Theronth

Magael's Roamin' Roman Harley-Bronze Theronth
Gaudy Gaudi Egg
Tangling vines at once defy and define the shell's broad-bellied
architecture, sliding sensuous brown shadows about stucco as yellow and
undulant as noonlit sand. Stars may only silhouette structure's
protective
symmetry, an oval not unlike the others; it takes warmer light to tease
out
the exhibitionist dimension, tasty snail-spirals that convolute into
trompe
l'oeil hollows in which, in turn, swim scales of fishy, fissured
iridescence.

Gaudy Gaudi Egg teases no more, or else forevermore: an internal quake
capsizes it like a tent about a curled-up ball of a hatchling. Whose
nose
peeks out, beneath a wing — or is that a paw? — and then retreats.

Roamin' Roman Harley-Bronze Dragonet
Battle or travel might have battered that dragonet's long, lean lines,
smoked
the bow of his neck and stubbed his short tail; for all that he's inlaid
with
dark, fine-grained mahogany, polished with lemon and lime into lustrous
bronze, even the tips of his wings are blunted. Those wings: hooked
with
talons' chrome, they sail out from slanted withers in gossamer
translucency —
but over them spin out ebony smudges, tire-tracks gritty enough in their
shadow to confound the light.

Vibration. Did it begin, some time ago, or did you only now realize what
has
always been? Vibration. Dark, full — oh, that battered dragonet, he's
staring at you, that's what it must be, mustn't it? The hatching cavern
isn't
going to fall down about you, is it? …Maybe it is; a rich mahogany
sensation tugs at your recalcitrant thoughts, padded only by black
leather.
Tugs again, this time sharper, chrome. Again — and then releases the
emotional tug-of-war, spilling you heart-over-heels into fuzzy
blanky-blue.

  • Why this name? We liked it. 'Theronth'. THAIR-onth. It happens to

mean
'hunter'. It has something of a Roman, respectable, starched-collar
feel, and
yet it's not long and ungainly. 'Two syllables; no more, no less. Done.

Next?'

  • Why this egg? You were attracted to it, the way it was written, and we

enjoy how it expresses a duality of its own. Its natural name-puns, too,
fit
ever so nicely with your dragonet's.

  • Why this art? We came up with a dragon to fit you, and then picked an

art
form to fit /him/. A Strad was our first idea — Stradivarius made
cellos as
well as violins, we're told, for all that it wasn't a Stradivarius violin
that
Nero is said to have played as Rome burned — but then ahh, the Harley.
Vroom, vroom. Who says a good machine can't be a work of art?
…And he'll take you anywhere you want to go.

Intro:
=====

Roman toga-man, meet James Dean. You asked for rough-and-tough, act now
and
thinking later… well, you got it. In a sense. ("Be careful what you
wish
for…")

Physical Description:
====================

Your Theronth is no giant prawn, but neither is he a shrimp, even as
bronzes
go; he's a classic centurion, middle-to-big, packing most of his volume
in
that long, lean frame and large wingspan — but not his tail, oh, no;
that's
short and stubby. Aside from said tail, his lines are clean, just
somewhat
battered around the edges. What else would you expect from a dragon who
has
hyperdrive?

Color-wise, he's lustrous like a cello and dark like his dam, the bronze
composed of mahogany brown polished with gold and green. Chromed-shiny
talons and winghooks allude to his sire, as do the tire-trackish ebony
marks that spin out over his gossamer wings that, translucent as they
are, catch the light ever so bright. The amalgam, the attitude, that's
all his own.

In movement, once Theronth gains control of his limbs — and given that
he
does generally have long limbs, that'll take a while — he'll be
practically
panther-like… 'til he gets excited, and then it's monkey-motion all the
way!
When he learns how to fly, he'll be quite the distance man, but with
some
flexibility as well; he can't manage the tight turns, even if he'll try
(and
when those motorcycles tip, it isn't pretty), but a long-distance march
is
right up his alley. (And what an alley it is…) Vroom!

Maturing: he won't be slow or fast to mature, particularly, just right on

schedule. Even at sexual maturity, Theronth will never be one to care
about
male vs. female when the females aren't proddy; all he cares about are —
can
they match his pace? (Or, big lug that he is… can he match their
style?)

Itchy spot: while a growing dragonet itches everywhere, here's the
itchiest
of them all — at the base of his tail, dorsal side. Think of a cat; he
might
stick his rump /way/ up in the air, tail high, crooning like mad. Okay,
so
it might be a little embarrassing. At least it's not the ventral side,
eh?

Personality:
===========

o/~ Leader of the Pack! Vroom, vroom…

…Well, that's what he'd like to think; the reality just doesn't measure
up
to his fantasy. (And keep in mind, the 'leader of the pack' in the song
didn't get the girl.) Theronth will be bounding along the bowl, eager to
get
the other side first, he's winning the race — only to look behind him,
seeing
what his clutchmates are doing… and find /they've/ gone in a quite
different direction. Oops. Well. He'll catch up. Even if it takes him
a
while.

Attitude's the key. Theronth might want to be dignified, but he might
come
across more like a hood, all ready for a rumble as he usually is. And,
gosh,
he reacts very positively when he's allowed his fantasy. ;)
Affectionate
tolerance is the way to go. Poor fellow, he /looks/ so much like the
stereotypical bronze — but the 'feel' he puts out, he's more a creature
from
'The Outsiders' ("They weren't looking for a fight. They were looking to
belong."), and boy, can he lean. On anything that doesn't move. Or,
sometimes, that does… pity you won't stay large enough (compared to
him!)
for long, but he still might allude to it with a paw wrapped comfortably
about
you later on.

See, your Theronth, he's a creature of dualities. Cello and Harley.
Roman
and roamin' James Dean. Fastidious… and quite the opposite. He has,
well,
the occasional Mood, and may go into an orgy of feasting to Make it
Better, or
try. (Of course, you may feel his stomachache, afterward, not to mention

thick-tail…)

Normally Theronth's fastidious, yes; but when he's unhappy, or maybe the
sun
just hasn't risen far enough to suit him — oh, he must be oiled and
washed,
washed and oiled, and oiled once again. That may still seem fastidious,
and
likely would be, were it not for his proclivity to curling up in a little
ball
— make that, a /big/ ball, once he gets his growth on him — in the mud.

(Especially when he's been upstaged.) Think hedgehog… or, better, pill
bug.
Normally, long and lean dragons sprawl out; but not this one. He gets
moody, he finds the mud puddle, and curls. He loses a flight, and curls.

He's told to stay put instead of roamin' all over, he curls. Shut out
the
world, please; I want to get off. And did we mention what mud will do to

those straps?

Other habits:
Theronth has a thing for curios — knickknacks, even. Clutter? No,
they're decoration. After all, he has such a poor memory, and, well,
yours…
these just remind you. » Well, put them somewhere so I don't step on
them,
then! « Shelves. Shelves are good.
He doesn't always notice things in his way, whether they're physical
(e.g., a rock) or metaphysical (e.g., an obstinate idea that someone has)
and
has a tendency to bump into things (especially during weyrlinghood) and
into
egos (all throughout his life). Theronth has an unconscious ideal, an
intuition of 'The Way Things Should Be' — to be dignified and proper —
but
gosh, sometimes he just does things without thinking and gets into 'hyper
and
manic' moods. Good thing, too, shakes him up a little. (And you.)
That stubby tail gives him more reason to poke at it, especially when
he's bored, sometimes to the point of harming himself. » Why aren't you

bigger, Tail? Get bigger. …Maybe if I pull, just a little… Here,
M'gael, you try. Of course I'm sure! …Ow! « (And then he'll forget,
and
do it again.)
Watch out for when he's feeling just too big and bulky and can't fit
into the Interesting Places his clutchmates do (such as the, ah, living
cavern, or at least they might try), or fly when they do, too. » No.
They… my tail… I don't feel like playing in mud. « Sulk.
…But then, with a hitch of his wings — like pulling up a leather
jacket; no doubt if he had hair, he'd flip it — somehow, for some
reason,
things are All Better and why, he /will/ have that mud, thank you very
much.

Sweeps, why, he'll enjoy them. With his draconically short memory,
every day is a new, exciting adventure. Rain? No problem. Glaring
sunlight?
Just close a set of lids. Sure, he may sweat, but he'll like the smell.

And the smell of the local ovines, which get their own sniffing, and the
herder that cares for them. And even those musty hides. (Until he
sneezes.)
::Between:: is a wonderful thing; travelling is wonderful to him, y'see,
but
coming home, home to your very own couch and weyr, with a pad for the
stone
and the prospect of a good ol' oiling… ahh, that's the life. His
overall
good temper will make it easier for you to enjoy sweeps and whatnot, and
perhaps be lulled into a sense of security that makes it easy to overlook

certain black-market shenanigans… or even that you two have unwittingly

wound up participating in them.

If Theronth's a rebel, though, it's nothing calculated: more of an
acting-instead-of-thinking instead of a thinking-before-acting. You
spoke of
a dragon that's strong and persistent and even rough, a dragon that'd
push
Magael as Magael pushes back — and that's indeed Theronth for you. Of
course, in that emotional tug-of-war, he'll instinctively learn to be not

above tugging and tugging until you're committed — and then suddenly
letting
go, spilling you heart-over-heels. He won't understand the mental
analysis,
but he'll know there's something there, and he'll niggle at it like that
aforementioned panther cracking the marrow out of each and every bone.
As for
pushing Magael to 'Do this, do that, do it right, and do it now,' he can
and
will certainly do that, …but be entirely lazy about other things.
Sometimes, you and he will overlap; sometimes, you won't. Venn diagram?

Could be. Hope you brought a lot of paper, and a fully inked pen! A
compass,
too, wouldn't hurt!

'Voice':
=======

Mentally, think a cello: smooth, slick, full-sounding, with dark
undertones that can vibrate to the dickens when made to — keep in mind,
a
cello can play both Vivaldi and Metallica. When Theronth's excited, it
squeaks. When he's tired and lazy, it scratches into sandpaper.
Associated
colors tend toward mahogany and black leather with chrome highlights,
those
'cool cat' colors, …and a fuzzy blue blanky for that fetal-positioned
streak
in him. Mmm.
His physical voice is a lesser echo of his mental vibes; even his
roar, his rumble, why they're all very well and good, but… well, almost

inconspicuous, compared to some. (And then there's that squeak,
especially as
a dragonet.) That said, he also often keeps up a vibration like a
well-oiled
(or ill-oiled, depending on his humor) motorcycle or the cello itself,
whether crooning or humming or just plain snoring. …And, after a
while, you
might find that you just can't sleep straight without it.

In short, this is your taste of Theronth, who'll live and grow as you
play
him. While there's no map, here's your lunch — enjoy the ride!


Credits:
Egg: Arien, based on the amazing architecture of Gaudi.
Dragonet: Adara, Arien, Lynda, Telilah

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