Stylized Sarcophagus Bronze Hatchling in the Burning Incense Egg

Hatchling desc:

Battered corrosion shrouds this dragonet's brazen hide, flaking even the beaten gold of neckridges and wingarches with ancient, burnt-black shadows; the underlying coppery bronze sleeps quietly beneath that dusky coverlet, the true hue dreaming within sculpted jawline and prominent headknobs, the heavy glint of talons. Those awkwardly large paws unsettle his long-nosed composure as much as do blunt wings' roughened damask, leaving him with but tenuous, dilapidated decadence and rather wistful rumblings.

Egg Description:

Myrrh taints the silver that winds sweet ancient spice into the pitted cinnabar depths of incense, smoke coiling with sibilant susurrant ease. Shadowed, like the depths of a cave or some half-forgotten weyr, light and darkness puppet dreams and wishes on sisal-thin strings of citrus to fill the senses with half-formed desire. Behind it all, burnt metals clatter the antique scent of battle, all tortured life and forgotten, fallen heroes.

Hatch Message: decomposes in lightninged cracks. Coils of grainy smoke-shards flake away, clear — then blow suddenly apart beneath bannered wings, unshrouding in fired accord.

Impress Message: Thick smoke shrouds your mind's eye in oily black, permeating the maze of self with unstoppable waves of heat that fire alien mind into the very core of your being; furnace burns eternal, searing until nothing is left but that which is the both — /you/ — forever used complete. In a shower of sparks, the haze clears to the metallic new-forged clatter of total awareness


name: Jed/Ari = inspiration.

egg Ki

drag Ki/Aritweak.

insp Ki.

JEROTH From J & A:

"Jeroth" is reverently lifted from _The Disorderly Knights_, the third book in Dorothy Dunnett's (highly!) recommended Lymond series. A fictitious sixteenth-century Scotsman in the Noble Order of Knights Hospitallers of St. John of Jerusalem, Rhodes, and Malta (mouthful, isn't it?), Jerott Blyth devotes himself ferociously to the Order despite its internal politicking. He is loyal, competent, intuitive (almost too much so: he tends to leap to conclusions), physically powerful, and darkly, classically handsome. He gets into trouble, however, because he wants to be the Knight in Shining Armor of myth … and can't. He's drawn to those who /can/ get away with it even as he resents that ability whose underpinning of personal torment he does not quite fathom….

Anyway. Enough of plugging the books. :) Jerott's central flaw is his greatest strength — faith — but you and Jeroth need not worry about that, for you /are/ Jeroth's faith, and you cannot let him down. -— Much like the character…

Jeroth is a rather dark dragon, in mood and colouring. Not morose nor mean nor evil, just not terribly impulsive, though he is not above leaping into things when the mood suits him. He lacks the self-confidence of most bronzes though his faith in *you* is unshakeable. For himself, he is far from arrogant, though he never simpers or whines. It is more of a quiet questioning of self and his abilities to do things right, for he so very very much wants to do things right and make you proud of him. In contrast to Jerott, Jeroth is not a classically handsome beast, he more styalized than that, though he share that same whistful admiration for those that /do/ pull off the courtier with flare, because he can't. He's far too sensible and prosaic for that. . Being rather long and sculpted, his fledgling awkwardness will embarrass him tremendously, especially when almost every other dragon will learn to control their flailing extremities before he does — they /are/ more compact, yes, but mostly its Jeroth's inner desire to do it right (not do it best, just do it right), that throws him off — he tries too hard.

For all that he might seem quiet, he talks to you incessantly, and vocalizes readily if quietly in a rough pleasant rumble that causes him no end of trouble as it squeaks and bleats and trembles until he settles into his eventual average stature, perhaps just a little longer and leaner than most. A simple dragon, with an inner traquility that extends into simple observations on life without a lot of ImportantWords. With other dragons he is friendly, if reserved, and will collapse happily into a tangle of sleeping dragons to share comfort and warmth, but gets shy if its just a particular invitation from a specific dragon, and really *you* are who he most wants to nuzzle with — /always/. Other people fascinate him only because they are not /you/ and do things you don't do and this always startles him — he has this inner belief that every Dragon should have wanted /you/ and still can't believe that you are his and he is yours.

The only time he is not there completely in heart and mind and soul is when instinct drives him eventually to fly. Then its almost scary because his lust and hunger are so fierce and overwhelming the choice between detaching yourself and falling with him will be gut-wrenching and bone-deep and utterly consuming. Your matings he tolerates because they make you happy and of course he likes that. His are a complete and total abandon into the flight for flight's sake, the testing of self and wind and death-dark power — he will court with mind and body, the unshakeable shadow who, only here, is not concerned with you. Whether successful or not, the mating itself is secondary to the hunt and once the Deed is Done he has little to no interest in the female and has to find out what you're up to now. Right /now/. Oh sure, he's charming and compliant and will amuse himself with caught-dragon, but really doesn't attach himself. If he ever fathers a clutch, this will surprise him and again his embarrassment will be for shock of such a deed — that and constant apologies for tying you to the sands or near-by, because he's definitely gonna be proud of dem-dar-eggs and, if Mum allows, will keep a quiet intensive watch on the goings on.

His mind touch is a balance of light and darkness, taste and sound — the rather acquired taste of incense carries over, smoky dark, to be the back-drop to citrus' tart clear flavour that has the faintest metallic echo (that also embarrasses him). Less clear is his bugle, a rather muted, rough noise not often used; he prefers the resonant reverberations of rumbles and thrums.


In hue he is the battered blackened bronze of the Egyptian death-mask, its regal metallic colours all but buried beneath ageless flaking dark-edged shadows. Decadence here, yes, but buried by time and forgotten adulation till it is coveted for what it is, prior beauty forgotten. The hidden colours hint gold along neck-ridge and wing-arch, the same antique saffron as his damn, also repeated under ebony talons and tail. A luminescent coppery bronze, underlies the rest, unwavering but for whisping along head-knobs and under his rather long jaw.

Altogether Jeroth is stretched out, sorta beaten thin and smooth to soften angular limbs and corners into a mask of dark-beauty. Limbs taper carefully, proportions more stylistic than classic to make him appear smaller and more clean-lined than his average size will suggest. Its as if they took the classic massive larger-than-life bronze and narrowed limbs and form with a scalpel, creating something eerily beautiful and vaguely discomforting. His slender grace suits him, in mood and flight, and yet just doesn't quite fit — perhaps because he is not quite sure it does. He would much rather be a deep bronze, deep voiced, massively huge beast — or so Jeroth thinks. But this suits him, even the shadowing of true colour, and makes him stand out for his own sake and not because his hide cries out I'mGreat!! Like the egg, his wings are wonderfully smoky swirling of the grey and cinnabar of incense, translucent along trailing edge yet opaque along the top.

Wherever his bronze-hide beneath sneak through, /he/ for one, is certain that it itches more than the rest of him and will demand polishings so even the dark of him shines — course when it /does/ shine too bright… yup, it embarasses him. Doesn't matter that he might not awlays know what he wants. He does know he wants *you*, has you, and anything else is really just smoke and mirrors.

Oh! And water doesn't really thrill him… but mud sure does. If it squishes… he will come. And with you there to clean him up? Well, life is /good/. :) He's a darlin' Trev, take good care.

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