Fort Weyr

As dragons go, this particular brown's a rather well-built kind of fellow. While definitely not the bulkiest of the bunch, he makes up for it in length — he's a lanky, long-limbed, and lean thing, dressed up fancy in hide the color of bold, brash cinnamon and moving with a confident ease that's nothing less than a swagger. That color dominates the greater majority of his frame, growing a bit paler toward the weathered peaks of his neckridges, and darkening just a touch along his belly. His head is a cunning thing, angular and cleverly constructed, stroked with just a bit of charcoal darkness at the 'ridges and knobs. Whiskey-toned talons tip rather dexterous digits, his paws just a bit muddied with streaks and smears of ruddy clay coloring that fades out well before his elbows. His wings are something of a marvel, a blazing blend of red browns that start at the leading edge and gradually sift down to something just shy of bronze — a sunset in sienna, sketched out in stylish fashion. His whippy length of tail is unmarked, save for three bright bands of red ochre just before it forks.

Personality

He has good intentions. Really. Weyrlinghood will be something of a nightmare to start with, beginning with his need to be the best of the best and do everything by the book. It's not just that he wants to be /the/ best, but that he also wants to be something of a role-model for his brothers and sisters. This will generally devolve into him calling them out when they've made a mistake or a minor transgression — a violation of the actual /rules/ of weyrlinghood will almost certainly involve him ratting the offending party out to the Weyrlingmasters … even if the offending party is /you/. That his tail will get him in trouble more often than not may not help matters any, either. For as confident as he is — both in personality and movement — that vexing appendage will be prone to smacking stuff, knocking things over, or otherwise getting into all manner of trouble. He may grow out of it eventually … but it'll be a long, long road to get there.

On the other hand, he'll start to get pretty good at both using your memory to recount stories … and copy-catting the voices of others — whether or not this is a /good/ thing is up for debate. You'll also rapidly discover he has a fascination for all things Smith-y and will encourage you to continue in your craft. This will come in handy. In the meantime, be prepared for long nights, extra lessons, and plenty of questions about what's right, what's wrong, and what's the difference.

It's all in your best interest.

As he ages, though, that need to follow the 'straight and narrow' will start to ease up. Straight laces tend to snap when they're pulled too tight, see. And, the more he thinks about it, the more he'll realize that the others really didn't know any better than he did. Despite that easing up, he'll always keep an eye on you … and if you start up something he doesn't approve of, or you try to push him too far, he'll put his foot down and dig his claws in. Getting him to budge will be like shouldering a boulder out of the way. Mind, he's like this with anyone that tries to get up to antics that offend his fickle sense of right and wrong, but, with you, he just /knows/ where your thoughts are going and he'll be quick to nip that in the bud.

There is an exception: while he might lay pretty heavily into an adult for getting up to shenanigans, children — draconic, human, or even 'lizardly — will be able to do no wrong in his eyes. You're sometimes included in that lot, sometimes not — it just depends on the situation and the scheme. He's just as liable to wag a figurative finger at those silly kids as he is to be wrapped up in their games. That's not to say he's a pushover — he knows where the fine line between fun and games bumps over into ill-will and bullying, neither of which he'll suffer. Fortunately, dragon memories being what they are, he's also quick to forgive and forget most misdeeds, unless they're of the most grievous sort.

And, hoo boy, will he love telling them stories. He won't be /good/ at it, so you might be called in to help, but … it's the thought that counts, right?

It will be in his nature to turn into that guy that everyone turns to when they have problems — and, by extension, he'll be more than happy to tell others to go to /you/ when they have trouble. Some problems require an unconventional solution and that is precisely where you, him, and some creative engineering (and occasionally fire!) will get all tangled together. The relative success of his 'assistance' is another thing entirely …

While he'll never be a silly sort, he'll be a good impressionist, with a sharp wit and a keen tendency toward using words that others might be surprised by … possibly including yourself. That wittiness will become his weapon of choice, the kind that aims straight and hits true, leaving the target oblivious to what's just happened. Then again, better it be his wittiness than his proclivity for song.

Yes, he'll sing. Well, in fact, even if it's all in the mind. Mostly, this will come out when he's on the wing — when the two of you are out flying sweeps or even just exploring (and he'll love exploring, by the bye — a dragon has to know the lay of the land, after all!) he'll be prone to singing Harper ditties or making his own up. He may even hum out loud, from time to time, just because he can. And speaking of flight …

He's not a skirt-chaser by nature, but he's also not immune to the natural call of dragonkind when a lady takes wing. For all that he has but one, true, lady love in this world (that's you, Polsie, and he'll never let you forget it), his eye can certainly be caught by a swirling skirt of proddiness. He may not chase often, he may win even more rarely, but, goshdangit, he'll give it his all when he gets up there. Whether it be singing some twangy ballad in his impeccable singing voice or showing off his fancy flying, he's all about snaring that femme in his lariat o' love.

If, by some miracle, he winds up snagging a gold, be prepared for long nights on the sand around the proverbial campfire. The eggs will endure a story time of epic proportions, as he recounts all of the myriad adventures the pair of you have gone on — even if that means he'll have to borrow your memories to do so. He'll encourage them, inspire them, and do his best to be as solid a role-model for them as he tried to be for his siblings.

Always remember that his hearts are in the right place — or as near to as he figures they can be. You are his damsel in distress, his wayward deputy, his lone lady love, his outsmarting outlaw … you are his everything, Polsie, and he'll try his absolute best to be yours, too.

Mindvoice

The Spark of Genius

His voice, you'll find, is a malleable thing. While he tends toward a comfortable, masculine-mellow drawl most of the time, he'll have a tendency to pop off with either an off-the-wall accent or an almost uncanny emulation of another dragon or person from time to time. Even his drawl is something of an affect — it'll be apparent more when he's speaking with others than with you, for instance, and he can drop it like … well, it's a hot potato if he's of a mood. His words are usually crisp, clear, and plainly enunciated otherwise, while his vocabulary will lean toward the astonishing — and he'll use it, too. When he needs to.

The spectrum of his voice is a broad one, though usually tending toward the warmer side — campfires and leather, sage and saddle oil, a bit of charcoal and the occasional shot of whiskey … all with the odd burst of steam and the rattle of ill-fitted cogs and gears. Gitars twang, banjos play, and sometimes the odd harmonica can be picked up when he's in a more melodic mood, while others might bear the creak of leather, clink of metal, and the clip-clop of runner's hooves. His mental palette, likewise, leans toward warm colors — from reds to golds, to browns and the occasional purple. Great, sweeping panoramas, idyllic vistas, and lucid sunsets flood the backdrop of his mind for the most part. When he's puzzling through a problem or watching some bit of machinery, he'll lapse into a steam-powered gear-oriented grindfest of grinding metal, oil, and the taste of something faintly acrid.

With you, he's just a bit more reserved with the mental imagery … but just a bit. With others, he'll blow it up, make it even larger than life … especially when he's on a storytelling rampage. Happiness is a campfire and a sunset, while sadness brings grayed out colors and sullen twang of gitar strings. Anger — true anger — is a rarity, but always brings with it the crash of thunder and lightening, torrential rains, and all manner of musical discord. Passion, as he relates it, is a wildfire burning out of control, filled with the smell of sage.

His words are usually paired with images, save in those cases when he's so utterly dumbfounded that only a tumbleweed rattling across empty desert can possibly express what he's feeling.

Egg Name and Description

Exoterran Gargantuan Genesis Egg

Description

The Exoterran Gargantuan Genesis, or more fondly termed 'E.G.G.', is an average sized ovoid object. Constructed of the finest lumber, chewing gum and string one can find it presents a uniquely encumbered device upon the sands. As if conjured overnight from thought to deed, it has been designed as the ultimate in incubation technology. Notice the curving surface which cleverly deflects any attempt at penetration, and the mottled browns that have been dyed upon its outermost layer camouflaging it among the others upon the sandy grounds. Too close a look and one can just barely trace the seams which fit each of the pieces together, but however it was constructed it looks hardy enough to keep intact no matter what might be thrown at it.

Hatching Message

Wobble:
Jerk. Spasm. Twitch twitch twitch. Exoterran Gargantuan Genesis Egg is just starting to get warmed up. It falls still after another round of shudders that have a distinctly frustrated quality to them. Really, it knows what it's doing. … just give it a moment to consult the manual.

Crack:
Exoterran Gargantuan Genesis Egg is still for a moment. Two. Three. Perhaps a bit too long, really. But, no, it's just tinkering, making a few unseen adjustments and then- *kra-koom*, there's a burst of noise and … not a whole lot of anything, actually. Some fine cracks form at the top, sprawling outward in a rapidly building fan. Whatever's within is close to figuring out the key … just another moment!

Hatch:
Ah /hah/. Eureka! A whiskey-hued claw lances out through the gossamer spinner's web of cracks that claims the apex of Exoterran Gargantuan Genesis Egg, only to retreat. With freedom very literally within those claws, another mighty shove and heave of the creature within sends shell shards flying. A Swaggering Straight Shooter Brown Hatchling stands in the wreckage, chest puffed out and wings partially unfurled. Now to see just what those white things over there are up to …

Poses:
He sorts it out quickly enough, thank Faranth. Swaggering Straight Shooter Brown Hatchling has the walk /down/. His tail, that might be something else entirely; it flicks a bit, smacking around some bits of shell behind him before he gets a move on. Those candidates are given a long, hopeful look … but when there's no real movement from them to approach, he huffs out a breath, squares up his shoulders, and makes to head on down to give his own kind of 'how do?' He's fearless in his approach, measured as it seems to be — why, yes, he does intend on getting right in the middle of that quavering crescent of humanity, heedless of how they perceive him.

This is not at a what he was expecting. At all. Candidates moving away, some stumbling over themselves in their haste; people avoiding him- and why? Swaggering Straight Shooter Brown Hatchling swings his head around, red eyes blazing with mounting confusion and hunger. Something catches his attention briefly, causing him to wheel around, while his whiplike tail accidentally smacks against the shins of one poor candidate. The lad's otherwise unharmed, but he's quick to scuttle away, leaving the brown to utter a dejected warble. Something's gone horribly wrong here and he's not sure what — which means a change in tactics as he continues a-ramblin'.

Swaggering Straight Shooter Brown Hatchling finally figures it out after a little bit more wandering, with him setting his sights on one young lady in particular. He's all confidence and poorly contained enthusiasm as he sidles right on up, only to shift tactics and move directly in front of her. Eyes meet and he tenses for but a moment before his bejeweled gaze shifts from the red of nearly dejected sunset to a self-satisfied blue. After all, every straight shootin' sheriff needs a wayward rogue and smith of all trades for a deputy, right? And this one here, ayuh — she'll do.

Impression Message

Gone are the sands. Gone are the other candidates. It's all swallowed up in a hoo-ee-oo-ee-ooh of a whistle and the strum of a gitar. It's a Mexican stand-off, Pern-style, with a nebulous /other/ squaring off opposite you. Cracked hardpan beneath your feet, blinding skies above — it's high noon and there's no breeze to ease the tangible weight of Rukbat and the heat from your shoulders. The creak of leather, the rattle of a tumbleweed rolling between the two of you, and the faint scent of oiled metal comes to the fore. It sizes you up with a slow up-down motion of what must be its head and, then, it nods as if to confirm something to itself. Rather than draw its weapons, it simply pushes through the heat haze to take on the bold, cinnamon-hued shape of a rather lanky dragonet instead. « Well, well, well, » says he, his mindvoice gone as cockeyed as the grin he would no doubt be sporting if his muzzle were capable. The accent is, no doubt, one he simply finds fitting to the moment, put on as easily as any hat. « Look at what we have here. You look like trouble, Polsie. But I reckon I can handle your kinda trouble. » Despite the nagging gnaw in his stomach — or is it yours? It's impossible to tell — he continues: « Name's Iqsath and it's a right pleasure to make your acquaintance. Now- » and there it goes again, that rumbling /ruuuumble/ of a hunger pang « -if you don't mind, where can a fella get something to wet his whistle and get a little grub? I reckon we got a lot to talk about, but first things first … » The rest of the world comes tumbling through the mirage and, with it, the realization that it's time to get a move on.

Clutch Siblings

Bronze Oszarioth Impressed to Sh'koi (Shakoi)
Brown Cikitsakath Impressed to Yhri (Jayashri)
Brown Mneoraeth Impressed to X'dis (Xandis)
Green Ronareoth Impressed to Melze
Green Sohnyuoth Impressed to Miki

Inspiration

The Egg is inspired by the 'Gageteer Genious' concept. That is they're the greatest scientific genius the world/universe/dimension/etc has ever seen and can prove it by building the hyper-warp-dimension-timetraveling gate with leftover scraps of dinner and duct tape… by morning! The inventions always work, at least for a /little/ while. Some will ultimately fail, and fail spectacularly. Whee, it goes boom!

More specifically: The egg description is inspired from the cartoon 'Codename: Kids Next Door' and the way their machines/episodes are code named. They use 2x4 (two by four… heehee) technology which makes ordinary objects actually amazing weapons, transporation and such. The mind name is from the description of the trope exactly. I had a hard time and then i was reading more and it's yup… that little quote… perfect! The touches are more slanted towards 'Phineas and Ferb' with the generalized trope mixed in.

A whole lot of western and a wee smidge of steampunk makes up the rest of your Iqsath — three parts sheriff, one part unconventional problem solver, and one hundred percent dedicated to his dearest deputy. His name is cobbled from bits of the word 'quicksand' — there's a lot more to him than one might think at first blush, and he's liable to suck a person into his bright little world if they're not careful. I wound up drawing a fair bit of inspiration from Blazing Saddles — not just Bart in particular, but the general vibe from the whole movie … and from a whole lot of other western themes as well. I tried to make him larger than life and just a /bit/ cocky, without being overly so- mostly, he's a confident fellow with a whole lot of quirks that the two will have to figure out and work with together.

Diego Stocco put together a pretty keen instrument called the Bassoforte — the resulting song is one that very much embodies the 'feel' of Iqsath (and the instrument is very much the kind of thing he'd be keen on, I think). The video is here.

The egg description, inspiration, and mindtouch messages were made by Neyuni; the rest of Iqsath is all Galina's doing. If any parts of him don't fit right or need to be replaced, go for it! He's yours to do with as you will, in the end — all I hope is that you have as much fun with him as I did in the writing of him.

Credits