Difference between revisions of "Dragon:Xatolaeth"

Revision as of 06:25, 17 April 2015

Crimson Caricature Egg

Red, the rough deep shade of a pure thick dye made of dried hibiscus flowers or fresh sumac berries, coats this egg. Shadows and lines of dark charcoal create texture and the illusion of features, here a thickly lined forehead, there an arched pair of angular overhanging brows, next a craggy extended and over exaggerated pointed nose that seems almost three-dimensional, and below even those a curled mustache that wends its villainous way up, up, up toward the apex of the egg.

The Crimson Caricature Egg rocks one last time, a too-great motion from the being within sending it tumbling end over end as flakes fleck off onto the sand. Finally it explodes in a burst of blood red, the net of cracks bursting apart under the pressure of one slim brown who lands on his feet despite a rather startled expression in his dark eyes. He immediately strikes a conqueror's pose atop the shattered walls of his egg.

Incendiary Vainglory Brown

Rich red-umber hide stretches over this brown's aristocratic face, its delicate bone structure giving him a rather androgynous appearance. His precisely-held skull is long and narrow, roman-nosed with high-set cheekbones and large, slanted eyes which hold something cat-like in their gleaming, self-centered intelligence. Past sleek headknobs, high, fire-touched ridges descend an elegant neck, his body built along refined lines that enhance his natural grace. Every motion is visibly calculated to impress: a long tail curved just so; tiny paws with their lethal iron-gray talons exactly placed; slim shoulders draped artistically with a radiant conflagration of wings. Though their translucent sails are veined with gold, they still shadow the rest of his deep chestnut hide, dulling it into something dusky and purplish along his smoke-shaded underbelly.

Temperament

Like both his parents, Xatolaeth will have a love for stories-but where Rielsath and Malsaeth love all sorts of stories, Xatolaeth only likes the ones that star him, Xatolaeth: larger than life, grandiose, a magnificent specimen of the draconic race. Lover of a thousand golds; idol of bronzes, browns, and blues everywhere; hero of all Pern... You get the picture. He's egotism personified into one vain, sarcastic, fast-talking brown with a love for lampooning everyone else around him.

Even you'll find yourself on the receiving end of his tongue, L'rell, and Xatolaeth will love getting the best of you as much as he does of everyone else. At least he'll confine those moments to private, in general, and not air your dirty laundry for the whole world to see. He has quite the inflated view of himself, and will always be happy to brag about how strong, how noble, how intelligent he is. And truth is, he's not really that far off, either. Xatolaeth might not be the strongest or the smartest, and he's certainly not the biggest dragon-even the biggest brown-there is, but if there's one thing you can say for it, it's that he always comes out on top. Nobody is outsmarting this brown.

With a dragon this vain, you'd expect him to be fastitidious about eating, oiling, and bathing. And, well... Two out of three you'd be right on. Xatolaeth hates water with a passion that will surprise you; you'll likely have to force him into the lake every time he needs a bath-and that'll be at least once every day while he's a weyrling. Xatolaeth firmly believes that not getting dirty (which he doesn't) is a good defense against having to get a bath. And don't even get him started on rain-being out in the rain makes for one miserable, bedraggled, hunch-shouldered Xatolaeth. « I am a creature of air and fire, » he'll whine to you. And he is right on that: Xatolaeth is not much fonder of the ground than he is of water, let alone on the bane of his existance, mud (Xatolaeth might just find a mortal enemy in Tausreth on that point). He's not a cold-weather dragon, either, and will definitely prefer the desert heat of a place like Igen to the snow of the Reaches. Considering being grounded a mortal pain, Xatolaeth will dream constantly of the sky, and sun, and his bright wings will be itching to get him up there even from hatching.

It's definitely a good thing that Xatolaeth's got a wily mind under his pretty-boy exterior, though. His hubris will likely always have him in trouble; he's just got a knack for getting on the bad side of authority figures and his peers alike. It's not that he means to, mind. He just says things, points out faults and illogistics-all in this sarcastic, dryly witty voice that has a way of getting under people's skins. But as much as Xatolaeth might protest that he's only mentioning some niggling detail that escaped his superiors for their benefit, you will be privy to his inner thoughts. You know, the ones where he gloats about how he pulled one over on that goofy Cadejoth again, or that time he talked circles around Wyaeth until his poor none-too-bright grandsire didn't know which way was up anymore (even if that's not exactly how the conversation really went).

Xatolaeth genuinely enjoys thwarting people, and if there's generally not much really malicious behind it, he still enjoys his role as the thorn in the Weyr's collective side. He's glib, he's jaded-from hatching he displays a certain world-weary ennui. Xatolaeth believes all the petty, squabbling masses are the same, and it's his goal in life to upend them every chance he gets. He has nothing but disdain for what he sees as the vulgarity of the plebeians; he, on the other hand, is an aristocrat, with impeccable taste and a love for the finer things in life. But though an irrepressible, incorrigible meddler, he's not prone to the clumsy, leap-first blundering of Kelerith or the instinctive reactions of Sviath or Yyth. No, Xatolaeth's moves are very deliberate, calculated.

Even as a weyrling, Xatolaeth's physical movements will be graceful, and so are the mental ones. He knows just how to manipulate every situation. I'daur on your case about drills? He'll charm Secath into having Persie butter up the old man for you. Wyaeth after him for some trick he pulled? Time to sidle up to Teonath with a story fit to get the Weyrleader in trouble and make himself out to be the victim. Xatolaeth is perfectly capable of reining in his cutting tongue into a talent for obsequious flattery and blatant brown-nosing.

Because if there's one thing that can also be said about Xatolaeth, it's that he's a political animal. There are few things he loves better than making deals with people, then twisting the bargain back on them, in true demon fashion. And he knows when too much is too much, too, and somehow will always manage to shut up just before he can get himself into real trouble. He knows when discretion is the better part of valor, after all. Some would probably call it a strain of cowardice, his willingness to ally himself with whoever is stronger-and let's face it, Xatolaeth might just be the only dragon who's openly glad about not having to fight Thread. But he's wily, your Xatolaeth, always with an eye up the ranks, and he'll play everyone he can in his efforts to reach ever more lofty heights of grandeur. The second he sees an opening to take one of those Powers, he'll be onto them, too.

Because of this, Xatolaeth can be quite suspicious of others' motives and always expects them to do the worst, especially when it comes to females. Xatolaeth is generally more interested in the lead-up to a flight than the flight itself. With no loyalties to any particular female, he'll turn his charms on almost every green or gold he meets. But half the time, he won't even chase when they go up; that's not really his interest. When he does, though, expect Xatolaeth to be more interested in beating the other males than in actually catching the female. He'll try to get all the other boys to drop out, taunting them, showing off his crack flying, forcing them into each other. Havoc will follow him: he's always a force of chaos and discord, in flights or his wing or everyday life.

In the end, Xatolaeth is downright mercenary; almost everything is expendable to him. The exception, of course, is you, L'rell. Much as he might try to wisecrack about you, present that same slick mask toward you that he does everyone else, Xatolaeth will never really mean it. He has, like all dragons, the utmost love for you, and all his pushing and picking at you is meant to built you up, not pull you apart like he does others.

Public Impression Message

A prancing step, an amused cock of his head: the Incendiary Vainglory Brown makes sure eyes are on him every time he moves, watching the candidates askance as he feigns indifference to the very audience he courts. But one of the white-robed figures draws him closer, and he toys around the group of candidates standing with a tall boy with long, dark hair before he finally reaches out. His talons stretch for that boy but stop just short, the only mark made between them a mental one.

Private Impression Message

Xatolaeth. You know the name even before you can feel the cold, the blackness, the smell of sulphur that overtakes your every thought. The heat of the sands evaporates into one long, icy midnight, filled with the whisperings of invisible watchers and the low tendrils of smoke that wrap around your mind and finally give way to a pair of glowing eyes. And then, deep and booming, the impressive voice to match that name comes forth, echoing in your skull: « I am Xatolaeth! Breaker of eggs, traverser of sands, mighty son of the Reaches, dragon to L'rell. And I charge you to feed me! »

Mindvoice

If a chameleon had a mindvoice, it would sound like Xatolaeth. Or... something like that. Xatolaeth is known for his wide range of mental signatures, often found with the subtle scent of rosemary or the sharper tang of iron and sulfur. With an expansive vocabulary and precise diction, he plays with the feel of his mind as much as the words, his mental touch running from the sense of ice crackling in the air, to the wisp of smoke that's rough against your throat, all the way to the clash and boom of lightning and hail, in all their impressive fury.

Itchyspots

Of all the awkward spots to itch! Xatolaeth's little paws will always give him the most trouble, the base of each talon itching until he's writhing as he tries to stop it. There's also one little spot of dry skin, right between his shoulder blades, that will need some special oiling.

Quick Personality

A cunning sower of discord, with overwhelming hubris and a sarcastic sense of humor.

Dragon Inspiration

Your Xatolaeth is based on Bartimaeus, the titular demon of Jonathan Stroud's Bartimaeus Trilogy: The Amulet of Samarkand, The Golem's Eye, and Ptolemy's Gate. A 5000-year-old wise-cracking, shape-shifting djinni, Bartimaeus has seen it all, and the way he tells it, is responsible for most of it-everything from the pyramids to the leaning tower of Pisa (if the architects had just listened to him) His desc draws from one of his favorite shapes: the only master he loved, Ptolemy of Egypt, while his name comes from a mixture of their names, with the X you wanted.

Egg Inspiration: A commedia dell'arte mask for the character Capitano (a form of Italian theatre that is the precursor to the television sit-com). Image found by scrolldown.