was that I know Peisinth's rider has been way too busy to give her much time lately. »), or because of his social ineptitude and rigorous morality. Either way, it won't be a straight jump into the skies for the two of you, but pity the lady that earns his fiercest attentions - it is doubtful she will leave the encounter unscathed.
Though he is enormous, your bronze has an instinctive, borderline precognitive ability to fly, and a slick, streamlined body to match. The sturdiness of his tail will often prove to be the perfect rudder, letting him dip and tuck and dive in great, sweeping moves that only wings so large as his will allow. He may not completely understand how to reel a female in through sweet words and ardent glances, but those that can match his passion in the skies are few and far between. Perhaps there is something to be said for the fine art of body language.
Should he one day prove successful with a gold, resulting in a clutch, Cynxirth may seem an absent father, choosing to remained poised in the bowl rather than the sands, but hold fast to your faith! He is not negligent, but instead a guardian, curled near the entrance to the hatching grounds, or perched high above on the rim at worst. Here he can best keep watch for and prevent trouble happening before it ever reaches the dam, breaking from his vigil only to feed and visit the eggs themselves. The bronze may appear vague and aloof when surveying his future children, but his undeniable fierceness will arise when candidates and Dragonhealers presume to step on the sands, and none will go without judgement. Like the rest of him, he's not idyllic when on the sands, but underneath that rugged, blunt exterior is someone that cares a little more than he should.
Tenor sotto voce. Those three words are all you will ever need to truly sum up this dragon's voice. It is safe to say that his tonality will always be one and the same, matching his expression inch for unflinching inch. To a stranger, the only true indication of Cynxirth's mood will be for the better, or for the worse: when he regards them with goodwill, spiralling ice-blue symbols will pulse in an undertone with each word, their brightness igniting his level of appreciation… And when he regards them ill, sepulchral wing-like shadows will loom over his words, thickening in harmony with his ire.
Always, these two things will be present - the symbols and the wings - but for his closest friends (and, of course, you), there are subtle undercurrents, gentle noises that detail what his inflection cannot. When in casual conversation, his voice echoes with wingbeats, just a gentle clatter at the edges of the senses. When he is amused, such noises will sharpen into the tinkle of shattering glass, a sound he prefers so much that he'll strive to emulate it in real life, given the opportunity. When inquisitive, the cracking static of white noise characterize him, but Faranth help you if voices take up a garbled whisper in a language you can never quite grasp - such is just the beginning of Cynxirth's irritation.
When truly furious, a blinding white light pierces and punctuates every word he speaks, clearly attempting to dominate his opposition through sheer, blunt force. However, even unassuming humans will suffer at the hands of his mind, should he ever be forced to bespeak them, for to them, his voice is laced with a high-pitched, nigh-deafening whistle. The only thing worse than all of these is when Cynxirth is well and truly sad. Then, all of the hope and emotion fades away, leaving a black, empty canvas in its wake.
T'gon… what can we even say? Your vivacity and personality has had us impressed from the start (pun fully intended), and there was NO way on God's green Earth that we were going to let you get away. Welcome to weyrlinghood, the ranks of (crazy) Istan riders, and hopefully a ton of exciting times that lie in the future. :D
Egg: Our overreaching themes for this cycle were Philias and Phobias. Though either could be selected when it came time to make egg descriptions, in the end, the Diachronic Leviathan was based off chronomentrophilia (the abnormal affection towards clocks). Within the realm of this affection comes the Steampunk movement, where between the excessive worship of clockwork and wings, it seems to indicate that time flies! S'gam was the creator of this egg.
Name: In a mad attempt to pay regards to everything you requested in a dragon name, we finally came up with Cynxirth! In multiple episodes involving Castiel, there are references made to Enochian symbols, including the ones carved into the boys's ribs in Season 5. While the original creators of the Enochian language considered it to be the language /of/ the angels (hence the symbols etched in Cynxirth's mind when he speaks), in more modern magical circles, it is considered quite the opposite - a fact supported in the series, considering that the sigils serve to hide Sam and Dean from any and all of the angels.
That aside, we began browsing an Enochian-English dictionary online, trying to find a nice match between soft and hard sounds. Looking at your firelizard-naming preferences, we deduced that you like to start out with the softer and end with the harder, so that was also kept in mind. Eventually, one word stood out in particular: Cynxir (SEE-nuhk-see-ruh) - to mingle. Not only did it, in our minds, fit the bill of your naming request, but it also held a deeper meaning with both the character of Castiel (who mingles as a rather plain, unassuming human form and also mingles his emotions with theirs) and the dragon you requested (who is about to take the same path, but with his own brand of camouflaged hide). Hopefully we picked a name that you will enjoy!
Theme: As we've already covered, our theme used both Philias and Phobias. While we desperately wanted to use the breaking of glass as your philia, the egg already had one, so we continued along with the phobia that appeared in the egg's original mindtouches: apeirophobia (the fear of infinity). While Cynxirth still possesses his fondness for smashing crystalline objects to smithereens, something I'm sure the weyr at large will love you for, there's a certain sense of mortality to the choices your dragon will make. The more he lives, the more he'll realize that nothing lasts forever, and even if it did? He wouldn't want it to. Instead, living with you across your lifespan will more than suffice.
Inspiration: Physically, Cynxirth is an impressive doppelganger of a velociraptor. While significantly (no, REALLY) larger in size, he has the same stoic-faced cunning and the same overall appearance as these jurassic predators. A light underbelly will make him nearly impossible to see from below, and a dark, rugged back will let him blend in with most terrain when viewed from above. Consider it his own brand of camouflage fatigues. ;) Long front paws will allow him to nab his prey from an impressive distance above the ground, while powerful hind legs will give him incredible launching power. Those, coupled with a whipcord of a tail and massive wings, make Cynxirth a timeless leviathan in and of himself!
Mentally, your dragon was taken as much from Castiel of Supernatural as was possible without shoving your face in his manifold religious aspects. The quotes, I believe, exemplify this more than I could attempt to with words, but in the end, it is you that knows this character inside and out, and you that will have the better judgment and the know-how to play him as he is supposed to be played. It has been a treasure to get to share this series and this character with you, T'gon, but now he is your own. Make of him what you will!
<3 — S'gam
|Hatched||June 06, 2010|