Solstice in the Canyons Brown Mohraith
| Solstice in the Canyons Brown Mohraith | |
|---|---|
| Impressee | M'try |
| Hatching Date: | 25 October, 2009 Day 14, Month 1, Turn 21 |
| Current Age: | 47 turns |
| Egg Name: | Evaporation Egg |
| Size: | 33.25 feet |
| Dam: | Morning Over Mists Gold Elaruth |
| Sire: | Scrappy Wandering Wheaton Bronze Mikhuth |
| Lineage: | Here |
| Clutch: | Clutch:34 |
| Egg Credit: | T'rev |
| Dragon Credit: | B'kaiv and T'rev |
| Puppeteer: | B'kaiv |
Contents
Evaporation Egg
Narrow, attenuated in shape, this egg might almost seem to be too columnar to actually hold a developing hatchling. A dull, leaden gray wraps its base, with clusters of bubbles trailing upward along smooth sides only to fade out into long wisps of white steam. The top of the egg seems hazy, indistinct as if it has boiled away into the air above the sands.
Rolling, rolling, rolling, and kapow! The Evaporation Egg rolls right into the Is It Watching Me? Egg before splitting asunder in a shower of shards. Left upside down is a pug-faced, stocky brown who looks like he'll be a real bruiser when he grows up. One wing lies trapped beneath him and the little guy kicks his legs a few times, finally flips himself upright and gives himself a good shake all over to get put back together. Dust yourself off kid! The offending wing is lifted, eyed speculatively, stretched out, folded, stretched again and finally re-furled onto his back before he unsteadily swaggers across the sands. He /meant/ to do that.
Solstice in the Canyons Brown Hatchling
A bruiser of a brown, he's got a hearty, self-assured and heavy-footed swagger. With rugged, ruddy brick as his main color, this dragonet presents an image of dense-packed solidity, even egg-thin. Big, bulky bones round his frame, the bunched muscles of his neck and shoulders glazed by the sun's rays as they reach the zenith of the summer solstice. His dark hide glimmers with the wetness of hatching, but as he moves from the shadows into the light, flecks of copper and mica shine through the toasted grittiness of sun-browned stone. Prominent eyeridges and a snub muzzle, both splattered with faded asphalt, give him a pug-faced compactness. Long lines of blended light and fire sweep from a broad forehead down the length of his body, coiling into pools of molten stone where haunches and sturdy wings join his body. Broad wingsails cast a reddish glow when light shines through their translucent spans, a fine mottling reminiscent of crumbling sandstone disrupting their smooth sweeps. From the foundation of massive haunches springs a tail wide through its length that flattens a little at the end. From that blunt tip all the way up his spine march geometric ridges, each one growing organically from the last, tallest between wings and up along the base of his neck, gradually decreasing into the slope of a modest roof just behind his skull.
Temperament
Bashful, quiet, reserved. Three words you'll never apply to Mohraith. Even as a weyrling he's got boldness and conviction in spades, a drive to make his way through life that may seem haphazard. There's always something new to do and see, some new thing to remark on, draw your attention to. Why linger on all that old crap? « Hey M'try, yo, over there, see that? Ain't that just about the coolest damn rock formation you've ever /seen/? » He doesn't mean to be overbearing, it's just that he's so keenly interested in what he's seeing, so eager to bring you and everyone else along for the ride that he forgets he has an inside voice. Perhaps not surprising, with his enthusiasm and eagerness, Mohraith does make mistakes - especially physical ones, his kinesthetic sense matures and he can visualize where to go without ... Oh whoops, there goes another bucket of oil. When he's tired, knocking things over will be nearly a guarantee. Not one to get down and out about his failures, Mohraith just bounces back to his feet to keep going and will do the same for you: « Hey, hey Mait, c'mon, pick yourself up. We got stuff to do and there ain't no time to get down about it. You can do it! » His isn't the gentle support of a mother's guiding hand but a brash pal or the dad picking his kid up to dust off his knees and send him back into the game. Don't mistake his fervor and drive for cheer, however: though he's tough to rattle, Mohraith prefers to present a more stoic face to others, especially his clutchbrothers. He's no sissy! For all his enthusiasm and volume, his public demeanor is one of swagger and "I meant to do that" machismo with his true feelings kept between the two of you. Just as he won't share your insecurities, he expects you to be as close-mouthed about his. At least he has a dragon's memory, and will forget any indiscretions. Bad as any dragon is with names, he covers for it by giving everyone a nickname - buddy, dude, sweetcheeks, babe. Only you, though, ever get to be mate. Or Mait. You'll probably be the only one to know how he's privately delighted by the pun.
For all his lack of memory, Mohraith hoards information like it's so much gold, especially your drawings. What he can't hold onto himself, he pushes into the dusty corners of your own brain for later retrieval and will often deliberately ask you to remember this or that detail, a story, a song, a sight. « Hold onto this for me Mait, yeah? Wanna see that later. » What he chooses to store may surprise you: not just places or events, but people and dragons too - what moves him, what motivates her, what pushes their buttons. Like Orisoth, he wants to get to the heart of relationships. After all, it's all about getting people to do their best right? And if what you and he think is their best might not always match what /they/ think is best, well, hey, who spent all that time learning from the Harpers? The thing is, you're not exempt from his sly observations or nudging either. Who else knows you better than him? If he thinks you need to improve on something, be it taking risks, getting more exercise, or actually talking to a woman with the end result of getting her into bed, he is going to seize that opportunity with both feet. It might be subtle, it might be straightforward, but either way, he's going to be 'leaning' on you to do what it is he wants you to do 'for your own good'.
Like Khazioth, Mohraith has a natural instinct towards leadership and is always striving to make himself, you, and his wingmates better as a wing. Protective of his wingmates, especially the greens and blues, Mohraith keeps an eye out for those around him in ways he doesn't during a flight. A flight's all about the chase, the goal, the win. Drills and weyrgames are a team-based success and to him, his wing is his family. « This here's my wing, ain't nobody better /mess/ with us! » At the same time, he's not above nudging his wingmates around either, all with the goal of making things better. The words he uses might not always be your sophisticated Harper phrases, but he does seem to have a knack for getting what he wants out of others. Watchful to make sure that everyone is putting in the right amount of effort, he's often the first to suggest to a flagging smaller dragon that it might be time for a break. « Hey, how's about a little breather? Let some of the others show off for a bit? Looking real good there though. » The same can be said for their human counterparts and you might find yourself encouraged to talk people through things if something seems to be on their minds. Mohraith just wants everyone getting along and moving on towards that ultimate goal of always doing better than last time.
« Oh baby, look at them /wings/! » Mohraith's unpolished flirtations might flabbergast more than one green, but his charms are sincere for all their rough-edged brashness. He's not shy about expressing his admiration for a green or a gold and spits out pickup lines like they're going out of style. For all that verbal forwardness though, he's remarkably considerate of a lady's personal space: he'll hit on the dame du jour with verve and a certain rough-cut panache but you never bug a lady that don't want to be bothered. Cold shoulders and refusals will be met with an easy-going shrug of his shoulders: better luck next time. When invited, he's a surprisingly warm and cuddly companion, tender words coming to him as easily as those pickup lines, revealing a sweet side that makes good on every line he spins. In the air, he's a bold powerhouse, cutting through the pack like there's no tomorrow to live for. He has no qualms about shouldering the unwary out of his way, though it's with a cheery, « Hey there buddy, sorry, yeah, coming through! » rather than any maliciousness. Should he manage to catch, he's a considerate partner, tending to his lady with consummate care. And if there's a clutch... well Big Daddy doesn't begin to cover it. He'll be beaming with pride and eager to show off both eggs and offspring. « Those're mine there, yep, see how that one's big? Betcha that's a boy in there. Nice big fella like his Pops. » « Yeah that girl there, she's mine. Ain't she a sparker? »
Public Impression Message
The Solstice in the Canyons Brown is no longer content to amble around the sands and poke his nose into everything, to shoulder shells out of the way, and shove some Candidates aside to look at others. A certain voice, a movement, /something/ has caught his eye, and he finally has his quarry in sight. Pausing for only a second, he careens across the sands toward an older Candidate with green eyes and shaggy hair. Barely stopping in time, the solid-built brown scrabbles to a stop, pushing up under his chosen one's hand, his eyes brightening into Impression's violet.
Private Impression Message
Blaring sounds worse than the instrument room at full bore attack your ears, drilling down and in and putting your hands on your ears doesn't stop it. Where'd all this noise come from? There's nothing -that- wrong with a Journeyman's knot, is there? Who the hell thought this was a good idea, anyway? « MOHRAITH. » ...Oh, wait. « Name's Mohraith, and you're my Mait, aincha? M'try. » It's still loud, /he's/ still loud, but what was unbearable mere seconds ago is now, somehow, manageable with the touch of the bulky brown who's shoved his head under your hand. « C'mon, Mait, we got things to do, places to go, people to see. And damn, I need something to /eat/ like you wouldn't believe. Let's go fix that, yeah? »
Mindvoice
Mohraith is /loud/. Only rarely does he remember to turn down the volume, especially as a youth. Growing up he'll eventually learn to temper his sendings but until he does, you've got rattles and crashes, thumps and groans, the hubbub of a crowd at a Gather to contend with. Sometimes the crowd only murmurs, sometimes it jabbers away at full tilt, rather like Mikhuth's gypsy camp. Anxiety and distress lead to full out rioting that can't be blocked out by covering your ears. His imagery is usually vivid, bright as the sun on walls of glass. He /is/ capable of quieter thoughts but these tend to come in snatches: the chuckling current of a river's byway, the chirp of birds under trees, the flash of greenery from between steel and concrete.
Dragon Inspirations
With a very loose 'things that start with M' theme, Mohraith is a combination of Manhattan and the stock phrase 'There is no I in Team' (which doesn't start with M, but it ends with it!). Manhattan is the most densely populated county in the United States, full of the vim and vigor, rough and tumble zest that characterizes your brown. His desc is in part based on the burly 'wise guy' type and his coloration is inspired by the annual celestial event known as "Manhattanhenge" with touches from his sire and dam. Hopefully his drive will provide that jolt to shove M'try out of his comfortable rut.
Egg Inspiration: Endothermic reactions, specifically the vaporization and evaporation of water.
| Clutch 34 | |
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