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This darling is all strong lines and sharp curves, his tone so pale a sepia he could almost be mistaken for a sport dragon. Almost. But the pale brownish-bronze with tell-tale glimmers hiding in the shadowed places of his hide making his true color deeply hidden but visible. The only bit of his hide that has any sense of true, deep color is a single strip of shimmering copper that runs from between his head knobs down his neck, over his back, and out to his tailfork extending around a handspan on either side of his obsidian black neck and back ridges. In stark contrast, the claws on the end of each of his delicately formed fingers and toes are pure white, just a hint of ivory on each viciously sharp tip. Strong muscles ripple just beneath the pale surface of his hide, almost giving the sense of something more hiding there just beneath his hide. Waiting. Every bit of him is perfectly formed. He’s not the slightest bit wherry-necked or snub-tailed. Even his snout conforms to the perfect length and width ratio, coming out and curving just so, expertly hiding his wicked teeth, slightly longer than average. An acceptable imperfection. His headknobs sweep back smoothly along the curve of his neck. The faintest hints of curls of white fail to stand out against the paleness of his hide all along his neck. And through it all, his eyes always hold the sharpest of color, a little smaller than average from where they stare out beneath his smooth, gracile eyeridges.
Egg Name and Description
The Monster Within Egg
Not quite white, this light egg stands out starkly against the sable sands of Ista’s hatching grounds. Soft eggshell is mottled over with a light lattice of white. A nearly perfect series of hexagons spread edge to edge across the shell. The perfection of this design just stands out more due to the imperfection of the egg itself. One side is squashed in so much it’s actually concave, the opposite side has an oddly-shaped jut that sticks out just enough to keep it in some semblance of upright. All in all it gives the egg a sense of being hunched over on itself. Translucent clouds of silver traipse over the squashed surface of the egg, thicker in some areas and thinner in others, but ever-presently there. A sea-green mist rises from the bottom up, like the light of Belior reflected off sea, so thin it’s easy to miss at first glance. And then, deep down in the heart of the egg hides a small splotch of purplish-black. It’s barely larger than a fly nestled down beneath all the veils and lattices so that from some angles it can’t be seen at all. And way down there it pulses gently. The purple halo expands and retreats. In. Out. In. Out. Like something breathing there within the shell.
Hatching Message
Impression Message
Devil Disguised as Adonis Bronze Hatchling is most displeased with his predicament. Each wing is carefully and tastefully flicked to loose the bits of shell and goop that linger there back to the sands where they belong. He arches his pale neck, turning his head to examine the candidates from a distance. Eenie. Meenie. Meynie. MO! He takes off towards them at a run. It’s a bird! It’s a plane! It’s- not an impression? He pulls short at the last minute, spraying sand with the suddenness of his halt. He cocks his head to one side, then the other. Which one, which one. He leans down and sniiiiiffs a girl with black hair and mousey brown eyes, but she’s given only the slightest of snorts. Not derisive, just not right. She’s for other things. He lingers over the part of the line he’s near, sniffing here and there before a small draconic smile starts to spread, sly and sneaky as he moves up to a dark-haired beastcrafter who’s stood before and noses him in the shoulder. There’s a moment where both are still and their eyes meet, then Cymor reaches out to pat the bronze on the snout before offering a manly, one-armed embrace, “Yes, Drestoserath, I’ll be your Y’mor.”
Personality
Mindvoice
The Demon's Whisper traipses into your mind on silent feet. Overall, it’s a sense of absolutely nothing, a stillness so still as to feel unreal. Wrong, somehow. Nothing moves at all. Then there’s just the softest of sounds, something like a sigh. The darkness finally fades into a soft monochrome of landscape of perfect stillness. From the birds in the trees to the children running along the path, everything is still and frozen. A bit of color appears here and there, first the grass, then spreading across the deathly still tableau. Isn’t it beautiful? So vibrant. So colorful. Yet also so dead. Delectable, the soft voice you hadn’t noticed whispers. Tasty. Don’t you agree? The scene moves forward and things change, the color again replaced by the deep purple-black of night, forgoing imagery for sensations, testing your responses. The soft brush of fingers against your cheek. A light tug on your hair. Oops, did you trip? You’ve got to be stronger, got to be faster. There’s almost a smug pride to the feel of it now as the black fades to little more than a sense of coolness, like someone walked over your grave. I can help you, it whispers, I can make you stronger. Faster. Better. All you have to do is ask.
The Demon's Whisper is different now, noticeably so, in fact. The first obvious sign of its return is warmth. It’s a soft, subtle warmth that tingles up from your fingers and spreads across your whole body. Warmth. Happiness. Life. This new-old presence is vibrantly alive and it wants you to know it. Bright oranges and purples flash and whirl about you as it seems to almost prance about your mind. Poking here, poking there, and firmly confident in its right to be there. A sharp scent assaults your nostrils. Spicy, but not cloying, the perfect cologne for a proud, confident being. And proud it certainly is, at times it seems almost unwilling to touch you while it considers your worth. The warmth is slowly joined with the sense of something smooth, like porcelain, as white floods your vision, filling every nook and cranny of you, finally starting to examine who you are. It focuses on your happiest moments. Laughter. Pleasure. A party here, a pleasant conversation there. Childhood laughter. As it retreats, it leaves you with the best of these, your happiest, brightest, most perfect moment lingers in your mind like an echo, then slowly fades.
The Demon's Whisper returns with an overwhelming sense of warmth and happiness. Not that it’s happy, but that in its presence you suddenly are. That feeling spreads over your mind like a coming tide. Smooth. Cloying. And absolute. You want it there and it wants to be there. It’s almost numbing, that feeling, but at the same time all-encompassing and heightening every feeling and sense. As if the whole world around you is singing all at once.Wonderful. Wonderful. Yesssss it whispers isssn’t that wonderful? You know you like it. The heady warmth spreads from your mind until it encompasses all of you before it starts drawing forth those most enjoyable emotions again. It sets pleasurable memory atop pleasurable memory until it seems you just might burst. The sense of happiness and of joy is nearly overwhelming. Then, without a whisper, it’s suddenly gone. Alone. All alone. And then the voice comes again, soft, cloying, and tempting, this… yes, this I can give you… if only you accept me. Give in to your feelings. Then it, too, is gone.
The Demon's Whisper examines you again for only a moment. Pushy, aren't you? If you want this, you'll have to earn it. Now go. It needs to consider your worth without interruption.
Inspiration
Thomas Raith from the Dresden Files, a high fantasy, noir, horror series (yes, I know it sounds like an oxy-moron XD)
Credits
| Name | Drestoserath |
| Dam | Gold Nziekilth |
| Sire | Bronze Ittisieth |
| Created By | Ryni |
| Impressee | Y'mor |
| Hatched | 23 September 2011 |
| Ista Weyr | |
| PernWorld MUSH | |
