Egg Name and Description
All Mad Here Egg
Up, down, up, right, left, north-north-west, around, through… If one even dared to follow the path of the twisting, swirling, writhing colors over this egg's shell they are sure to quickly fall into madness. Or perhaps that is the egg's intention. Every color imaginable blends into a smoky haze in the background, under the illusions and labyrinthine lines. Vivid splatters coalesce into shifting shapes, enticing patterns to lure interested eyes at first glance; an ivory rabbit-like smudge scuttles along the bottom, in and out of the black sands and never spotted in the same place twice. A hawk, a handsaw, a headless wher make up just some interpretations of the inkblot images found scattered between deep bloody lines, mazes that circle the shell all the way up to its apex, daring anyone close enough to come and solve its impossible puzzles.
Joker's Whimsy edges around the corners of your mind, a soft shuffling in the darkness that you are certain is there but cannot pinpoint. The touch is, at first, tentative in its approach, studying this strange new presence from all angles. Without warning it bounds forward, exploding out in a wild whirlwind of pleasant colors: bright blues and comforting yellows, pleased to find company and tossing everything it has at you in a sensory overload. Strange chemicals waft your way, a shattering of glass, and a bubbling of giggles as it parties its way through and then retreats before you can make sense of the mess it has left in its wake, only the echoes of laughter still ringing faintly in the background.
Joker's Whimsy maniacally cackles its way back, slower and more controlled. It stalks the shadowy spots of your mind, waiting for a moment of weakness— a predator on the prowl for interesting thoughts. Tendrils stretch out for a poke, a faint touch. Here, there, gone again, tickling so faintly that it could have been imagined. And then stronger, tugging out a recent memory or two: candidate faces, chores, what you recently ate— It's like an injection of caffeine has gone through the presence, sparks shooting out as it dives in and flips through anything and everything, happy to roll in the mad tangles it has made of the memories.
Joker's Whimsy exhausts itself from all the new information it has absorbed, a sudden peacefulness looming like a warm wool blanket. Just a short rest, for there is still more research to do, destroy, and redo. A miasma of chemicals starts seeping in from cracks, mixing with the scent of old leather-bound books, as the presence lazily leaks little smoky wisps of cool colors, gentle greens and bubbling blues. The occasional tear of paper echoes in the uneasy silence, followed by a deranged snickering, and finally cut into a silence so thick it seems almost unnatural. Party is over, back to the padded cell.
Around and around and around… Hatching meant that they were supposed to be moving, right? All Mad Here Egg is doing more than moving, it's having a seizure on the sands. Don't look too close or you will easily get dizzy by its crazy jig, twisting this way and that way until it finally topples away from the hole it was half-buried in, rolling to a stop a little ways away. Silent finally.
All Mad Here Egg is not out of the game just yet! It is just bidding its time, occasionally rocking back and forth as if testing the waters. A nudge there, a roll that way, and then a shiver. This cell is a lot tougher to break than it first thought and so there needs to be some changes to its calculations before it can continue. SCREEEEECH. The sound of a claw scratching the inside of the egg somehow reverberates out of this shell loudly. And then a soft tapping begins with barely visible trembles until— CRAAAACK. Weakness found, now it's only a matter of time.
All Mad Here Egg is already past the point of no return in hatching. All it needs now are a few more good punches from the inside to break apart the rest of the shell. With one crack made, more soon follows as the tap-tapping from within grows increasingly more frantic. Eventually the cracks lead to holes, holes lead to tears wide enough for claws to attack, and finally one last push has the egg exploding outwards in a colorful shower to reveal the hatchling inside.
Hatchling Name and Description
Wherever I May Roam Brown Hatchling
Helter-skelter, with an extra dash of hell, this lean brown's appearance clashes and clangs with the subtlety of a bell toll. On one side, he is a veritable Adonis, hide rolling forth with glints and sparks of deep mahogany. Unabashed spars of wulfenite use his ribs and joints as their matrix, the sheer vivacity of the coloration giving him the illusion of a shine, impossible though it may be. Beauty, however, comes at a price. Rust and amorphous stones begin to eat away at the brown's glory, seeming to pit and pock his hide where hard, rugged 'ridges connect to his spine. Stygian tendrils seep like magma into his very pores, a dark crystallization that is both inevitable and undesirable. Contrasting with the fulvous wulfenite, carnelian-toned pitticite mars only one sinewy shoulder, creeping up the leading edge of his colossal wings like some sort of brand. Beneath this maelstrom of color, it's nearly impossible to tell that this dragon will always possess the angular near-emaciation of a born fighter, but narrow-lidded eyes and an ultimately stark jawline will forever lend him an intensity that cannot be denied.
Public Impression Message
Private Impression Message
« Lotrien. » The word growls across your mind, the rev of heavy machinery thrumming in the background, as though a heating generator has suddenly been deposited on Ista's sands. « We've got a long road ahead of us, and many leagues to go before we can even think of stopping. » The grating of the engine fades onto the backburner, just a distant purr while more familiar sensations take over: the tangy scent of a leather coat hanging on your shoulders, a whiff of something fresh and crisp, perhaps pine, that hails from the north. There is heat here that transcends the stagnant mugginess of the sands, for the longer it remains with you and the deeper it settles into your bones, the more you realize it's the warmth of another heart, beating strong with a passion that far outweighs its physical entrapping. « I say we head out first chance we can - adventure isn't gonna wait for us, and shells if we're going to let it go. C'mon, your Nazeryth is waiting, and you- » Gold glints in the corner of your vision, swinging like a pendulum in the light, the humor of his words underscored by the metallic twang of a guitar. « You need a cooler name. …O'rien. Yeah. Nazeryth and O'rien. That's perfect. Now, let's go scare up some trouble. »
Personality / RP Tips
Sam Winchester: I have a confession to make.
Dean Winchester: What's that?
Sam Winchester: I was the one who called them and told 'em I was a producer.
Dean Winchester: Well, I'm the one who put the dead fish in their backseat.
Weyrlinghood won't be easy for you, O'rien, not with a character like this hanging around. Though he can be as steady as a star stone and as true as the Dawn Sisters, it will fast become obvious that your Nazeryth is no common brown: he's loud, proud, and opinionated, so you might as well accept those three facts right away. He'll never possess your particular pension towards off-the-wall hyperactivity, but his unique brand of humor is wicked and exacting, sparing none.
Faranth help you if this dragon finds himself with spare time. If you think O'rien and T'gon can get themselves into bouts of mischief, you've never seen the mastermind at work. Putting a dead fish in another candidate's bed? Wait a few years and he'll get you enough dead fish to fill their whole /weyr/. Sneaking booze? Pff, please. Once he tells the vintner that he's the transport dragon that's supposed to be picking the supplies up, you'll be rolling in it! Trying to pull the wool over someone's eyes? He'll get you a whole /flock/ of caprines! … Er, okay, so maybe he has this bad habit of taking some things too literally with his sarcasm, but he means well. What's life without a bit of levity? It's pretty damn boring, if you'd ask him.
Dean Winchester: Damn cops.
Sam Winchester: They were just doing their job.
Dean Winchester: No, they were doing our job, only they don't know it, so they suck at it.
Nazeryth is no more kind when his sense of duty is called into play; if anything else, it just makes him increasingly more scathing. If someone is doing a job that is piss-poor in his, ah, humble opinion, you'll be the first to know about it. « O'rien. Did you see Pokth's pitiful excuse for a flame? It's a shardin' good thing Thread is gone - he wouldn't be able to protect a flower, nevertheless a weyr! » In this aspect, your brown and Cenlia's dragon will get along famously, tearing into unsuspecting victims at a moment's notice. Naz can't help it, though - he's a perfectionist at heart, and expects the same out of others. It's his manner of pushing them to work harder. Yeah. That's it. Except for, you know, when he's just being mean: « Dude. Cynxirth. You were wasted by the teenage mutant ninja dragon? »
Those are big words coming from a dragon as imperfect as he is, though, all things considered. The rampant, ugly colors of the right side of his hide mostly serve to camouflage the large patches of itchy, breaking hide that can never seem to be oiled enough as he grows. While as a weyrling this will cause as little trouble as possible considering he can't fly anyways, O'rien will be lucky if he ever gets the smell of the oils out of his skin. As he ages and his hide stops stretching, the span and severity of these rashes will fade, but the extent of which can only be determined over time.
That would be all moonbeams and unicorns-shooting-rainbows-out-of-their-asses if that was the extent of Nazeryth's issues, but that'd be making things easy on you. Though many Dragonhealer checkups and much prodding will proclaim it a bit of a medical mystery, your dragon will undergo several hours at a time's worth of random physical deafness. While damage hasn't occurred to the headknobs, for he will be able to speak telepathically and send and receive images during those hours, it's an event that will surely throw the both of you for a loop the first time it happens.
Sam Winchester: Are you okay?
Dean Winchester: No. Not really.
Sam Winchester: What? What's wrong?
Dean Winchester: Well, I kind of have a problem with, uh…
Sam Winchester: Flying?
Dean Winchester: Its never really been an issue till now!
Sam Winchester: You're joking, right?
Dean Winchester: Do I look like I'm joking? Why do you think I drive everywhere, Sam?
Perhaps these physical problems are a basis for Nazeryth's inherent fear of flying. Who knows when he's suddenly going to go deaf this month, or when the cracked lesions on his hide are going to go from minor nuisances to a serious medical issue? There are way too many factors here, and none of them he can control, but in this situation he rather lacks his usual bravado. Instead of manning up, Naz will try to find every excuse in the book not to fly at all. There are good jobs on the ground. His legs work just fine, thanks. His wings are feeling rather sore that day. He had a big lunch. Why not go for a swim instead? Lorena is crazy, those pinions of his can't possibly carry this level of awesome up to the sky. No, no, no… But in the end, he will fly, it will just be a challenge to overcome each and every time.
His fallacies aside, Nazeryth is one of those dragons that grows on you with time, and likewise, his affections for you grow. While a prankster, have-fun, go-getter in his youth, the more this brown sees and learns of the world, the more he'll come to realize exactly what family means to him. Outside of O'rien, and possibly T'gon and Cynxirth if the latter gets over his personal space issues, you will begin to notice that Nazeryth keeps his list of friends very short, and those he claims as brethren even shorter. Those within his circle, he will trust implicitly, to the point of risking life, limb, and sanity for their well-being - the great protector, that's him.
Sam Winchester: You know, uhm, what you said about mom? You never told me that before.
Dean Winchester: It's no big deal. …God, we're not gonna have to hug or anything, are we?
Don't expect your dragon to just mush up and want to talk about his feelings, though. No, that touchy-feely self-help crap is for the birds. He'll be forthcoming with just about anything you could ever want to know, but asking him to invest copious amounts of unnecessary emotion into it is beyond his comprehension. It's the little things he does, like shielding you from the rain or snow, or having your back in wing drills, that proves his love.
… But don't you think for a second that in his old(er) age he becomes simple and boring, or so help you, he'll string you up by your innards. He might cut out the brunt of his childish pranks, or replace them with versions that seem more manly and fitting for an adult, but that doesn't mean that wickedly mischievous mind of his has been laid to rest. He's still the most hands-on intelligent dragon this side of the shell mostly because he knows a little about a lot of things; just enough to make him dangerous.
Sam Winchester: Dude, I'm not enabling your sick habit. You're like one of those lab rats that pushes the pleasure button instead of the food button until it dies.
Dean Winchester: What are you talking about, I eat.
And the only thing more dangerous than an intelligent Nazeryth is a hunting Nazeryth. Whether he's stalking herdbeasts or females, this dragon is the epitome of the hunter. He might be reckless with his approach, going in on a hunt for felines without backup or chatting up a proddy Idesaeslitendeth without a care in the world, but no matter how many scratches and scars he encounters, he'll always try to come out the victor in the end.
Unfortunately for you, Nazeryth likes his meals… messy. The messier the better, really. The end result of a feeding will look like something out of a horror story, and you don't /want/ to know what he does when it comes time to blood. Needless to say, queasy stomachs beware. Just be sure to watch his diet, especially when he's a weyrling, or you're going to have more experience with dragon irrigation than you ever dreamed of.
As for flights, well… Naz likes his womens. He likes his womens a lot. Even though the thought of being airborne scares the living
For now, Nazeryth's gravelly voice will run the middle ground between tenor and baritone, but as he ages, he'll slowly encroach on bass. There's always a sense of incredulity in his tone, as though surprised someone's making him speak in the first place, and underneath that cuts the sharp blade of sarcasm. Always with the sarcasm, but that's part of his charm. There is a steady thrum of a motor in his mind, the intensity of which varying with his level of excitement, ranging from a dulcet purr to a fierce roar that would chase away the bravest soul. This, accompanied by the tangy scent of leather, will tinge his mind no matter what dragon he's bespeaking.
You, however, will have to be the person to puzzle apart the rest of Nazeryth's emotional nuances. Some things, like the harsh rake of guitar chords when he's humored or calm, will quickly become apparent. Others, like the soft rustle and smell of old book pages when he's depressed, will be harder to discover until you come to know him completely. When he is on the hunt or trying to find someone, a flicker of sunlight off a golden pendant will appear in the corners of his mind, swinging in rhythm with his heartbeat.
Yet manifestations of Nazeryth's ferocity will be the /most/ curious of all. When he is feeling overly protective, a five-sided star will ignite beneath his words, seeming to trap your mind within the pentagram and keep it shrouded away from everyone. When someone's managed to irritate him, the smell of pine boughs will combine with leather to create an almost unbearable pungence. And when he is viciously angry? Then the fires of hell itself are stoked, his normal heat and comfort turning into an inferno, sharp scents giving way to an overwhelming wash of sulphur.
O'rien! It's been a joy to have you here at Ista for the past couple months, and we're pretty sure we've never been happier to find a good reason to keep you longer. :D You're in for some trying times with Nazeryth, but we hope that in the end, you will find them to be rewarding~.
Egg: If you hadn't guessed yet, this theme is all about Phobias and Philias, fears and likes. This egg's philia was dementophilia (the abnormal affection towards insanity). Obviously, its name taken right from Alice and Wonderland's Chesire Cat, All Mad Here Egg is based on insanity. Its color is… well, everything. There really was no inspiration that was used as far as the picture, though the description itself has a few hints: the white rabbit from Alice in Wonderland, a labyrinth, and a few words here and there from Hamlet. The touchings are taken from the idea of a mad scientist, studying in his lab and going absolutely crazy the next minute. This egg was created by Ysa.
Name: Well, O'rien, your Nazeryth's name may be a tad on the long side, but I promise you we have a very good reason! While watching the series, S'gam paid careful attention to Season 1, Episode 4 involving Dean's fear of flying, knowing that was something we might want to explore as his phobia. The location of the second plane crash brought on by the phantom traveler was in the podunk town of Nazareth. After exploring every other dragon name we could possibly think of, the sudden epiphany that came along with that name was rather exciting! It not only had the feel of a name I could see a Dean-dragon accepting for himself, if he had to, but it also involved the some of the letters from KAZ, the first three letters on the license plate of Dean's car. Yet… it was lacking a bit of the pizzaz and deeper meaning we were looking for, so instead of using -areth, we kept the Naz and encorporated a name we found while perusing protectors, guardians, and hunters: Kyndeyrn, meaning "battle lord." When we combined the two, the name Nazeryth was born, and in the end, we were satisfied that. We hope you will be, too! Ysa and S'gam collaborated in creating your dragon's name.
Theme: Again, the themes for this clutch were philias and phobias. Since we already had a philia from Ysa's egg (and, coincidentally, there is no philia that defines 'recklessly getting into copious amounts of trouble'), we decided to go with a fear that Dean has himself: the fear of flying. This is incredibly ironic, considering he's a freaking dragon, but we decided that it was made plausible due to the medical conditions you asked to appear with your dragon. We wouldn't want to fly if we ran the risk of spontaneous deafness, either!
Inspiration: Physically, your Nazeryth is divided straight down the middle. On one side, he is heavenly, all lean handsomness, decorated with sparks of wulfenite, as you requested stones to be part of your desc. However, his other side is reminiscient of the clips of hell we see Dean in through the beginning of Season 4, Episode 1. The brand of pitticite is taken from the exact same episode, representing the handprint Castiel left on him after raising him from perdition.
Mentally, however, your dragon is based directly off of Dean Winchester. Dean is far more complicated a character than could ever be captured in simple words and sentences, even though we tried. You know him far better than we could ever hope to, so strike out! Wreak havoc! Be adventurous! And most of all, have FUN.
<3 — S'gam
|Name||Wherever I May Roam Brown Nazeryth|
|Hatch Date||06 June 2010|