Wayward Desperado Bronze Wyaeth
| Wayward Desperado Bronze Wyaeth | |
|---|---|
| Impressee | N'thei |
| Hatching Date: | 21 July, 2007 Day 25, Month 3, Turn 14 |
| Current Age: | 57 turns |
| Egg Name: | Great Rainforest Egg |
| Size: | 37.6 feet |
| Dam: | Dawn of Paradise Gold Nabrimeth |
| Sire: | Wrencath |
| Lineage: | Here |
| Clutch: | Clutch:18 |
| Egg Credit: | Birgitte |
| Dragon Credit: | I'daur and S'kris |
| Puppeteer: | I'daur |
Contents
Green Rainforest Egg
After giving a look to Wrencath that has the bronze cowering yet again, Nabrimeth settles into the task of birthing a rather /green/ egg. With a rapid blink at the ovoid, she peers dubiously at the clutchsire who can only offer an innocent-sounding 'it wasn't me' kind of rumble. She houghs at him with draconic amusement and ambles on, head swinging this way and that in her search for a new egg wallow.
Green, greener, greenest -- everywhere you look on this smallish, rotund little egg is a forest of green, lit only with the occasional shaft of limey sunlight filtering down from an unseen sky. Moss feathers its way across trunks of ruddy, red-stained cedars, layering fingers of softest green in endless sheets over the wooden foundations. At the apex, the deep sylvan green of old-growth cedar boughs weighs down the shell, hanging heavily dark and wetly jade over the underbrush of fern and forest's fair, fey fir-green floor.
With a shiver, the Great Rainforest egg finally starts to unfurl and shards of livid green drop to the sands like withered leaves. The egg wilts away and a new form arises, shuffling his wings to shed the sand that's already touched them. Wayward Desperado Bronze stretches his lanky limbs and lifts his head, red eyes blazing and an unspoken question lingering in his stern visage: Do you feel lucky?
Wayward Desperado Bronze
Dusty hide like cracked old leather lends this bronze a world-weary look that hangs well on his lanky frame. He's rangy, tall, and broad-chested, with long limbs ending in spurs of gunmetal-grey talons. His hollow-cheeked jaw is as square and roughly chiseled as they come, while his keen eyes are cool and shadowy beneath prominent, windswept ridges of burnished brass. Sunbleached bronze blazes a trail down the makeshift mountain range of his neckridges, into the coal-smoke crease of his neck and a shoulder edged in dusk. Gritty golds blanket the jaded desert of his haggard ribs, half-cloaked by the shabby, sandstorm duster of his wings. His flanks are leanly muscled, his tail as thin as the rest of his desiccated frame: a distilled dragon, all excess withered away into this faded, hard-edged remnant outridden by those threadbare tumbleweed wings.
Temperament
He's a character, your Wyaeth, N'thei, and others will know it, even if they can't quite put their finger on the whys and wherefores of his mind. Some will see in him a hero, a lone gunman riding into town to face down his enemies. Some will fashion him as a sturdy back-up for his few friends, the one dragon you can always count on to offer his teeth and claws beside yours. And still others will call him hot-tempered, moody, fatalistic--a system-bucking outlaw whose keen intelligence shines through a caustic wit. And they're all right.
Even just-hatched, your Wyaeth is independent, self-sufficient, and if he's got a knack for gentlemanly airs with his superiors, it's only to convince them he's mature enough to handle himself. Self-sufficiency will early build privacy as the surest defense for keeping people from interfering with /his/ business. His dealings with his clutchmates will be twofold: on the one hand, he'll seek to set himself apart from them, keeping them from knowing him--and on the other, if they ever need help, he'll be the first to step up. This dichotomy will characterize all Wyaeth's dealings, in fact, as he makes himself an outsider, and yet remains always at the ready to ride to the rescue for his clutchmates, his wingmates, those few exceptional dragons that earned from him the title of 'friend.'
And he'll certainly be well-qualified to help. Wyaeth's an ambitious dragon, a restless one who won't be happy until he's mastered everything he's shown. He'll try to be first and best to hunt, to fly, to flame--and even when he's much too young to fight, he'll eye Thread and he'll wait, practicing diligently for the day he can face it down.
Even in his day-to-day dealings, Wyaeth will have that edge to him. It's a recklessness that hovers around him, a certain cheerful fatalism that infects his caustic wit, which will find itself turned as often on himself and his own familiar foibles as it will on those around him. And rules? Those are something for /other/ dragons: Wyaeth will follow them only as long as they suit him, and sod them when they don't. He's a hot-tempered dragon, explosively angry and prone to physical displays of that volcanic fury--but when it passes, he's just Wyaeth again, withdrawn and moody until this, too, passes. He's not malicious to innocents, though, or at least not on purpose: if, later, when he's calmed again, he realizes he has done so, guilt will plague him, even though he's too proud to admit that and certainly to apologize about it.
The one thing that'll never fail to rile him, though, is having you, N'thei, or any of his friends attacked--it's a more surefire way to make an enemy of Wyaeth than attacking Wyaeth himself. And unlike most dragons, this highly intelligent bronze has a long memory, and he can hold a grudge as long as it takes. When he finally gets his revenge, he can seem almost casually, coolly cruel; he's ruthless when it comes to threats, with a take-no-prisoners attitude that will win him love or hate, but never indifference.
And females--! Oh, females are his weakness: those curvy, slinky greens and golds. Wyaeth's rakish airs, the swagger always in his step and the drawl in his mental touch, combine with gentlemanly sensibilities for an irresistible package. He has an old-timey charm when he's wooing, and Wyaeth lives for the chase: once he's won his gal, he's off again, flying off into the sunset. He might, someday, meet that one girl who's smart enough, pretty enough, sassy enough to hold his attention; if that's the case, he'll always come back to her in the end, no matter how many dalliances he has along the way. She just better not have any expectations of fidelity from him, because he's a philanderer, too, among all the other things he is.
But Thread--this will bring out the best in your Wyaeth, N'thei. Calculatingly reckless, he'll fly with no regard for his own well-being--in fact, he may well admit, at the least to you, that he has to die someday and it might as well be with his boots on, doing what he was born to do. The gambling streak that shows itself out of 'Fall in a love of cards and games of chance (he'll instinctively grasp the games, even if talons limit his card-holding ability) will rear its head again in the sky as he takes his chances in daring maneuvers. He wants to be on the front line, one of the first to engage the enemy, and he'll fight until the battle's won before he allows himself to collapse into weariness and solitude to reflect on what was lost. He'll live his life with no regrets, knowing that any moment Thread could call him forth to face it, his neck and yours, N'thei, on the line.
And if, by some miracle, he survives to the end of this impromptu Pass, and finds himself whole--or mostly so--and growing older, grayer, Wyaeth will find the whole thing, well, funny. His dragon's mind can hardly comprehend a future, even keen as it; of all the things to finally get him, old age will never be the one Wyaeth expects--or wants--for himself or you, N'thei. The thought of outliving his era and his usefulness, of facing a quiet fading-away into the pass rather than dying young in a blaze of gunsmoke and Thread--it's a thought that will bring forth that wry humor again.
Public Impression Message
All good thing must come to an end and Wayward Desperado Bronze's rambling, roaming ways are no exception. The rangy bronze swings his head this way and that before finally swaggering toward a couple of strapping young men. Not him, not him, and definitely not- oh. What's this? It looks like the kind of challenge he was born to face down. He makes his way around to finally settle on narrow haunches in front of a large, somewhat rugged-looking young man. It's a showdown, a meeting of minds and wills and finally eyes. Crimson makes way for the clear blue of desert skies -- no longer is he a lone ranger ... this bronze has found his partner.
Private Impression Message
The heat from the sands intensifies and engulfs you, turning into the searing sensation of a blazing noonday's sun. The light is suddenly blinding and fierce, beating down on your neck and making the world swim away in a wash of heat haze. Standing alone in the midst of some forsaken desert, a warped mirage materializes, accompanied by a haunting whistle and the steady plunking of strings on a guitar in some long-forgotten tune. Then his voice comes, rich and languid, to touch your mind in earthen, smoke-scented words: « Well, howdy, N'thei. I'm Wyaeth and I reckon we'll make a mighty fine pair, don't you? » The sands return in a thunderous rush, a bronze dragon staring up and into your eyes with powerful, unyielding certainty. « But, first ... I need food something /fierce/. »
Mindvoice
The casual rumble of Wyaeth's voice recalls thundering hooves and the low boom of distant thunder, their noise underwritten with subtler creaks of leather, ringing metal, and the whisper of wind through tumbleweeds. Guitar strums and wood smoke accent the low words, a rambling melody and aromatic hickory blending smoothly when all's right in the world. A foul mood brings discordant twangs and acrid smoke with the sickly-sweet edge of alcohol, accompanied by an eruption of booming thunder and a sullen flash flood. But when that storm lifts, it leaves in its wake the palette of sunset: reds and purples and golds in stark contrast to the earthen colors that generally characterize his stylized mental images.
Itchyspots
Wyaeth's hide has a natural tendency to be dry, meaning he'll need plenty of oiling on a regular basis in general. His itchy spots are myriad and wandering, sometimes meaning a bit more oil needs to be worked into his broad chest or perhaps along his harsh, angular hips. In particular, those places where hide touches hide will need more attention, where wider expanses -- such as his flanks -- will be slightly less prone to itchiness.
Limerick
The rainforest yields dusty bronze,
Over golds and greens he always fawns.
He'll fly recklessly high,
Gambling up in the sky,
Then back home to help friends when day dawns.
Dragon Inspirations
Your Wyaeth takes his inspiration from the gunslingers of the Old West, lawmen and outlaws alike. In particular, his temper is drawn from Doc Holliday as the quintessential gunslinger, while his name is drawn from Holliday's comrade Wyatt Earp. Interspersed into both his personality and description are the images of the American West that have become iconic, both in landscapes and in the people who have come to represent that era, such as John Wayne and Clint Eastwood.
Egg Inspiration: This egg was inspired by North America's west coast rainforests. It is an amazing world of green, green, and more green. They are lush with life, seemingly endless, and the cedars grow so big that you become a mere insect beneath their branches. Canada's Great Bear Rainforest is one of the few protected sites left for old growth forests, probably because its relatively inaccessible to the outside world. However, this forest is also coming under threat. For more info.
Clutches
Wyaeth has produced 2 gold, 4 bronze, 7 brown, 12 blue, and 13 green dragons.
| Clutch 21 | Ciath | Wyaeth | 19 eggs | Day 8, Month 4, Turn 13 |
| Clutch 22 | Teonath | Wyaeth | 19 eggs | Day 2, Month 10, Turn 14 |
| Clutch 18 | |
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