Fiorath

Brilliant Bornite Blue Fiorath in the Sponge-Painted Leaves Egg

Egg Desc:
Near-buried in hue, this smallish egg curves in a gentle mound; drifting
from its crest, a patchy pile of leaves sponged on by a playful hand beckons
the would-be jumper. Faded shades of leaves fallencrackly browns and
rustling reds, soft golds and dry greens startlingly interspersed with
bright teal
overlap in a multi-layered pattern; only a small gap in the
erratic cascade reveals the earthy, granular canvas beneath.

Hatch_msg:
Sponge-Painted Leaves Egg quivers violently, as if tussled by autumn's
harshest winds. Colors mesh and warp — crackle away — as a vibrant
changeable wingspar breaks through. A moment longer it waits — no more —
before erraticism gives way to fall about the feet of the multihued blue within.

Hatchling_desc:
Light shines a reflective — reflexive — spark off of this dragonet's hide,
a study of hues too innumerable to count. First aqua, then cobalt, then
teal, then blue, the shade shimmers across broad chest and slender throat,
finishing off with a smooth-curved head; withers taper to delicate edges and
pointy toes, ridges irregular in brilliant's line. Wide wings vault chancy
bravado above him: darkening to almost black at their shadowed edge, they're
dappled by the same scintillant changes of verdure and violet that dance
within his intent eyes.

Impress_msg:
Fiorath. Known before even thought, that name, as if it were always there;
known before you're even aware something wonderful has occurred. Fiorath.
The sweet tenor of the touch niggles then receeds — and then slams back in
mischievous, undeniable enrapture, swallows you up, and announces for certainty:

« My name is Fiorath! »

****************

Name: Fiorath is taken from the word fioritura, an embellishing note in a
musical score that is not a part of the essential melody or harmony. Aside
from the nice sound, it fits with this dragon's own-self feelings, his
uncommon beauty that's decorated by so many added embellishments — not
blue, but beautiful. As well, the 'fiery' connotations were rather nice, to
echo the spitfire he can be, and the hues that flash from that splendid
peacock hide. I pronounce the name Fee-ORE-uth, with the stress on the
second syllable to give it a bit of a more unusual flavor and a schwa in the
last to make it softer. You're free to pronounce it however you like, of
course :)

Mind voice: Fiorath's voice throbs a sweet tenor, most of the time, although
it has its flashes of discordance — especially when he's teasing or having
a bit of a tantrum — be warned, for his voice gives him away. For you,
however, that voice is almost always sweet: you are the who holds /his/
affection. His colors tend toward the complements of his hue, as well: reds
and orange, overlaid by reflective, glittering gold. No subtlety.

Bornite is also known as peacock pyrite (you can find a picture of it at:
,http://www.irving.org/rocks/store4.html; it's the one in the left-hand
corner), and is a valuable ore of copper. While it's rather brittle, it has
the most /lovely/ hues, all mingled and shiny and reflective — and changing
at every glance. But it's also a sulfide with copper and iron, so it
certainly seems it might have some tensile strength — and we liked the
flamboyant beauty.

Physically, Fiorath is a study in change, long-limbed and slender, but with
a certain broad-chested, wide-winged flamboyance to him that makes him
somewhat hard to ignore. His overall hue is a pure, medium blue, with just
the hint of a peacock shimmer to it. Over that, though, are multitudes: teal
and cobalt and aqua all play across the surface, reflective and nearly
metallic in lustre.

In keeping with those peacock shadings, he's built similar to one as well: a
full, swooping chest that tapers to a long, slender neck and smoothly-angled
head; slender extremities, but a broader body, all overlaid with that same,
unsubtle brilliance. His withers tend to be a bit angular, though they're
not too sharp, and his flanks and sides fill out nicely — and will remain
that way, even after hatchling growth has ended. Likewise, his feet have
that curved, angular — almost bony! — quality to them, but stay with the
same ever-changing blues, and his ridges seem faceted, the sharp, but
uneven, edges reflecting the colors much brighter even than the rest of him.

His wings, though. A peacock's glory is his tail; Fiorath's is his wings.
Those wings are broad, flamboyant, often prone to flaring when he's trying
to intimidate someone — or when he's just trying to show off. And the
/colors/. In addition to the blues that shift over the rest of him, they've
added deep emerald green and elegant, royal purple, with the outer regions
deepening until they've settled to a rich mixture of violet and indigo along
the spars and trailing edges and fingersails. Bornite darkens as it ages,
and he likely will too — but he'll never lose that shimmering, brilliant
color and he'll never darken out of the peacock.

He'll grow up a bit unevenly: tail lengthening there (though it will always
be just a /tad/ short), wings getting /waaaay/ too long — and coupled with
his tendency to sometimes let them droop, they might occasionally drag the
ground. You'll have to break him of /that/ habit. Damages the sails, you
know. That neck will sprout out really long, too, so he'll look a bit
comical — but it won't upset him at all. (Well, it might until you tell him
how good it will be for catching greens!) Then he'll be happy. And he'll
eventually grow into it. Full grown, he'll be sturdy with still some slender
delicacy, but not in the slightest bit fragile.

I'm sorry to say, but he can also remind you of Zipporah, at least as a
hatchling when his wants are just food-attention-oiling-attention-sleep.
Such a bother! But would you want to get rid of him, even then? — Probably
not. He'll be protective of you when she's around, truth be told; he's
protective around you anyway, but especially so around her — at least until
he's a little more confident of the bond and grows up some, and then he'll
do quite well. You're twined together by a bond that's stronger than you
know: he gives you involvement with others, frequent occasion to laugh
outright, and an out-and-out beautiful being in your life who indulges you
as much as you do him. Each of you will learn to share, to fully give, and
find fulfillment in you deeper sides. The daily bother is transient; the
bond is eternal.

For all that flamboyant beauty, he can be a bit of a primadonna. Stubborn,
demanding — of you, himself, and others — and very opinionated, it's not
likely that he'll let /his/ views go unheard. Or yours, by the by. Be
careful what you say to him because he worships you (much like a younger
sibling!) and will use you for his Expert Knowledge. « /My/ Odile says that
your rider's an idiot. And I think you are too. » or, even worse: « Odile
thinks that So-and-So likes such-and-such, but that she's only after him for
his size. » Pause, and even louder: « What does that mean? I think he's
boring. » Often, you might find yourself wanting to hide your head under
the table because he's busily chewing out that dragon over there who took
/his/ spot at the lake (you know. The one /just/ there) or because he lost a
flight — or because he's parroting your views in with his own opinions. He
doesn't deal well with defeat, and he's apt to drag you along in that
impatience at first until you learn to control it.

He's more apt to bugle than croon (although squeakily while young — never
fear: it'll become a loud discordant blast), to crow with glee than howl in
anger — although he does that to good effect too. He tends to make a lot of
little clicking noises, for lack of a better term, when he's entranced as
well — rather like the beginnings of a croon or rumble, right in the back
of his throat. He's vocal. Oh yes. And he /snarls/ rather than rumbles when
he's upset.

Still, though, he's involved and interested, and has a deep-seated innate
merriness that can verge on the absurd. He's /not/ unpleasant. He just has a
bit of bravado that needs overcoming. And did I mention he's not too big and
never will be? Short man syndrome. He'll need you to help pull him out of
that — and let him get into /everything/. Like Rikki-Tikki-Tavi in
Kipling's story, he's interested and exploratory — not in the same way as
wanting to investigate — but rather in the meddling way, rather like the
person who likes to do /everything/. He'd like to be an overachiever, though
he can occasionally get bored and leave things undone. Don't put him in
/charge/ of anything. Let me help! Let me give you advice! Let me try! And
if you won't let him? Well, that tenor can go sweet as syrup, cajoling and
begging to at least get a chance. /Involved/, he is. He lives for the
Moment, and that alone, with his thought into the future rather limited when
compared to delight in the here-and-now. Watch out for that!

Speaking of cajoling, he especially likes to be oiled. His wings are his
favorite spot (though he doesn't itch there — he itches at the base of his
neck, and between those toes that are prone to scaliness), because he loves
the way that oil makes them shine. Vanity, recall. Just like a peacock, he
likes to flare 'em out to intimidate, to show off his assets — don't be
surprised if he preens right back at proddy greens! And speaking of that:
he's randy. Very randy. Embarrassingly randy. Watch out, because he's apt
to try to chase anything that glows, simply because it's there. Now! Go!
Run! Fly! Swooooon. (Well, at least once he's old enough for such things he
will. Until then he's just a show-off, to all his clutchmates alike.)

Fiorath loves the water, and loves oil, but he hates to get dirty; leaves
provide a lot of fun for him as well — especially if there's a lot on a
hill and he can sliiiiide. He wants to be wherever he can be admired,
though, so don't be surprised if he seeks out the spots with the most
sunshine, the most light so he can have the sun reflect off of that glorious
hide. It shimmers — especially when freshly oiled. He's also somewhat fond
of children, but lacks a certain modicum of care. He wants to play, he gets
excited, and out pop those wings — and off run the kids crying because the
Big Mean Dragon was going to jump on them. This will /really/ hurt his
feelings at first, too — you'll have to try to advise him to be a little
less enthusiastic. Maybe he'll remember. If you're lucky.

That unselfconsciousness is endearing, enough to make him yours, to make him
loved, to bring you out and to have you pull him back to reality. His needs
are simple and uncomplicated: he want you, loves you, needs you — and wants
what he wants, which is whatever is appealing at the time. For all his
multitudes of desires, he's not usually hard to read. At least, he's not
hard to read for you. You know what he wants, that bond so-tight, so-dear,
so-limitless in its wonder. In short: perfect in your eyes, once you're used
to him — though residual annoyances can — and do! — come out. :)

He is, in the end, a trial, a pain, an annoyance — but you love 'em anyway
because, after all, he's yours. And you are his. You'll grow into each
other, learn to appreciate, despite each other's flaws — just like
siblings, or a husband and wife, life partners you are and will remain:
growing and expanding and developing, because even new-Impressed you know
he's part and parcel of you, irrevocably. It just won't be the easiest at
first, but like all things you have to work at it, although in this case it
is the practicalities — the love is always there, undeniable. It /will/ end
up wonderful, as time will tell. And that pure joy he exhibits in almost
everything is a thing to cherish. As you will.

  • *******************

Credits:
Egg desc: Th'ea
Dragonet and Inspiration: Ariana and Arien

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