Sire and Dam: Eviyath & Ikaroth
Hatching Date: Saturday, March 29, 2008
Theme of Clutch: The Four Seasons
Theme of Dragonets: Weather / Elements / Elemental Things
Hatchling Name: Cheeky Solar Wind Gold
Dragon Name: Orlaith
Clutch Message:
Eviyath circles the sands with a low and seeking gaze, inspecting the ripples and waves of sand stirred in her wake and by Xanth and Sidijith before her. There's no discernible difference between the mound she chooses and the ones she passed over, but she grunts with satisfaction as she prepares a sandy cradle and delivers two eggs, one full of twilight purple, the other simply white.
Egg:
Ever-Changing Cloud Egg
White. Just white. But — oh, what's that shadow there? A silvery speck, a dab of purple, and suddenly it's a mountain. A shift, and now a glimmer of blue morphs mountain into man. Blue turns pink, and a wher rattles at the end of its chain. The possibilities are endless, and even the rough shell of this egg looks soft somehow, all rounded edges and blurred boundaries that threaten to fade quietly away.
Hatch Message:
Ever-Changing Cloud Egg shivers as inner tumult gives rise to an invisible wind that rolls across its surface, tossing the fluffy piles into a bizarre array of figures with increasing speed. From trundlebug to three-legged runner, and thence to a skybroom being eaten by a tunnelsnake, the cloud formations simultaneously expand and coalesce through a gamut of pastel tones before settling on a lambent dawnlight that heralds the arrival of Cheeky Solar Wind Gold Dragonet through a crack in the sky.
Impression Pose (what the audience sees):
Cheeky Solar-Wind Gold Dragonet dispenses some more limitless hp around what is her uncle Xanth, does a round around Sidijith, and peeks inappropriately at the Weyrwoman with her mouth hanging slightly ajar. Panting? Hunger? Incomplete madness? Sensation number four is deep-seeded hunger straight through the pit of her stomach. The queen can't help but draw close to bite experimentally on the leather portions of Iona's sandals. Sensation five is elation!!!
Impression Message (what you see):
White hot noise effectively blurs the world as if your brain was audibly sizzling. Static electricity races from limb to limb in pursuit to garner your mind, embracing it with a touch that is both hissing wind and distant strings buzzing with the licking kiss of a bow pulled in short energetic slaps. Time slows, the taut hairs begin to fray as the music becomes measured, bringing down the lights and throwing everything out of focus as the rhythm of your heart is picked up and played with. The slow invasion of steeping tea rings true with the smell of sunshine warming the pages of an old book, and in the background the baked aroma of scones mingles, playing on your senses as a quiet calm drops. Then it hits « !!!!! You!! Me!! Orlaith! I am Orlaith, and you are MINE!!!! » like a happy slap in the face.
Dragonet Description:
The stalwart uptilt of a most practical muzzle bears the pennons of ethereal blankness - the lambent aura of blurred starlight as it expands from a white-hot core. The universal current, invisibly ubiquitous, catches hold of the glow and ushers it down a stern throat and full chest; from her steady torso it spins out mini-novas to spangle youthfully curved limbs the bottomless shade of space between the stars. That numbing blackness nips the edges of narrow wingsails, beaten back by a fusillade of comets with tails trailing silvery triumph from spartip to shoulders well-broadened to accept the duties of her birth. Tatters of celestine coral wreath knobs sculpted spirally by that restless wind, backlit in coronal gold carved into flaring ridges. Her own tail will always have the last word, its active spade licked by the sun.
Personality:
Oh, Onabean. Designing a dragon for you is one of the most challenging things some of us have ever attempted. Such a young character, still so unformed, yet already complex and ripe with potential. We've tried to bring together your zest and elan with the sassy, savvy, sensible Eiluned Price to give you a lifemate who will be able to change and mature as you do.
In the beginning, there is Orlaith, bright with a frenetic energy that matches your own so perfectly. She's always at a low simmer, exploding from time to time in long coils of curiosity or mirth or sheer joy and wonder in life. Especially in the early turns, expect much of the youthful reverb that you would generate when interacting with your peers: « Oh, oh, and then we can jump into the lake!! And have a water fight!!! » Exclamation points occur only with you, however, along with secrets and promises. She's the best girl friend you never could find at the Inn or the Hall, which is just /so/ much better than those boys. « Boys… well, if there was nobody else, I suppose I can forgive your lapse. You'll never need /them/ again, though. I'm here. » Your biggest clashes, of course, will always be over the subject of boys: Iona, both tomboy and avid boy-kisser, baffles Orlaith, who thinks the entire gender a waste of time. « He has greens stuck in his teeth, and you kissed him? On occasion your reasoning utterly escapes me. »
But dragons grow up fast, they do, so much faster than young girls. Your Orlaith will never hold that against you, though - quite the opposite, in fact. She holds your childlike enthusiasm dear to her heart, and she'll indulge the child in you to do silly things, wondrous things, stoke your imagination and the wide-eyed splendor that is childhood. It's one of the reasons Orlaith choose you as her lifemate, in fact. The dragon adores the child within, and in the face of everything else that is Pern, under Thread, Orlaith thinks Fort needs wonder more than it needs someone already mature and sort of 'stuck', in their ways. Your dust hasn't settled yet, so to speak, and so your lifemate can still be anything - you haven't pigeonholed yourself into any category or position, and so neither will you alphabetize the entry that's Orlaith. She likes that opportunity for mutability, even as she coalesces with age into the dry-witted, matter-of-fact female she is at her core. Others' attempts to place you both - especially those who wish to delegate according to gender - will be baffled by the mercurial shifts you make possible.
It's a strange dichotomy, the exuberant child and the incisive adult, though the change from former to latter shall come gradually over turns to ease the transition. Neither side will ever disappear totally, because in truth there's no diametric opposition to them: both are the product of a keen understanding of the way the world is. For as long as youth lasts she'll seek to celebrate it with you, and when duty comes to the doorstep she'll be the first to cut it down to size with her own brand of cheeky commentary - often sarcastic but somehow never to the point of biting. She's matter-of-fact about her opinions and, no matter how wild they may be, makes them sound so utterly reasonable that her opponents are half-convinced before they realize it.
"I've known too many borrowers," said Eiluned Price, "and too many that wanted their hands held. All the same, the women are just as bad, or they wouldn't put up with it. Thank Heaven, I've never borrowed and never lent—except to women, and they pay back."
Not much makes your Orlaith mad - well, outwardly at least. She can absorb a high degree of what she calls 'nonsense' before it gets to her. The vent that follows is worthy of any of your best temper tantrums. Both of you having a hissy cow at once will have the Weyr crawling off to find a hole to hide in. One thing that will irritate her without fail? Uppity males. They're all hopeless, but those who refuse to see it drive her particularly up the wall. Woe unto the unwary bronze who attempts to vaunt his prowess before her. « Yes, in fact, I /have/ seen a wingspan like that before - on a VTOL. »
"The cry of rebellion which we utter associates our ideals with those of the Futurist poets. These ideas were not invented by some aesthetic clique. They are an expression of a violent desire, which burns in the veins of every creative artist today. … We will fight with all our might the fanatical, senseless and snobbish religion of the past, a religion encouraged by the vicious existence of museums. We rebel against that spineless worshiping of old canvases, old statues and old bric-a-brac, against everything which is filthy and worm-ridden and corroded by time. We consider the habitual contempt for everything which is young, new and burning with life to be unjust and even criminal." -Filippo Tommaso Marinetti
Orlaith leans towards Futurism, which, from a species with limited memory, becomes superlative. These Futurist compatriots, all have burning infatuation for the new, technology at its inception. Her mind will be wholesome with bold strokes, bleeding outlines, sharp incisions, and dynamic innovations. Be prepared, for a great many dragons and human beings, those that like their relics of the past, will find their demon in Orlaith. You may find yourself being the reluctant arbiter, the bridge, between your dragon and your sister.
"They repudiated the cult of the past and all imitation, praised originality, "however daring, however violent", bore proudly "the smear of madness", dismissed art critics as useless, rebelled against harmony and good taste, swept away all the themes and subjects of all previous art, and gloried in science." -Wikipedia, "Futurism"
But with that is a whiff of Vorticism, the desire for more movement in her creation: a trick to infuse that which is static with practical (impractical?) energy. Thick outlines, rancid colors, real mind-mazes with the inspiration of vortexes, hence their derivation. Not all Vorticists were painters, drawers, or sculptures. T.S. Eliot and Ezra Pound spun written words out of it. "Vorticist works are characterised by the unease created by a disrupted perspective. it is as though there is such thing as life seen through a 'vorticist lens'. This lens distorts the neat lines, and sends them in different directions, none in parallel. Latent power, sinister, potentially explosive forces seem to reverberate through Vorticist works" (http://www.vorticism.co.uk/new_vorticism.html#style).
Flights:
"Sometimes I wonder if men and women really suit each other. Perhaps they should live next door and just visit now and then." -Katharine Hepburn
How ironic it must be for a feminist dragon to face the instinct to breed. Such reactions are fickle things, they may change with age, without age, and what sort of state of mind you, Iona, are in. She could stew for days in a salty broth of sarcasm where it might be more practical to lash out with a row of loose claws. "To fall in love is to create a religion that has a fallible god", Borges risked, but he wasn't staring at a bronze's flank with an itch to scratch. When primitive hardwiring is charged with a full current she is not what she is, but what she was meant to be. But if that brown or bronze thinks he can warm her ledge, up his! With the advent of offspring Orlaith might as well be a sea turtle giving her eggs to the sand to be mothered only by fate. « Why can't I leave them? They're clearly not going anywhere. »
Threadfall:
Thread's a godsend, really. What better purpose for all of those lousy males? « Go on, off with you. Go flame a Fall or something, there's a good lad. For Weyr and world, and all that. »
Mind Voice:
A cultured cello timbre with smart delivery, even a bit clipped - at least, most of the time. She's not much for flashy imagery or elaborate setups. In situations of high emotion (positive or negative), however, the pitch veers wildly out of tune like a bow gone mad across the strings. Solar winds mess with Earth's magnetic fields and have been known to completely eradicate electrical systems and whiteout radio frequencies when they're frenetic; Orlaith's excitement, good or bad, does much the same to the dragon links. Static fills the lines, making communications difficult even among others. Cracks and pops steal coherency, leaving messages sounding like mutters.
Mind Scent:
Orlaith smells practical: an old book, a cup of tea, on happy days some fresh-baked scones, and on wild nights the juniper prickle of gin. Never will she overpower with these aromas, however; they're relegated to the background, sensed and not incensed, as they ought.
Physical Voice:
Static interference tinges her outward vocalizations, blurring croons and turning a clear clarion into the scratchy reproduction of a trumpet on a radio with poor reception. She's not apt to flaunt such sounds, particularly in the presence of crystal-voiced males, but if she's especially pleased and privately secluded, she will rumble with the warm buzz of a station without programming.
Growth:
"It's all part of the great change," said Eiluned Price. "You never used to have an eye for that kind of thing. And now here you are wearing about a year's income. It's amazing you can bring yourself to come slumming with us." (Thrones, Dominations, 111)
Orlaith will be subject to sudden and explosive fits of growth; one sevenday she'll be far behind others and you'll be fretting, and then suddenly BAM. « What do you mean, the straps don't fit? We just made them last week. You must be using the wrong buckle- what? Oh, I see.» A pause. « Oh, my. Well, you'll just have to start another set. » There's no rhyme nor reason to it; it's just a force of nature.
Eating Habits:
Is it any surprise that your lifemate is a maneater, in the literal sense? Of course, her careful culling of gender has its practical side, since only the best males are necessary for breeding, but that doesn't explain the particular pleasure she takes in eliminating the rest of the Y chromosomal group. « They will just have to be faster to evade me. It improves the breed. … and they were useless, in any case. » When she's just learning to hunt this may translate into long hours on the feeding grounds while she refuses to down any but that one young buck with the white splotch on his shoulder. Once her prize has been claimed, she'll dive in with the same abandon you display when discovering a new ravine to explore, and with about the same amount of mess. Now do you see why your mother was so upset when you messed your clothes?
Movement:
Like the solar wind, Orlaith moves constant and smooth for the most part. On occasion she'll be swept up in a gust of excitement and eddy about more stolid objects much more lightly than one would expect from a firmly-built dragon of her size. Earthbound, she's only marginally more ponderous than when there's the Pernese wind beneath her sails.
Weyr Relationships:
One was tempted to simply write: "All males are beneath notice, and only a few females worth her time," but that would've been just too easy. Especially since cousin Izara's Vsuviath has such a special knack for getting under her hide. His casual certitude and voracious appetite for daring somehow confirms and challenges her preconceptions of the other gender, and she cannot resist rising to his bait - and vice versa.
Gnaedath's love of mystery and secrets bores her - she wants the truth, but doesn't care to wade through tricks and riddles to get it. And Hadamarth - well. That one's careful application of good deeds and gentle touches flies right in the face of her passion for the violently new.
Inspirations… (any themes used, what inspired creators)
Egg Inspiration:
(Imogen) Cloud gazing! This egg was inspired by summer afternoons spent finding patterns in clouds, the way they change from moment to moment, drift into others, get bigger, shrink down, and sometimes disappear entirely.
Name Inspiration:
You!
From Wikipedia: Orla (pronounced OR-lah) is a female given name of Irish origin. Variations in spelling but not pronunciation include Orlaith, Orlagh and Orflaith. In the Irish language, ór means "gold" and flaith means "prince" or "sovereign". Orla is generally considered as meaning "golden lady" or "princess". The origin of the name dates back to pre-Christian Celtic Ireland and it is still in use today.
But you already knew that, didn't you?
Dragon Inspiration:
Solar Wind + Iona + Eiluned Price + Futurism + Vorticism = Orlaith. It's crazy, but we think it might work.
Iona, the light of everyone’s life, we did this dragon for you because you just rock our world repeatedly, and so we wanted to rock yours back, and back, and back. I hope we succeeded! We love her and we love you on her and we love the future you two will have, but most importantly, the future we get to have with the two of you! Go Fort! Go Orlaith!! Go Iona!!!
Clutchmates:
Imogen and gold Hestiath
Izara and brown Vsuviath
Kyana and green Jianth
O'diah and blue Alysiuth
Taini and gold Birgith
Thera(Esther) and brown Hadamarth
T'jano and green Mrrth
W'ren and bronze Gnaedath
