Aya Sofya Egg
A somewhat large egg that is a pleasingly smooth dusky pink, broken only by a swathe of shimmering gold that streaks across one side. That golden stretch seems almost to give the illusion of a shattered side, but the pattern is formed of tiny, tiny specks of gold, yellow and white that cluster close together in an intricate mosaic.

Hatch message:
Aya Sofya Egg’s tesserae fly off in all directions, but it’s not quite enough of a gap for the dragonet within to fall out easily. Head first, claws second, she scrabbles, and pulls, tearing away at the pink until there’s a large enough jagged hole for her to heave herself out, and stay there, panting, on the sands a moment, before sniffing at the mosaic that now lies at her feet.

Tambura Sunset Green Dragonet
She dances woodland leaves and creeping vines across a twilight canvas of serpentine curves. Fairy dust sparkles gold from the arch of her spine and trails down the length of a long and elegant tail, while bursts of amethyst star those deceptively fragile wings. Verdant green climbs up haunches and entwines paws the color of pine even as flashes of plum glisten from beneath forest foliage, a glimpse of dusk between the trees.

Impression message:
She sparkles into sound between your eyes, a flash of light that calls to you, entreats you. »Isn’t this fun? Isn’t this /so/ much fun? Are you having fun? F-f-f-f-f-f-f-fun! « She crackles laughter through your mind, setting it whirling. »You’re a boy and I’m a girl, and yet we’re both the same. Except I am a dragon, and you are not, but I’m glad you are not a dragon. This way is more fun. Isn’t this silly? Isn’t this fun! Oh, I almost forgot! My name is Tzarath!«

Tzarath is named for Tristan Tzara, he who wrote the Dada Manifesto – that is to say a manifesto that was against manifestos. It’s a bundle of contradictory ideas but also a wonderful vision. And that, in a nutshell, is your Tzarath, a free spirit who is completely contradictory, who knows it and doesn’t care. She’s a wild gypsy soul – Tzigane, Tzarath, it fits nicely – who loves the dancing and music that any gypsy should. Her description is based on the idea of a forest at sunset - mostly mottled green and purple, with those starbursts on her wings. (Sia says: I don't know why, but that seemed to me the kind of place a gypsy might like to dance!)

If you have serious ideas about life,
If you make artistic discoveries
and if all of a sudden your head begins to crackle with laughter,
If you find all your ideas useless and ridiculous, know that

DADA; the elegant and unprejudiced leap from one harmony to another sphere; the trajectory of a word, a cry, thrown into the air like an acoustic disc; to respect all individualities in their folly of the moment, whether serious, fearful, timid, ardent, vigorous, decided or enthusiastic; to strip one's church of every useless and unwieldy accessory; to spew out like a luminous cascade any offensive or loving thought, or to cherish it - with the lively satisfaction that it's all precisely the same thing - with the same intensity in the bush, which is free of insects for the blue-blooded, and gilded with the bodies of archangels, with one's soul. Liberty: DADA DADA DADA; - the roar of contorted pains, the interweaving of contraries and all contradictions, freaks and irrelevancies: LIFE (

The egg is the Aya Sofya – Hagia Sophia in Istanbul. Built by the Byzantine Emperor Justinian, it was the largest building in the world for nigh on a thousand years. It’s been many things in its time, church and mosque and now ‘museum’. I’ve spent many, many happy hours in there – it’s an inspirational place. I wish I’d made a better job of the egg desc, to be quite honest, but it’s such a wonderful building it’s difficult to capture. This egg is really just the central dome, a mix of inside and out, and past and present. It’s a building that defies both belief and description, where Islamic art sits next to a Byzantine mosaic of the Virgin and Child. It’s a conundrum, a hotch-potch, and that’s why it fits with Tzarath.


Tzarath is chatty. She never shuts up. She is a constant voice in your mind, saying anything and everything. She doesn’t always talk in words, but rather sometimes in sounds, or pictures, or just plain nonsense that’s a mixture of all of them. She’ll babble on constantly, secure in the knowledge – or the assumption – that you understand her – most of the time. A lot of others will not – and that’s including most dragons. When you try to explain her to people, too, they’re probably going to think you’re mad. Or that she’s mad. But who cares what they think? Certainly not her!

Tzarath’s certainly one of a kind. She’s outwardly vocal as well, her bugle will announce her anywhere she goes – shy and retiring this dragon is not. But at the same time, she doesn’t push herself forward, either. She just /is/. That’s how she sees the rest of the world, as well. It just /is/. And it’s all rather wonderful. »Oooh, snow, all in little bits and then those little bits all make big bits and can I take you apart, Z-I-G-A-N-E, and put you back together again? Can I do it in different ways, I-N-G-A-Z-E ? So that you walk on all four of your limbs, like I do? That would be fun, wouldn’t it? And much easier!« Flighty she is not, there’s serious thought going on, the problem is discerning and decoding it beneath what appears to be babble.

She does tend to say one thing one minute and then something different the next. »I think we should go for a swim.« And then she’ll head out and ask »Why didn’t you bring the oil, didn’t you want to oil me?« She’ll be just the same when talking to other dragons. »Oh, we went flying over the mountains, because we love the sea.« Okay, so you get a great view down to the sea from the mountains, but it’s not an intuitive leap. (Although it is for her, and she’ll want that for you, too.) Sometimes, she will just be changing the subject – so much to notice, so little time. »My tail is gold! The sunset is gold! Gold is gold! Oh look, Sidi-idi-jidi-jith!« She doesn’t censor her thoughts either »Your rider looks dreadful today« she’ll tell one of her clutchmates »What did you do to him? Did you sit on him, or make him eat raw herdbeast, or climb to the Star Stones… let’s go to the Star Stones, I’ll race you but it’s the /last/ one to get there who’ll win!«

She has an ambivalent attitude to rules, perhaps misunderstanding them. »Class now? But I’m sleeping. Let’s have class later!« And she won’t budge. »I want to fly sweeps. Rest day? But sweeps! But sweeps! But sweeps are good, you made me fly them yesterday! I want to go and fly, fly, fly sweeeeeeeeeps, sweeeeeeeeeep, I think you should get a broom and do something about those spinners.«

She loves jewelry, dressing up, any kind of adornment and ornament. It won’t be long until she’s pressing you to make streamers for your couch in the barracks, or tie pine branches from the ceiling, or to put more feathers in your hair, or to tie them on to her headknobs. In winter, she’ll want a scarf of her own, a striped one that winds about her neck; in summer, she’ll want a hat – a massive leaf from the jungle, for example, or she’ll set you to weaving rushes into something enormous and unwieldy. She’ll dress you up, too, in much the same stuff: feathers and leaves and bits and pieces stolen from weavers’ baskets.

She likes ‘normal’ clothes too, and will comment on yours, and others’, for hours. Once she discovers what a Weaver is, she’ll be hooked. »That doesn’t suit him, that colour, tell him, I can see inside him and he’s definitely blue, tell him blue, not that nasty olive stuff.« Synaesthesia? You bet. Her couch, she’ll insist, is purple (except when it’s blue); firelizards are all orange, and if the WeyrlingMaster is coming and is red, watch out! She’ll enjoy assigning colours to everyone and everything and telling you about it. Should you argue, she’ll never back down, and if she does, she’ll be sneaky about it. »Okay, okay, so the WeyrlingMaster isn’t red. But… crimson!«


She’s middle of the road here, your average-sized green – just watch out for those wingsails, which are thin and will tear, if you and she are not careful. She’ll grow in fits and starts, go through a slightly gangly phase, and in general be a little bit clumsy as she grows, but once she matures she’ll be grace itself, particularly in flight. Her hide won’t glow terribly when she’s proddy, although you’ll find her mind glowing round that time, sparkling with even more ideas than usual.

She’s less flirty, generally, than just outgoing, she’ll treat greens and blues and browns and bronzes all the same, reserving just a touch more reverence for golds (but very tiny). When it comes to being proddy, she’ll happily inform everyone else in the Weyr of the fact – but somehow omit to tell you. It’ll become a game. »No, I was just teasing, no I wanted to see his reaction, no, do you want me to be proddy or something? Do you, do you?« She will tease and tease, and otherwise play with you, but she’s self-aware of herself when she’s proddy, and knows exactly what she’s doing. She will flirt outrageously with every single dragon she comes across – including golds, just for kicks - and deny to you, utterly, that she is behaving out of the ordinary (which, actually, isn’t hugely far from the truth).

She’s picky about her food, you’ll have to cut it all up for her as a Weyrling long after the other dragonets have graduated onto feeding themselves, and learning to hunt will be a strange experience. »Do I have to? In the Feeding Pens? Can’t you do it?« She will alternate about, one week exclusively eating wherry, the next herdbeast, then she might spend a month back on wherry again, and change her opinions just when you’re least expecting it. This will thrill her: she loves surprising you.


Tzarath loves music. Do you play? Do you sing? She’s vocal: she hums and croons. Never mind little issues like a tune, she’ll happily experiment with the same note for hours: long calls and short staccato ones and loud and soft and many other adjectives »That note sounded squidgy, didn’t you think so? Like I’d sat on it. Let’s creep up behind Xanth and make squidgy noises at him and see how long it is before he notices!«

Her mindvoice is like a clarinet, soft and sinous and sleek, it lilts expressively and tunefully. When she’s proddy, she’ll be a more sultry saxophone. Her voice is interdispersed with the thump of the tambura and the shaking of the tambourine, if her ire should ever be raised there’ll be the wail of a trumpet in there too, a whole gypsy band.

Egg: Sissi

Dragonet: Sia

Inspiration: Sissi

She's absolutely, 100% Perfect. :3 everything i could've wanted and more! SQUEE. ^^

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