Post by pandoraMisfit on Sept 10, 2009 11:52:52 GMT -5
~ M'yran ~
Weyr: Talune Weyr
Rank: Weyrling
Pronunciation: My-run
Nicknames: Kyran, Mik, Meer
(Redacted)
Not long after his 19th birthday, a Searchdragon from the Southern continent appeared at the Hold, looking for young people eligible for the clutch that Linnelyth had just produced. Eyes whirling in curiosity, the dragon peered at the strange red head as he told his rider ~ This one is peculiar, but that may well make him all the more appropriate for those of our Weyr ~. His rider nodded in agreement, and so invited Mikyran to join them at Talune Weyr. Warily, he accepted, for this Weyr was back in the south, where any reminder of his mother could walk along at a second’s notice. Pushing such thoughts to the back of his mind, he clambered adragonback and was take away to a new Weyr he had heard little of.
He hadn’t been at the weyr for very long before he was presented with the honour of attending Opal Linnelyth’s final and what would prove to be possibly her greatest hatching. His overall attitude was that that day would most definitely be the day he impressed – he had suffered too many rejections and disappointment beforehand that if that weren’t the case, Faranth knows what he would have done. He watched the hatching with emotions running high, reacting to the slightest glance his way. He was awed by the ferocity of the Bronze kings that hatched, indifferent to the Silvers and starstruck by the regal Onyx.
But the most striking event of the day, amidst all the healthy looking hatchlings, was the birth of the first Mimic. Never had he seen something so beautiful and yet horrifying at the same time. It was paradoxical. He could see the skeleton, the heart pumping the violently green ichor through the most intricate network of veins, arteries and capillaries he had ever seen! It was a spectacle that perhaps he and only a few others truly witnessed for many would be repulsed by these creatures and would have looked away, but not he. No, he was intrigued. He didn’t even take his eyes off when a Red hatched, followed by another strong looking Bronze, who three minutes prior would have had his undivided attention.
In an almost magical display, the smallest of the blind looking creatures ripped open its eyes, and after seeing a scarlet that had been attempting to frolic with the three sickly looking creatures, began to develop female organs in the base of her tail. She then set her glare upon Nazreth and white began to filter across her hide, pigment settling into place along her thicker skin. Mikyran was so entranced by this that he almost missed the transformation of the second two dragons – both clones of the emerald Typhith and onyx Varanth.
Mikyran was entranced by them, but this didn’t last long. Their blatant display of viciousness when they seized F’air made him feel slightly sick and physical violence had never sat well with him. Watching, he dearly wished he could hear the obvious exchange that was occurring between the four newly hatched dragons. And then the trio of Mimics had stood before him, the two males almost presenting their sister to him. Fedorath had chosen him to belong to her. Her voice insinuated itself into his mind and he was instantly won over, though it took a while to regain his composure. A sharp headbutt to the knee and he finally responded with a bow. Perhaps not the usually mode of celebration, but he had an inkling that so… mature and proud a hatchling would not respond well to being enveloped in a hug.
Fedorath quickly showed her love for destruction as her brother Fremonth took apart a candidate that had gotten too close to R’taik. Most had had the good sense to vacate the area around M’yran and Fedorath as she hissed violently at them. The red headed lad felt sick to his stomach as he felt the waves of delight coming from his dragon, and was quickly reprimanded. You will not block me out! You are mine and we share everything now, just as we belong to Fremonth and Folkvarth, and as they too belong to us. I will not tolerate your being squeamish just because you prefer to use your tongue to wound others. She stepped back towards his side possessively and wrapped her tail around his waist, the tip trailing up his chest to rest over his heart. Mine, you belong to me, and together our words will beguile and destroy many. For that’s what our words are: violence, when we use them to ensnare and beguile, and also to destroy. You know it, you have done it, I see in your mind, and this is why you are Mine. But as words have their advantage, so too does the physical violence, for it teaches lessons that must not be forgotten. Weakly nodding his head, M’yran obeyed her earlier words and joined her brothers so they could feed together.
The three Mimics have been practically inseparable since their birth, much to M’yran’s distaste. They continue to surpass the rest of those in their clutch in almost every endeavour, achieving flight and the ability to between faster than any others. Only time will tell what these three harbingers will
Fedorath
Age: Weyrling
Colour: Mimic
Appearance: Fedorath is the smallest of her Mimic brethren, although by no means is she a small dragon, built to rival even her bronze siblings. She isn’t as disproportionate as her clutch siblings, even though her head is still somewhat outsized to her body, and her growth promises to be something spectacular.
Her hide is as transparent as glass for the most part, revealing to the world her muscular build, linked to bone by taut tendons and ligaments. Her innermost workings are on display to the world in a grotesque form of beauty – to see the intricacies of her systems working in tandem with each other is both horrifying to some and fascinating to others. Her entire circulatory system threads its way between the muscle and skin, pulsating with green ichor with every beat of her heart. The effect when with her skin is something quite eerie to behold. The hide itself is as smooth as any other dragons and certainly nowhere near as fragile as it might seem.
The only hue to grace her otherwise see-through hide is pure white – licking the bone structure in her face, twisting round her head knobs and down the ridges on her back down to curl around the tip of her tail. It also appears more strongly on the phalanges of her paws and wings, being practically opaque in these areas, filtering out to transparency once it hits fleshier areas of her body. The shade mottles her wingsails a little, specifically towards the very bottom, giving some definition to the flimsy membrane that would otherwise be practically invisible. Her claws are bone white, lacking the pigmentation that in other breeds would present as black or pewter.
Unfortunately, the transparency of her hide does come with some setbacks. Sensitive to the light of Rukbat, the flesh is prone to burning. Perhaps more suited to a cool climate it is cruel satire that these mutations were born into the searing heat of Talune. To prevent the intense pain and damage the Southern heat does, Fedorath and her kin are slathered with a thick, heavy salve to protect the delicate tissue. The salve prevents scorching and lessens the pain, though it does not banish all discomfort. More recently, a mask and cloak have been fashioned from thinned leather that is worn to block out the harmful rays. Fedorath’s has been bleached to match her white outline. She is in the process of dictating to Hers a pattern to be inscribed upon the fine leather, for if it is to grace her being then at the very least it should be something to admire.
Her eyes are even more bizarre than her anatomy. Ever since she looked upon Nazreth, the dragon from which she took her colouring – if it can be called colouring – the multi-faceted orbs have never swirled anything but white. No blue for contentment, nor even oranges or reds, more suited o her temperament. Just singular, icy white. Her gaze is extremely disconcerting as a result, for they hold no light, no expression, just a baleful fire that seems to come from within, bearing down on any she deems unworthy.
Personality: In two words, Fedorath is manipulative and malicious. Her mental voice is almost opposite that of her brothers – soft and delicate when she wants it to be. However, there is no mistaking the vitriol that hides in the undertones of so prettily tuned a sound. Ever-present, it seethes under her words like a tunnel snake waiting to strike, though most will not recognise it until it is too late. She uses sweet words to beguile and weave a net of trust around others, before her other most evident trait takes over; an undisguised adoration for violent discourse.
For hers, this is a trait that sends shivers down his spine, as physical violence is the one thing he detests above all else. Fedorath though sees this as nothing more than pathetic squeamishness, which she will stamp out of him as soon as possible. The Mimic sees no reason to hide from her nature. She takes immense pleasure in the pain of others, especially when caused by herself or her brothers – so much so that she has no qualms about picking apart a fire lizard or two to sate her boredom. To her, the shrieks of agony are thrilling, acting almost like an endorphin rush. This can promise to get ugly as she matures and reaches mating age.
This violence also comes into effect in regard to those outside her circle of brothers, Theirs and M’yran. Like the other two Mimic’s she is fiercely possessive of all inside this circle and will not permit others to come close without express cause. Although she would not admit it aloud, Fedorath is extremely jealous of any who M’yran deems to spend his time with. Instead of intervening, she seethes quietly and will act as though she is detached from the whole situation. She will never let M’yran out of her sight even if it means being separated from her brothers. Invariably they will arrive to convene whenever they are apart as though they were magnets with 3 poles. Even when asleep, she does so lightly as she is forever on alert in case something should happen to Hers.
This particular Mimic is somewhat unfortunately vain. Before the manufacturing of her leather adornments, she would forego a covering of salve that would protect her hide from Rukbat, declaring that she would not be ‘walking around like some sort of coddled swamp monster.’ She preens in much of her quiet time, disgusted by any single fleck of filth to mar her otherwise pristine hide. She pays particular attention to her white colouration, fussing if it even looks slightly dirty. The ‘cloak’ of thinned leather is much to her distaste, but less so than the salve she had to suffer previously.
This vanity is stemmed from the immense amount of pride she possesses. Proud and possessed of self-assurance in all her actions, Fedorath does not allow uncertainty to be a factor, nor is she accepting of it in M’yran. She is not accustomed to feeling fear or insecurity and it unsettles her immensely should such emotions grace her mind. Rather than showing them though, she holds her head high, shakes them off and lets wrath replace them as though they never occurred.
She is quick to anger, though not so much so as Folkvarth. Her sense of injustice towards herself and the other points of her triangle of existence is keenly tuned, perhaps to the point of paranoia. A great deal of the time her rage will subside quickly; often at a word from Fremonth. This does not mean she has been subdued. Indeed, the anger will roil under the surface, never far from her mind; but instead of lashing out physically, she will plot. She will scheme and plan the downfall of whatever has attracted her ire to the point of obsession, subtly putting her designs into action far in the future when all others have forgotten the misdeed.
Ever disdainful of lesser creatures, the only dragons and riders she refers to by name are Fremonth and His as well as Folkvarth and His. Everyone else, even those in a position ‘higher’ than her own, will be referred to by their hide colour and occasionally a characteristic she picks out if there are multiple dragons around. Riders are simply referred to as their dragons Mine, whilst those not bonded to a dragon are picked out by physical traits if they are acknowledged at all.
