Egg Name and Description
Contractual Obligations Egg
This egg is clad in the pure, pale perfection of pristine parchment. Or, rather, it would be save for the methodical squiggles of black that glide so effortlessly across the surface. The loops and whorls suggest an arcane script by a measured hand - and they fully encircle the surface of it. There is but one spot where none of that strange writing reaches - a single place at the bottom, half-buried in sand. What promises does the egg offer - and who would dare to sign to find out?
The binding agreement expires with a sigh and shudder. Cracks spread up from the base of the Contractual Obligations Egg, rendering the writing utterly illegible. The result is a heap of shards - and a sinuous dragonet that gradually uncoils. Something Diabolical Bronze Hatchling settles back on his haunches and waits for revelation to come.
Hatchling Name and Description
Something Diabolical Bronze
Serpentine temptation twists itself into the shape of a bronze dragon, one that skirts the line between whipcord-lean and dangerously skeletal. There's something sinister to his visage, accentuated only by the perfection of its construction. Luminous bronze claims that face, highlighting the ominous curve of his eyeridges and the forboding set of his headknobs. Such an immaculate hue cannot hold and, as that pure, bronze hue pours down the length of his neck, it begins to change. White-hot at his 'ridges, it rapidly cools to a deeper, hepatizon hue as it tumbles over his chest. That darkness descends swiftly and claims all of his limbs, near-black and ending in refined ebony at his claws. His wings are char-dark spars that form a fine framework for 'sails of smoked bronze, kissed with tempting gold at the edges. The bright bronze of his body and back turns smoky over his haunches, with cracks of molten gold and brass and copper spreading like spinnerwebs and widening rapidly over the span of his lengthy tail. There, the smoke and sparks recede to reveal that nothing is sacred - for the tips of his tail are coppery and dark, ominous in their hue.
Public Impression Message
No. NO. -NO-. None of those will do. The Something Diabolical Bronze wheels about, whiplike, and hisses at the clusters of candidates that have failed him. None of them will do, oh no; not a one of them. But him. That one. Yes, he seems just like the type to sign his life away for power - at a cost. The bronze stalks up to Beranthaal and rears up to sink his claws into the young man's chest. Eye-to-eye, the bond is made - and the Healers are quickly summoned.
Private Impression Message
The edges of your vision grow hazy and black; you blink a few times to clear it, to no avail. The darkness encroaches and, with it, a sulfurous smell that mingles with incense smoke to flood your nose and throat. It's hot. Too hot. Hotter than the sands - hotter still than Rukbat itself. You feel yourself burning up. Blistering. -Searing-. A snort comes and whisks the ashy remnants of yourself away. « Sign. » His is a voice of blood and ink; of paper and wax. His is a voice of binding agreements. His is a voice of -promises-. You want to protest, to say you have no way to sign - but you do. You can. He seizes your mind, your heart, your everything - and pulls you right back into being once more. « You may call me Mephixath. » But there are many names lurking there, so many names whispering underneath. «'Til death do us part, B'haal. … and that death may be soon, if you do not feed me. » You are wrenched back into the moment by the burning sensation of your flesh being torn. Bronze Mephixath has done more than claim your mind and heart and soul - your flesh, too, is his. His claws remain in your chest until the Healers come to take you away and patch you up.
Personality / RP Tips
"Making a deal with the Devil"
You will realize quickly that you have signed your life away for something far greater than you could have realized.
As a weyrling, he will be pure perfection - save for his demanding work ethic. Not for himself, mind you; he is one of those who manages to do everything with such effortlessness that it's sickening. He will manage to simultaneously infuriate every weyrling with his seeming perfection - and win them to his cause with his devilish charms.
You, on the other hand - you will struggle. You will suffer. When he says something will be done, you will be the one to do it. Not him, of course; never him. You, unfortunately, have signed up for a life of indentured servitude to a dragon whose will is tremendous - and troubling.
If a weyrling is on the edge of doing something against the rules, he'll play the Devil's Advocate - only to cajole them into doing the very thing they know better than to do. His response if called out will typically be along the line of, « I merely agreed that it would be an interesting experiment. It was his choice to -do- the deed. »
To him, it's all about choice. It's always about choice. And nevermind that -he- chose -you- - you chose to Stand in the first place. Choices fascinate him and he will constantly test the choices of others - questioning them, pulling them apart, analyzing them - while determining that his are always correct.
And then will come his love for words and how to make them bend to do his will. The weight of words will be a wonderful thing and he'll wield them as masterfully as any lawyer. When it comes to weaseling out of a situation or burying someone else, he will have all the right words for the job.
You will survive weyrlinghood mostly intact; perhaps with a few more emotional scars to match the physical ones, but managing him will get easier.
"Better the Devil you know"
He will be fond of contracts. Agreements. Receipts. Whatever you want to call it, if it's paper, he will covet it and cherish it and demand you keep it. Once he discovers the binding power of paper and ink, he will insist you use it without fail for even the most minor of agreements.
See, he is a dragon who keeps his promises - and written contracts are the best way for him to remember them.
Of course, keeping his promises usually means -you- will be doing it on his behalf and Faranth forbid you fail in your appointed duties. You are his human avatar, his mortal pawn - and he will remind you of this as a daily point of fact. Do not be surprised when he forms a vast network of dragons and outliers to pull upon; do not be shocked when he forges a terrible web of promises and favors all to his benefit.
He is a wicked negotiator and a downright dangerous dealer in all things dubious. He doesn't exactly lie - but he will omit details if they aren't particularly beneficial to the work he's doing. Strings will be pulled when he feels it's time for you to step up into a new position, whether or not you're ready. Whatever must be done, he will do -
and he does it all for you.
You agreed, after all. You signed up. He'll make you powerful.
You just have to do the legwork.
"The Devil is in the details"
But not in flights. He knows very well the importance of flights - gold flights, that is - and he will not hesitate to drag you across Pern at a moment's notice when a gold starts to glow. He may even insist on staying at the Weyr in question for a sevenday or two, just to make sure he doesn't miss it.
If he manages to sire a clutch, he will be doting - for a purpose. He will insist on you keeping records about every detail of every egg. He will demand that you write up individual contracts for each soon-to-be weyrling. He will require the Candidates each sign a different contract. The contract wording will change, of course, but the theme remains the same. Candidates will be treated warily until that agreement is signed; only then will he be at ease, comfortable with their presence unless they risk violating his rules.
Violators will suffer, as he will demand they are removed or extra chores are levied. More contracts will be signed and you will become his grim messenger, relaying demands and revisions to the contract without fail until he forgets.
Greens are of little interest to him, unless flying one will get him something else; if you like the rider, he'll certainly pursue or if the rider has a resource you need, of course he'll chase. For the most part, however, they are generally beneath him - and flying them, to his mind, is doing -them- a favor.
His voice is a strange thing, utterly malleable - but always with key elements at the core. Whispering voices in the background; accents of blood and ink and parchment and wax. Beneath it all is the mechanical core, a slow and steady grinding or rumble of some Ancient machine. The scent of blood and ash and incense and sulfur is predominant; the taste of metal, oil, blood and wax tend to manifest as well.
In casual conversation, his voice is rich, masculine and barely above a whisper - demanding to be heard without forcing itself upon a listener. It's a voice that cajoles a listener to lean in and hold their breath, lest they miss a word. Accents of the appropriate element are used appropriately, of course; he is a remarkably measured creature in that regard.
Sadness doesn't exist in his world, but disappointment is redolent with discordant gears and metal and sparks. And in flights alone does his voice grow smoky and rich, layered with whispers and incense. He will positively purr - and the promise is always, always sweet.
Rage takes many forms - but the most common will be a lowering of his voice and a raising of the wretched whispers and grinding gears. His fury will be legendary - and thank Faranth that only you will endure the worst of it.
Oh, he's a fine mix of things - but, mostly, the inventive demon known as Xaphan and the nefarious (and infamous) Mephistopheles. Additional inspiration is drawn from the song "Something Diabolical" by The Bloodhound Gang. He is a devil of a dragon - and there is no denying it.
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