Gemikar's Gunmetal Pennywhistle-Green Xenith

Dark Star Egg
Sable's snug velvet wraps the shell in a protective lady's cloak—yet
ashen fog swirls along its base, clouds of delusion threatening to rend
reason into tatters, gritty vapor overwhelming all but glimpses of that
reassuring black. From one side thrusts a glassy, obsidian hand, casting a
spray of icy stars from those dusky fingertips: scattershot, they drift,
a transient nightfall of diamonds.

Dark Star Egg shudders, the spray of icy sky's flowers shimmering as
cracks appear along its axis. The cracks spread over the entire surface,
holding together for one long moment in a a crazed patchwork before they
simply seem to slip away, receding into the embrace of the sands.
Obsidian's hand holds steady while diamonds fall for a long, eternal
moment. But it, too, dissolves into an infinite number of shards, leaving
its occupant to stand in the wake of the egg's last nightfall.

Gunmetal Pennywhistle-Green Dragonet
Forthright, steely, practical green suffices the blunt body and broad
wings of this hatchling, solid and stout from her pug nose to the tip of
her just-adequate tail — although there is that purple-plum tattoo she's
sporting on her left rump, the sage bristling of her neckridges, and the
uniform, gunmetal gleam of all twenty talons. Flinty eyes and
distinctively sharp teeth suggest a mercenary sort of grin: this dragonet
never sparkles, but she /shines/.

The heat of the sands alters to something more foreign, boxlike and just
shy of claustrophobic, grating you with the metallic sound of Smiths' toys
— and yet, as the steely green stares you down, teeth-a-glint, it opens
into something more, something whimsical, playful; a buzzing noise strafes
your senses, zips off and away, while a pennywhistle plays a hornpipe,
calling out: » Hey, you. Yes, you. Wanna ride with me? «

» My name is Xenith! «

* * *

Think of the A-10 Warthog. Think of Rosie the Riveter. Think, "We Can Do
It!" Think of a dame, a broad — with might and muscle, menacing teeth, a
tattooed rump, and an awful soft spot for her boy.

Why the planes and foo? You're into 'em. We have so many 'ladies'; she's a
*butch* kinda girl — the kind of girl who'll armwrestle with the guys and
steal their beer and spit — a bully of a green, a fighting green, but a
girl all the same; the sort who doesn't need to be wearing the pants just
because she doesn't happen to have a dress on.

Mentality and Physicality:
Xenith is a burnished, steely sort of green. Dark-ish, solid, sturdy,
she is blunt and stocky, and not particularly cute or demure, and
certainly not dainty or precious. And, oh, does she have great wings: long
wings, broad, and not as opaque as most others', they almost seem to stand
out. But she isn't beautiful, not in a conventional, cosmetic kind of way.
Not sinuous, not curvy, not slinky-dinky come-hither sly. If this green's
attractive it's because she's strong, independent, sensible — and perhaps
a bit possessive, perhaps even a bit mean — but never icy, unless she
needs to be; she just calls it like she sees it, or like she wants to see
it. Blunt. Frank. But by the same token, her compliments are genuine. She
does not flatter. She means what she says. She doesn't have to be serious
all the time, though — she can joke, too, and she'll have a ball. But
when it comes right down to it, Xenith tells the truth.

Did we mention she's got a tattoo? It's purple (that nod to B5, just for
you) and fish-shaped. And if you thought a tattoo makes her tough, check
out her teeth..
Those teeth are slightly larger teeth than usual — not buck teeth, not an
overbite, but big, menacing teeth like the Air Force paints on the noses
of Warthogs. They're sharp, and pointy, and they sport an evil grin.
Those eyes they paint on the nose, too: they're pretty small, as are

She isn't gorgeous. G'kar would just not look right with a stunning
pageant-queen of a dragon. She likes getting dirty, sometimes: no
self-respecting pageant-queen would be caught dead doing that. And she's
just not not the figure for it: those wings are long and sturdy and sure,
giving the impression that they're not going to snap if the wind blows the
wrong way. You might even say she's just a little bit zaftig: and we all
know zaftig women just don't make the cut for those beauty contests.

Come oiling time, it's that tatoo that's going to be the itchiest,
although there'll be times when she just itches all over and needs a
proper 'greasing', if you will. And she's not one to let others oil her
readily. No sir, it's the man she's got a soft spot for she'll let take
care of her (when she actually admits she needs taking care of, which is
very rare indeed), although eventually you /may/ be able to talk her into
letting a few other people (or firelizards) help. But you're the one she
prefers being oiled by, and she'll let you know it without hesitation.

She's not too, too playful most of the time: she knows when she's got a
job to do, and accomplishes it easily. But when her shift is done, she can
kick back and relax with the best of them — a pennywhistle/tin whistle
can play both a wicked jig and more somber music easily, after all. She
likes to challenge other dragons - she'll liven up the skies above the
weyr with races, when she learns to fly, or water wars, or whatever else
she can dream up to best her clutchmates and weyrmates with. And if it
involves water, even better. She's got a fascination with water, she does,
and although there's a small setback with the fact she doesn't know how to
swim, she's got the perfect teacher in you. Cliffdiving is cool, too: the
A-10's can fly at fairly low altitude, too, so it might be fun for her to
pull up at the next-to-the-last moment, buzz some fields, take out some
trees, go visit Gemi's fosterkin and scare poor Tibbins into thinking that
his wife's flowerbeds are gonna get mowed down while he was supposed to
have been watching the children. You'd better hope you get a high ledge
when you graduate, for she'll love to pull out of her dives at the very
last minute. She's not perfect at this right away, either. Good thing we
practice flying over water, isn't it? And just imagine that splash when
she /does/ get it right…

When she's proddy, she's quite the butch, Harley-honey kind of woman.
She's tough, she knows she's tough, and she lets everyone else knows she's
tough, too. She's a flirt - but a bit of a bully, when she does so. After
awhile, every male in the weyr is going to /know/ not to turn down her
advances, for she just might do something like trying to sharpen her claws
too close to a tail for comfort. And she's quite possessive of her men,
too. Any female thinking of trying for someone she's got her eye on better
think twice. Never fear - she'll let everyone know who she finds
attractive, give 'em that warning shot before she fires. It just may spill
over to G'kar, too: one minute you might be singing bawdy songs, the
next sharpening knives to warn someone who seems to be cuttin' in on your

Physical/mental voice:

The theme for the dragonets this time around is musical instruments, with
Xenith's on the pennywhistle. The pennywhistle does *not* have to be
always-lilting, always-cheerful, always-shrill. It's a pretty versatile
instrument, and can even do dirges. The only thing a pennywhistle cannot
be, in our experience, is quiet. Now, an Irish pennywhistle — you slur
all the notes, one bleeds into another. American pennywhistlers tend to
play one note at a time, distinct and discrete. Irish sounds better to my
ear, and this helps counteract the yippy-skippy rep pennywhistles get.
But you can still play a real good hornpipe on it, regardless. Popeye the
Sailor Man…

Xenith's mental signature is burnt oil mixed with the notes of that
pennywhistle, with just a dash of sea-salt tang for spice.

Xenith got her name from a mixed-up, not-quite-blatant version of Xena
that Reine found. We thought it suit her. :)

"Flinty" is inspired by Dar Williams' song, "A Flinty Kind of Woman,"
wherein the mad mothers of a middle class, New England neighborhood use a
poke of fishing tackle, a gardening hose, and a minivan to run down the
town pervert who's been harrassing their kids. It does not really mean
flint, but rather the hardness; unyielding… it's about women who just
won't take any guff, but they're still *women*…and perfect for her.

Xenith's not an ooey-gooey little darling, and she couldn't have
somebody who's going to make all sorts of ridiculous femininissima fuss,
just as you couldn't have a prissy girl This dragon should never sparkle,
and should never want to — but she can /shine/, if you catch my meaning.
She hatched knowing who she's meant for and she's just so happy to have
you, 'cause man, you're fun, and you're one-of-the-boys, and she's more
than comfortable with that: she knows she's right for you, and that you'll
be together forever. Enjoy her!

Egg Desc: Reine
Dragonet Desc: Gr'ym
Dragon Name: Reine
Inspiration: Reine, Gr'ym, and Arien
Dam: Brigith
Sire: Kolyath

We realize that you are the one who knows your character best, who
knows what might mesh and what you'd particularly like to play. We've
constructed this dragon with what we thought you'd especially like, and
what we were 'inspired' by through our interactions with you. Please,
though, don't feel limited by what we've given you, or that you have to
follow it — you'll no doubt find your own niche, and as you play Xenith,
she will surely surprise you … and us! :D

For your reading enjoyment: background information on some of our

Appendix A: 'Rosie the Riveter' info
Appendix B: 'Flinty Kind of Woman' by Dar Williams
Appendix C: A-10 Warthog info

* * * Appendix A * * *

  • Picture of Rosie the Riveter in the classic "We Can Do It!" WWII

propaganda poster:

  • Norman Rockwell's version:


  • A nice obit blurb about the woman behind Rosie the Riveter:


  • And here are the lyrics to the famous song:

All the day long,
Whether rain or shine,
She's a part of the assembly line.
She's making history,
Working for victory,
Rosie the Riveter.
Keeps a sharp lookout for sabatoge, [SIC!]
Sitting up there on the fuselage.
That little girl will do more than a male will do.
Rosie's got a boyfriend, Charlie.
Charlie, he's a Marine.
Rosie is protecting Charlie,
Working overtime on the riveting machine.
When they gave her a production "E,"
She was as proud as she could be.
There's something true about,
Red, white, and blue about,
Rosie the Riveter.

Redd Evans and John Jacob Loeb,
"Rosie the Riveter,"
(New York: Paramount Music Corp., 1942).

* * * Appendix B * * *

Flinty Kind of Woman
—Dar Williams

It's a small town life and I like it
Cause the bad don't get in your way
There's an angry God gonna strike it
Yeah, that's what we pay him for, that's why we pray
Well I guess the angry God he was a-fishing,
When Molly called me up with the news
Within the space of a week
Yeah, a pervert or a sex freak
Let the kids take a peek
That's more than a little cheek
No pun intended.

Ai-y-yipee-yipee-yi-yi-ay going east-of-Mississipii got a flinty kind of
And you don't act smart and you don't touch my children if the young man
wants to see the sun go down.

Well, there was no time fooling with the trifles
So there was no use telling the men
They'd just go running for their rifles
And then once you got him couldn't get him again
So Peg got a bolt of fishing tackle
And Marge got her gardening hose
And Sally La Biche
Put her hound on a leash
And the timer on the quiche
She's kind of nouveau-riche
But we like her.

Ai-y-yipee-yipee-yi-yi-ay going east-of-Mississipii got a flinty kind of
And you don't act fresh and you don't touch my children if the young man
wants to see the sun go down.

It was the kids who spotted him a-running
As we drove through the harbor fog
And that's when we got our engines gunning
Cause we knew he was headed for the cranberry bog
We got our hip-high rubber boots strapped on
And Molly got the big flashlights out
And by the Welcome to New England sign
Got him with the fishing line
In the dark smell of brine
Betty said, "This one is mine."
She is ruthless.

Ai-y-yipee-yipee-yi-yi-ay going east-of-Mississipii got a flinty kind of
And you just say no and you don't touch my children if the young man wants
to see the sun go down.

Well we didn't have to drag him and a-jail him
Cause you don't have to take it so far
When your roots go back to Old Salem
And you've got a local chapter of the D.A.R.
Now I don't go tooting on my lobsters
Cause your pride doesn't go with your plaid
But it's a victory won
And it couldn't be done
By the hippy-dippy flaky-shaky fun-in-the-sun
Braless wonders.

Ai-y-yipee-yipee-yi-yi-ay going east-of-Mississipii got a flinty kind of
And you know your place and you don't touch my children if the young man
wants to see the sun go down.

* * * Appendix C * * *

,http://cust2.iamerica.net/blade/homeset.htm <— A-10 Warthog Page

"The A-10 Thunderbolt II, commonly and affectionately called the WARTHOG,
is a single-seat close air support aircraft manufactured by the Fairchild
Republic Company, Farmingdale,New York. The aircraft is flown exclusively
by the United States Air Force including 7 active duty squadrons, 3 Air
Force Reserve Squadrons, and 5 Air National Guard Squadrons around the
world. There were 721 A-10s manufactured with 317 still in active service
with the remainder in various stages of flyable storage at the Air Force's
"Bone Yard" at Davis Monthan Air Force Base in Tucson, Arizona. The A-10
has amassed an incredible war record and continues to be the Air Force's

"The armament system includes a high rate of fire 30 millimeter
seven-barreled gatling gun with ammunition stored in a drum. A variety of
stores, both free-fall bombs and forward firing missiles and rockets are
carried on 11 pylons, 4 on each wing and 3 on the fuselage.

"The pilots flying the A-10 Warthog are among the most highly trained in
the world. To prove it just look at their war record! Unable to specialize
in one relatively limited mission task such as air-to-air weapons
employment, A-10 pilots find themselves alone, just one man and one
deadly machine against an array of enemy weapons systems. The pilot
must be able to navigate to the target area sometimes at extremely low
tree-top altitudes while defending himself and his wingman against an
onslaught of aircraft and ground to air missiles and guns. He must then
employ his deathload accurately and swiftly to protect our troops on the
ground and fight his way back out of the target area to get home. No
rest…. turn right around with a fresh load of fuel and ordnance and do
all over again….sometimes as many as four times in one day!

"The support team behind the A-10 is unequaled in the fighter business.

maintainers and weapons loaders making their contribution on the flight
line, the well oiled war machine keeps 'em flying."

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License