Wrought in Secrets Bronze Asaroth
| Wrought in Secrets Bronze Asaroth | |
|---|---|
| Impressee | T'gar |
| Hatching Date: | 24 October, 2015 Day 4, Month 2, Turn 39 |
| Current Age: | 29 turns |
| Size: | 36.8 feet |
| Dam: | Selflessness Over Steel Gold Roszadyth |
| Sire: | King of Gore Bronze Lythronath |
| Lineage: | Here |
| Clutch: | Clutch:129 |
| Egg Credit: | Jocelyn |
| Dragon Credit: | Farideh |
| Puppeteer: | Farideh |
Long and angular, with overlarge wings and redly scabrous neck ridges, this bronze is not a handsome creature; he may have grown into his asymmetrically-proportioned frame, but nothing can erase the perpetual sneer caused by shadowed eyeridges and a narrow, heavily fanged mouth. His hide is beaten, rusted bronze, with the heaviest concentration of titian corrosion stripping down his flanks and underbelly, bleeding down his limbs like running oil. Veins of carmine interlace in the delicate parts of his wingsails, where muddier colors daub his spars; dark as his winghooks are his claws, a red-tinged ebon that's starkly, sharply unsettling against his other hideous proportions.
Contents
Down Once More Egg
Black, blacker, blackest: this squat egg is dark, a near-oblong mass of inky swirls that appears to have little else on display at a first glance. Its shell isn't wholly smooth, sprinkled with a fine dusting of grayish-browns and slimy greens in random, chaotic patterns along its length. If the light should hit it in just the right manner, thin tendrils of a taupe more reminiscent of the latrines than a good neutral for decor appear to curl upward, downward, sideways in clumpy patterns.
Thin cracks start to appear at the top of the Down Once More Egg, as its sides heave and its dark shell pulses from the great strength of the occupant within. As the cracks widen, the top goes concave and a hole forms, through which first one forepaw, talons gleaming darkly, and then another materializes in order to leverage the rust-tinged bronze beast from his lair.
Wrought in Secrets Bronze
Long and angular, with overlarge wings and redly scabrous ridges, this bronze will never be a handsome creature; he may yet grow into his frame with time, but nothing can erase the perpetual sneer caused by shadowed eyeridges and a narrow, heavily fanged mouth. His hide is beaten, rusted bronze, with the heaviest concentration of titian corrosion stripping down his flanks and underbelly, bleeding down his limbs like running oil. Veins of carmine interlace in the delicate parts of his wingsails, while muddier colors daub his spars; dark as his winghooks are his claws, a red-tinged ebon that's starkly, sharply unsettling against his other distorted proportions.
Temperament
It's clear from the time that Asaroth first enters your mind -- bringing with him that sense of darkness and decay -- that he is not quite like other dragons. He's not interested in talking about his feelings or spending time dissecting everything he experiences, and spends far less time than most getting to know his clutch siblings and surroundings. He does still explore, and will accompany others, but there is an element of solitary experience for Asaroth, who may show limited inclination to share. You, T'gar, are the one person he is absolutely sure is worthy of his trust; everyone else will simply have to prove themselves. In his interactions with other dragons, he's likely to use a plethora of emotions and imagery to get his point across, or bold actions, rather than actual words; words can, simply put, get in the way.
Asaroth isn't an easy dragon to understand or get along with; that much is clear. It's in part his reticence to intermingle with others and part his predatory nature; when everything and everyone are his prey, time is better spent observing, hunting, and calculating his next move. His reserved nature is something he'll clash on with many dragons (including the otherwise great communicator, Aidavanth), as they try to draw him into open communication and he (sometimes) resists. Pretty words fall on deaf ears -- or taciturn ones, anyway. Drawing him out and getting him to respond in more than primitive emotions will be a challenge for any, including wise Zaisyreth.
In the beginning, he won't be the savviest of hunters; in fact, Asaroth will fail quite often, experiencing plenty of trials and errors, with an emphasis on the latter. His long frame and angular build will require some getting used to, in order to move in the sinuous, purposeful nature he will become accustomed to in his adulthood. He may take great pleasure in stalking his clutchmates (including Zoth, that other bronze) and other, smaller, members of the Weyr, and less pleasure in the frustrations of failure before he becomes more knowledgeable; he may well stalk you, T'gar, especially in your mind, where you can't hide. Practice, and only practice, will take the awkward-on-his-feet young dragonet and make him into a predator to be wary of.
Asaroth will unabashedly revel in his distorted appearance and, once acquired, his skill of frightening others with little more than his hulking presence. As a young dragon, after he's conquered the essentials, he may even try to wear the other weyrlings down with blatant staring contests: testing their boundaries and his own prowess. Dragons like Quarinth and Evyth might have a hard time matching him, but then again, they might like the attention... or worse, not notice.
Over time, Asaroth will grow less wary of others, and though he'll never be a social creature by any means, prove a much more willing participant in conversation. His silences can be broken by the right topic or the right means: if it interests him, or if he can see benefit, he's much more likely to participate. It doesn't quell his arrogance, which only grows in magnitude as he does in size. His way of thinking finds himself above reproach, better than all others: not boastful, but simply superior.
Would it surprise you to discover that Asaroth has an ambitious streak? It's not something he demonstrates in youth; rather, it develops later, when he's wiser and less rash in his ways. He wants what's best for you, T'gar, which in turn is best for him, and he's not afraid to push you into a situation you're uncomfortable with, for the 'right' reasons. Being as aloof and arrogant as he is, he might not tell you of his motivations, but direct you in what you should do and in which machinations will bring you to the top. In the same vein, he's tolerant of your reckless gambits and wild ideas, but his patience has limits and tends to fray around the edges in obvious ways.
When it comes to flights, they're considered a necessary (and pleasurable) evil. He's stirred by flight lust in the basest sense, when his inner monster rears its head; all bets are off then, as he'll use any means, tried and true or dirty, to get to his intended prize -- which in a nutshell can mean bloody messes and mid-flight fights. He isn't the type of bronze to woo a female with pretty platitudes and flowery words either. Indeed, he might not seem interested at all until it comes time to blood, and he's apt to do that with alacrity and verve, creating disarray before he takes to the sky in a show of speed and strength.
On the off chance that he catches the female of his desires, Asaroth isn't likely to linger overlong, though the likes of a cold night might persuade him to stay with a mate past dawn, and he tends toward unreasonable possessiveness in the face of other males. This goes double if he ever manages to catch a gold, though he won't have interest in playing the loving, doting mate who fetches meals and entertains while his ladybird is sands-bound. Nor would he be especially paternal towards his eggs or his offspring, reflected in a cool, standoffish manner both during their time on the sands as eggs and after, as young and grown dragons.
Asaroth doesn't show his darker, stickier side too often; he reserves that for you. He keeps such an arrogant, unmovable fa?ade, and yet, when threatened, he's deeply protective of both his home Weyr and of you, T'gar. His emotions can grow dark and unsettled where these are concerned, which can be both interesting to behold and frightening at the same time. Cold rage can define these moments. But then, just as easily, he can slip back into that veneer he's used to showing the world, shoving his baser instincts back into the shadowy recesses from which they came.
Your Asaroth is nothing like you may have imagined from fairytales and Impression stories of days past. He is aloof, chaotic and calculating; he may love you in some curious way of his own, but this is no perfect union. He's a hard soul to play companion to, but he's yours, for better or for worse. Hopefully, it's not the latter.
Public Impression Message
Wrought in Secrets Bronze keeps up his helter-skelter path, weaving in and out of the white-robed candidates with increasing ferocity; he shows no remorse for anyone or anything caught in his way, nor any harm caused as a result of his determined search. His frustration grows the longer his hunt continues, until at long last, with a singular, piercing stare and a ferocious screech, he locks eyes with a brawny, dark-haired young man.
Private Impression Message
One moment you're in the hatching cavern where it's hot and loud, and the next, all of that light and sound fades away, leaving you in utter darkness. You're suddenly numb, pinned to the spot by the glowing, red-eyed stare of the dragonet in front of you. His voice is the rasping sound of metal-on-metal, marred by the fetid smell of decay. « T'gar. I am Asaroth, » he hisses, at once claiming you as his and himself as yours, but there's an underlying want. « Feed me. » It hits you in the gut, that incessant hunger, but so too does the realization that he'll never let you go. Not ever.
Mindvoice
Asaroth is a dragon that doesn't speak often, not when a look, an image, or an action could get his message across. Though his words be few, when he does choose to share his thoughts, his voice is a steady rasp and at times a shadowy whisper. Darkness and rot diffuse through his mindvoice, calling to mind the dank, unused caverns in the underbelly of the Weyr.
Itchyspots
From the beginning, Asaroth will need near-constant oiling. He begins his days as a long and lean hatchling, and by the time he's full grown, he's a hulking monstrosity of a bronze, however average in length; that rapid growth causes excessive itchiness in all of his extremities, but at least it's temporary. In particular, the rough hide along his jaw -- be careful, he has a predilection for biting the hand that feeds him -- and the more delicate hide between his over-large eyes get the itchiest, requiring the most care and attention.
Suggested Adult Desc
Long and angular, with overlarge wings and redly scabrous neck ridges, this bronze is not a handsome creature; he may have grown into his asymmetrically-proportioned frame, but nothing can erase the perpetual sneer caused by shadowed eyeridges and a narrow, heavily fanged mouth. His hide is beaten, rusted bronze, with the heaviest concentration of titian corrosion stripping down his flanks and underbelly, bleeding down his limbs like running oil. Veins of carmine interlace in the delicate parts of his wingsails, where muddier colors daub his spars; dark as his winghooks are his claws, a red-tinged ebon that's starkly, sharply unsettling against his other hideous proportions.
Inspiration
Your dragon is part mythical creature and part your own brilliant interpretation. He's based on the monstrous, serpentine basilisk from both lore and that of the Harry Potterverse, with a few of House Slytherin's defining attributes thrown in. His name, in particular, was derived from the meaning of basilisk, which in Greek and Latin (Regulus) means "little king or princeling"; in the past, oftentimes people who believed the story of the dreaded basilisk believed it to be a demon. Taking a bit of this and a bit of that, I settled on the demon Astarot: a prince of hell, often shown as a man "with dragon-like wings, hands and feet, a second pair of feathered wings, and a crown." Hence, Asaroth was born!
Egg Inspiration: Staring down into a hair-toothpaste-soap-gunk clogged drain is never a pleasant sight (or smell). Shudder-inducing enough in my book to fall under creepy and gross. (Jocelyn)
| Clutch 129 | |
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