Post by lottikins on Mar 14, 2011 9:43:29 GMT -5
Name:Dziga 'Dizzy'
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Hetero
Rank: JM Healer/Candidate
Appearance:
He is and never will be the best looking creature to inhabit the planet, but there is paradoxically a certain sort of poetry in the way he is so incredibly mundane. The romantic would be hard pressed to overlook the utter bleakness in his coloring, the winter tones that hang on his visage even in the warmest months. There is a frostbitten quality to his features, starting even from his hair; an ever dulling slate-black whose richer notes of bistre are fading towards a lifeless taupe. The coal coif was clearly intended to be in only the most parochial of styles, but as if trying to abandon the predictability of it all, any given portion of his hair could suffer spontaneous bead head. This is most commonly true of the sides where it seems even a brush couldn't quell a stray tuft or cowlick. His eyebrows too are lacking in style, but are in less need of manicuring than it is that they just seem to sort of be dwindling at the edges.
Underneath however is a pair of deep set eyes, ringed by thin skin that leaves a darkened, sullen shadow. The grays of his irises have to work to stand out, not an easy task, but the occasional glitter is caught in the shades of Payne's grey. In contrast his skin is a definite shade of creme, likely lighter than most, and prone to a burn. On his face, at least, the delicacy of his tone gives way much to easily to the impression of a perpetual five o'clock and shadow. This trait does little to keep him looking youthful, but neither does the gauntness along his cheeks or pock marks left in the wake of a childhood illness. No, he is not exactly the most stunning example of Pernese physique, but considering the set backs of his salad days the young man came together rather well, and not a single sniffle or sneeze prevented him from growing up tall, or at very least at the verge of it.
Coming up no shorter than five foot eleven - and this a conservative estimate - he is long in the legs and his hands definitely boast some rather lengthy if not spindly fingers. While this makes it rather impossible to find clothing that fits well he is not scrawny so much as wiry or lithe. Any bit of meat less on his frame would leave him looking patently awkward, since on top of that bad hair he has probably one of the worst senses of style. What little he has in his wardrobe he seems to have been holding onto forever; his nicest jacket has a missing button and his pants hike up well above his ankles when he sits. He does only avoid the title of ungainly, narrowly as it is by a wry smile and a properly confident stance with his shoulders pinned back and a serene facade.
Personality:
In so many words, he comes off as an absentminded professor. Nice as he is - and believe you me, he has plenty of that plains-born, rural benevolence to go around - the guy manages to hang up on words and.... forget exactly what it was that he was talking about. A minor set back to be sure, but he is also patient enough to be able to gracefully be put back on his feet. Dziga is funny that way, a flurry of ideas in one moment and sort of bumbling through them in the next, but more often than not, secure enough with himself to laugh at his own foibles. It is between his funny name and this peculiar habit, that there is no wonder where he got the nick name Dizzy from. Unfortunately the name has also given people the false impression that he is neurotic... a mindless dreamer even.... this couldn't be further from the truth. His mind is often occupied, but mostly with very real and worldly things. Forgetful from time to time? Probably. A little goofy? Yes. A complete spazz? No. He is however, still young, and maturely as he likes to present himself, is not immune to the missteps that come along the way.
As mentioned before, it is probably fortunate that he laughs, but it is more importantly surprising for when buried in a task he has the habit of scratching his chin and glaring at the situation with a hardened stare. And after one learns of his formerly sickly existence he'd probably be given a free pass should he have been a more somber persona, but as if single handedly championing the adage about laughter being good for the soul, he makes no bones about being about as pleasant as can be around others. Most people, after overcoming that rather intimidating veneer can't help but describe him as a "nice guy" though the exact reasons are rather nebulous and hard to pin down. It could be that he is endearing with his muted enthusiasm and kindly cadence of speech, or maybe even his sense of humor. He definitely does have one of those as hit or miss as it is. Sometimes the most mundane things he has to say comes off as humorous while the intended joke is missed by just about everyone in the room.
It may be in part, due to the fact that he is rather placid and his style errs to the side of being cheeky and clever as opposed to something more rambunctious and absurd. For all of his goofiness, he is at least cool under fire, and unlikely to be perturbed by any number of distractions or catastrophes occurring around him, frankly he is rather good at ignoring most annoyances. It takes pure arrogance on the part of the wrong-doer to actually throw him for a loop and inspire something that resembles anger, but he sees more justice in letting others incur their own punishments than for him to doll it out himself. It seems to come back down to his patience again, he has it in abundance.
Family:
Dvorka - Mother
Zbigni - Father
Dborgi - Brother
Vorkia - Sister
Background:
It was a cold winter in Eastern Telgar where he was born, but the boy nonetheless came into the world healthy and whole which was, as one could expect, quite the relief to his young mother Dvorka and her husband Zbigni, a farmer by birth with the constant harebrained idea that he could invent the next big farm implement and strike it rich. These detours into Zbigni's little endeavors didn't particularly help the farm much, and if anything the hands of their children - by then there were already two older - got food onto the table faster than any contraption did. So with the crops turning poor yields and the weather unrelenting it was good not only to have another set of future helping hands, but to for once to have a smile returned to them, even if it was the toothless one of the infant Dziga. This is not to say that everything in the world of the little cot hold was all doom and gloom, but for the farming family it could be said that things were at very least monotonous, a series of cycles - planting and harvesting - and an un-ending chain of cause and effect from which even Dziga could not escape.
Perhaps one could put the blame on Dvorka herself, maybe she should have ate a bit more when carrying Dziga, or perhaps it more on Zbigni who was wholly too involved with his fantasies instead of worrying about the world around him, but either way it was Dziga who was always the child with the coughs and runny nose. Harmless it was mostly, a lost day or two a turn at its very worst, but nothing compared to the flu he had managed to catch at the age of ten. It started rather like every other spell of his and really it was excused for a ploy to get out his harper lessons, or more importantly work. Boys were like that after all, always shirking chores and if anything Dziga was just following in the footsteps of his slacker older brother Dborgi. Crying wolf he was not though, and the bad case of the spotted fever had him in bed for weeks scratching at the blisters and writhing in the mix of agony and boredom. Nothing he ate stayed down. When the poor kid showed no signs of recovering, the family finally relented and took him to the main hold to see the insides of a real infirmary. This was something of a turning point.
Recovery came quickly under proper care. He was most often attended to by a rather eccentric healer who more - times that he needed to - took the time to chat him up or entertain with jokes, and from then on Dziga couldn't help but feel some kind of indebtedness to the hall, and in turn wanted to be a healer himself. One day. It was the kind of thing that his family had figured was merely a childhood whim and would surely go away...except that it didn't. He was incessant about becoming one, at first starting with a subtle sort of nagging reminder at the age of twelve until he was doing all but packing his bags at the age of thirteen. His parents had to hand it to him, he could be outright dogged when he wanted to be, and it would be in their interest to let him go rather than have him run away... at least in the case of the former there was the chance he would come back should he fail rather than keep away out of pride, and so it was that he took off to, as his parents would say, "Be a feline, get his curiosity to kill."
Little did anyone know that an illness would have him wanting to be a healer... and little did Dziga know how different the world outside of the farm was. He came to them all wide eyed and eager to learn, but he wound up learning more than just medicine. Social skills for one. Surely he made more gaffs than he cares to remember, but as he collected more friends his naiveté slowly faded away, as well as some of the bounce to his accent. Nonetheless he was still above all a hardworker, to the point of losing track of time almost constantly. Needless to say he put in a lot to the craft and it more or less paid off for him. Right on time he received his journeyman knots and after the requisite time bouncing around civilized Pern was posted to a small holding that wasn't all too far away from Fort. Although he was a celebrity amongst the girls of the area - having a new boy around was a boost for their romantic dreams - he was still rather low on the totem pole, and spent most nights watching the little infirmary while the more senior healers took to sleep.
It wasn't so bad he supposed, it gave him a little time in the day to meet the holders living there... he even started to flirt around with one of the younger daughters of the Lord Holder, who for the record was not pleased with this, especially not when he found out that Dziga's form of endearment was telling the girl she was a "ten cow wife" (the healer had been told more than once about the concept of a dowry, yet still he couldn't think about it as anything other than a sale, and told Emery that she was worth much more than the two herdbeasts that her other suitors had offered). Almost as if to defy the girl's father though, he continued to see her at the expense of his own sleep, and maybe even joined in a bit with the big delusions of being romanced that seemed to fly around the place. Faranth knew that it was easy enough to when he was sitting around bored at night.
One of those nights however, everything seemed to change again for him. A man came in, much sturdier of build than the usual fare, and with the sort of injuries that should raise an eyebrow at night, but when the man explained the gashes as result of a nasty fall from the lack of light Dziga shrugged away any doubts. It wasn't exactly in his job description to go discriminating anyway, and in fact, he even charged ahead without thinking so much as to ask for a name. Ultimately the stranger wound up asking more questions anyway; this and that about his age, where he was from, why he was a healer, his thoughts about Thread. Dziga entertained them all and then some having been coaxed into sharing drinks with the man out of his flask, up until he was asked, "How about being a dragonrider?" He was just about laughed out of the hold, "Oh I can't, it's a... I have a girl... I kind of want to marry..."
"Oh, kind of? Hmmm why ever would you want to go and do that?"
"I like her..."
"Just like? Thats not a very good reason. I think you are settling... "
"I'm not settling."
"You're afraid that she is the only one who wants to get into bed with you aren't you? It's ok, I hear that dragonriders get lots of girls."
"Oh yeah?'
"That sounded too eager. Are you sure that you like this girl?"
"Oh stop it... I don't know what your big obsession is with this dragon thing is..."
"What if you found out you've been searched?"
Standing up on shaky legs - how long had he been sitting there drinking that quikal and shooting the breeze? He needed to start cleaning up for the morning at least, "I'll believe it when I see it..." The next thing he knew, the ground was rapidly approaching his face and gravity was working against him. When he came to he at first dreaded the trouble he was going to be in, drinking was a tremendously bad idea after all, but when his eyes scanned the room, he came to the realization that he wasn't at all in the hold anymore. He had been so unceremoniously shanghaied to Hidden Weyr.
Purgatory Blue
Name: Velqueath
Age: Hatchling
Hatch Date: April 1256
Color: #b9ceee
Description: Perfectly streamlined, it would be apt to say that this blue dragon was completely designed for flight. His body is delicate, almost dainty looking, though whether or not this is a good thing is up for interpretation for he’s certainly more feminine than most of his color ought to be. His neck is curved, almost swan-like in length, and his body shape is definitely on the lean side. The most impressive part of his body is his wings, which are just a touch oddly shaped, wider in the sail than they ought to be and thus more than capable of holding him aloft in the air… but his flight looks more like a kite flapping around on gusts than anything graceful. Some might even describe his wings as squared off, for they certainly don’t fold into the elegant points one typically expects from dragons. The ends are just… oddly shaped, definitely blockier than should be natural. His size doesn’t help matters here: he’s small even for a blue and some greens will dwarf him in size. Comically, he also has a very long and thin tail that looks more like a kite string, further emphasizing the belief that he’s actually not a dragon at all. It’s a bird. It’s a plane. No, no, it’s Velqueath! … For better or worse!
Velqueath’s coloring is actually very dramatic for a dragon’s. The backwash of his hide is a dark blue that leans perilously close to black, but to call him ‘dark’ would be an injustice. So would the word ‘pretty’ though ugly wouldn’t be applicable, either. He’s just downright weird looking. Over his wings are pale brushings of lighter shades of blue like the sky during daytime, each one accented with white outlines so that his wings almost look as though they’re plumed. These feathery outlines are also visible on the wedge of his tail, giving it a depth that some might find lovely – but most would likely find disturbing. To complete this avian-esque coloring, his chest is an almost completely a network of silvery spiderweb-like patterns, shimmering more metallic than anything else. And his highlights are vividly bright, not unlike gazing at a sapphire under the light of the moon. Very… strange.
Personality: Stubborn, dominant, ridiculously controlling and intolerant: these are terms that apply to Velqueath’s personality, and it will make him a very difficult dragon to get along with for his mindmate. First things first: He’s absolutely unwilling to obey without a very good reason and this goes for metallic dragons as well as his mindmate. He’s intelligent and thus reasoning with him and explaining things will help to win one’s favor, but flat out, Velqueath is not willing to listen if the explanation is illogical. Thus, it is usually better to try to ask him to do things than demand them – because he has a very it’s my way or the highway attitude. He also makes extensive demands of his mindmate and he fully expects them to be followed to the letter and to defy him is to risk his temper, which is very explosive. He’s smart enough to know how to cut with words and even his chosen is not immune to that viciousness. He will not tolerant foolish behavior; trying to behave with anything less than decorum and perfect professionalism around him is a good way to get on his nerves.
And unfortunately, Velqueath has very high expectations. His chosen will find this out all too quickly. Mistakes are to be corrected immediately and then not repeated. Repeating them is a good way to get insulted. So is inability. As far as he’s concerned, they as a pair are unstoppable. Bronzes, browns and golds are in no way superior to him – just because they’re bigger doesn’t make them better. Same for blues that are larger. The word ‘ambitious’ might spring to mind, but it’s inaccurate: he doesn’t actually want to lead, he simply wants people to recognize his obvious superiority and because he’s superior, his must gain recognition as well. He has a very Do as I say, not as I do mentality that will also likely frustrate others. It’s totally fine for him to insult his mindmate, but anyone else doing it will get claws through them – literally. He’s violently protective of his chosen. So just because he might haul his mindmate around by their ankles trying to make them learn a lesson, don’t think for one second that they’re okay to pick on. They definitely are not!
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Hetero
Rank: JM Healer/Candidate
Appearance:
He is and never will be the best looking creature to inhabit the planet, but there is paradoxically a certain sort of poetry in the way he is so incredibly mundane. The romantic would be hard pressed to overlook the utter bleakness in his coloring, the winter tones that hang on his visage even in the warmest months. There is a frostbitten quality to his features, starting even from his hair; an ever dulling slate-black whose richer notes of bistre are fading towards a lifeless taupe. The coal coif was clearly intended to be in only the most parochial of styles, but as if trying to abandon the predictability of it all, any given portion of his hair could suffer spontaneous bead head. This is most commonly true of the sides where it seems even a brush couldn't quell a stray tuft or cowlick. His eyebrows too are lacking in style, but are in less need of manicuring than it is that they just seem to sort of be dwindling at the edges.
Underneath however is a pair of deep set eyes, ringed by thin skin that leaves a darkened, sullen shadow. The grays of his irises have to work to stand out, not an easy task, but the occasional glitter is caught in the shades of Payne's grey. In contrast his skin is a definite shade of creme, likely lighter than most, and prone to a burn. On his face, at least, the delicacy of his tone gives way much to easily to the impression of a perpetual five o'clock and shadow. This trait does little to keep him looking youthful, but neither does the gauntness along his cheeks or pock marks left in the wake of a childhood illness. No, he is not exactly the most stunning example of Pernese physique, but considering the set backs of his salad days the young man came together rather well, and not a single sniffle or sneeze prevented him from growing up tall, or at very least at the verge of it.
Coming up no shorter than five foot eleven - and this a conservative estimate - he is long in the legs and his hands definitely boast some rather lengthy if not spindly fingers. While this makes it rather impossible to find clothing that fits well he is not scrawny so much as wiry or lithe. Any bit of meat less on his frame would leave him looking patently awkward, since on top of that bad hair he has probably one of the worst senses of style. What little he has in his wardrobe he seems to have been holding onto forever; his nicest jacket has a missing button and his pants hike up well above his ankles when he sits. He does only avoid the title of ungainly, narrowly as it is by a wry smile and a properly confident stance with his shoulders pinned back and a serene facade.
Personality:
In so many words, he comes off as an absentminded professor. Nice as he is - and believe you me, he has plenty of that plains-born, rural benevolence to go around - the guy manages to hang up on words and.... forget exactly what it was that he was talking about. A minor set back to be sure, but he is also patient enough to be able to gracefully be put back on his feet. Dziga is funny that way, a flurry of ideas in one moment and sort of bumbling through them in the next, but more often than not, secure enough with himself to laugh at his own foibles. It is between his funny name and this peculiar habit, that there is no wonder where he got the nick name Dizzy from. Unfortunately the name has also given people the false impression that he is neurotic... a mindless dreamer even.... this couldn't be further from the truth. His mind is often occupied, but mostly with very real and worldly things. Forgetful from time to time? Probably. A little goofy? Yes. A complete spazz? No. He is however, still young, and maturely as he likes to present himself, is not immune to the missteps that come along the way.
As mentioned before, it is probably fortunate that he laughs, but it is more importantly surprising for when buried in a task he has the habit of scratching his chin and glaring at the situation with a hardened stare. And after one learns of his formerly sickly existence he'd probably be given a free pass should he have been a more somber persona, but as if single handedly championing the adage about laughter being good for the soul, he makes no bones about being about as pleasant as can be around others. Most people, after overcoming that rather intimidating veneer can't help but describe him as a "nice guy" though the exact reasons are rather nebulous and hard to pin down. It could be that he is endearing with his muted enthusiasm and kindly cadence of speech, or maybe even his sense of humor. He definitely does have one of those as hit or miss as it is. Sometimes the most mundane things he has to say comes off as humorous while the intended joke is missed by just about everyone in the room.
It may be in part, due to the fact that he is rather placid and his style errs to the side of being cheeky and clever as opposed to something more rambunctious and absurd. For all of his goofiness, he is at least cool under fire, and unlikely to be perturbed by any number of distractions or catastrophes occurring around him, frankly he is rather good at ignoring most annoyances. It takes pure arrogance on the part of the wrong-doer to actually throw him for a loop and inspire something that resembles anger, but he sees more justice in letting others incur their own punishments than for him to doll it out himself. It seems to come back down to his patience again, he has it in abundance.
Family:
Dvorka - Mother
Zbigni - Father
Dborgi - Brother
Vorkia - Sister
Background:
It was a cold winter in Eastern Telgar where he was born, but the boy nonetheless came into the world healthy and whole which was, as one could expect, quite the relief to his young mother Dvorka and her husband Zbigni, a farmer by birth with the constant harebrained idea that he could invent the next big farm implement and strike it rich. These detours into Zbigni's little endeavors didn't particularly help the farm much, and if anything the hands of their children - by then there were already two older - got food onto the table faster than any contraption did. So with the crops turning poor yields and the weather unrelenting it was good not only to have another set of future helping hands, but to for once to have a smile returned to them, even if it was the toothless one of the infant Dziga. This is not to say that everything in the world of the little cot hold was all doom and gloom, but for the farming family it could be said that things were at very least monotonous, a series of cycles - planting and harvesting - and an un-ending chain of cause and effect from which even Dziga could not escape.
Perhaps one could put the blame on Dvorka herself, maybe she should have ate a bit more when carrying Dziga, or perhaps it more on Zbigni who was wholly too involved with his fantasies instead of worrying about the world around him, but either way it was Dziga who was always the child with the coughs and runny nose. Harmless it was mostly, a lost day or two a turn at its very worst, but nothing compared to the flu he had managed to catch at the age of ten. It started rather like every other spell of his and really it was excused for a ploy to get out his harper lessons, or more importantly work. Boys were like that after all, always shirking chores and if anything Dziga was just following in the footsteps of his slacker older brother Dborgi. Crying wolf he was not though, and the bad case of the spotted fever had him in bed for weeks scratching at the blisters and writhing in the mix of agony and boredom. Nothing he ate stayed down. When the poor kid showed no signs of recovering, the family finally relented and took him to the main hold to see the insides of a real infirmary. This was something of a turning point.
Recovery came quickly under proper care. He was most often attended to by a rather eccentric healer who more - times that he needed to - took the time to chat him up or entertain with jokes, and from then on Dziga couldn't help but feel some kind of indebtedness to the hall, and in turn wanted to be a healer himself. One day. It was the kind of thing that his family had figured was merely a childhood whim and would surely go away...except that it didn't. He was incessant about becoming one, at first starting with a subtle sort of nagging reminder at the age of twelve until he was doing all but packing his bags at the age of thirteen. His parents had to hand it to him, he could be outright dogged when he wanted to be, and it would be in their interest to let him go rather than have him run away... at least in the case of the former there was the chance he would come back should he fail rather than keep away out of pride, and so it was that he took off to, as his parents would say, "Be a feline, get his curiosity to kill."
Little did anyone know that an illness would have him wanting to be a healer... and little did Dziga know how different the world outside of the farm was. He came to them all wide eyed and eager to learn, but he wound up learning more than just medicine. Social skills for one. Surely he made more gaffs than he cares to remember, but as he collected more friends his naiveté slowly faded away, as well as some of the bounce to his accent. Nonetheless he was still above all a hardworker, to the point of losing track of time almost constantly. Needless to say he put in a lot to the craft and it more or less paid off for him. Right on time he received his journeyman knots and after the requisite time bouncing around civilized Pern was posted to a small holding that wasn't all too far away from Fort. Although he was a celebrity amongst the girls of the area - having a new boy around was a boost for their romantic dreams - he was still rather low on the totem pole, and spent most nights watching the little infirmary while the more senior healers took to sleep.
It wasn't so bad he supposed, it gave him a little time in the day to meet the holders living there... he even started to flirt around with one of the younger daughters of the Lord Holder, who for the record was not pleased with this, especially not when he found out that Dziga's form of endearment was telling the girl she was a "ten cow wife" (the healer had been told more than once about the concept of a dowry, yet still he couldn't think about it as anything other than a sale, and told Emery that she was worth much more than the two herdbeasts that her other suitors had offered). Almost as if to defy the girl's father though, he continued to see her at the expense of his own sleep, and maybe even joined in a bit with the big delusions of being romanced that seemed to fly around the place. Faranth knew that it was easy enough to when he was sitting around bored at night.
One of those nights however, everything seemed to change again for him. A man came in, much sturdier of build than the usual fare, and with the sort of injuries that should raise an eyebrow at night, but when the man explained the gashes as result of a nasty fall from the lack of light Dziga shrugged away any doubts. It wasn't exactly in his job description to go discriminating anyway, and in fact, he even charged ahead without thinking so much as to ask for a name. Ultimately the stranger wound up asking more questions anyway; this and that about his age, where he was from, why he was a healer, his thoughts about Thread. Dziga entertained them all and then some having been coaxed into sharing drinks with the man out of his flask, up until he was asked, "How about being a dragonrider?" He was just about laughed out of the hold, "Oh I can't, it's a... I have a girl... I kind of want to marry..."
"Oh, kind of? Hmmm why ever would you want to go and do that?"
"I like her..."
"Just like? Thats not a very good reason. I think you are settling... "
"I'm not settling."
"You're afraid that she is the only one who wants to get into bed with you aren't you? It's ok, I hear that dragonriders get lots of girls."
"Oh yeah?'
"That sounded too eager. Are you sure that you like this girl?"
"Oh stop it... I don't know what your big obsession is with this dragon thing is..."
"What if you found out you've been searched?"
Standing up on shaky legs - how long had he been sitting there drinking that quikal and shooting the breeze? He needed to start cleaning up for the morning at least, "I'll believe it when I see it..." The next thing he knew, the ground was rapidly approaching his face and gravity was working against him. When he came to he at first dreaded the trouble he was going to be in, drinking was a tremendously bad idea after all, but when his eyes scanned the room, he came to the realization that he wasn't at all in the hold anymore. He had been so unceremoniously shanghaied to Hidden Weyr.
Purgatory Blue
Name: Velqueath
Age: Hatchling
Hatch Date: April 1256
Color: #b9ceee
Description: Perfectly streamlined, it would be apt to say that this blue dragon was completely designed for flight. His body is delicate, almost dainty looking, though whether or not this is a good thing is up for interpretation for he’s certainly more feminine than most of his color ought to be. His neck is curved, almost swan-like in length, and his body shape is definitely on the lean side. The most impressive part of his body is his wings, which are just a touch oddly shaped, wider in the sail than they ought to be and thus more than capable of holding him aloft in the air… but his flight looks more like a kite flapping around on gusts than anything graceful. Some might even describe his wings as squared off, for they certainly don’t fold into the elegant points one typically expects from dragons. The ends are just… oddly shaped, definitely blockier than should be natural. His size doesn’t help matters here: he’s small even for a blue and some greens will dwarf him in size. Comically, he also has a very long and thin tail that looks more like a kite string, further emphasizing the belief that he’s actually not a dragon at all. It’s a bird. It’s a plane. No, no, it’s Velqueath! … For better or worse!
Velqueath’s coloring is actually very dramatic for a dragon’s. The backwash of his hide is a dark blue that leans perilously close to black, but to call him ‘dark’ would be an injustice. So would the word ‘pretty’ though ugly wouldn’t be applicable, either. He’s just downright weird looking. Over his wings are pale brushings of lighter shades of blue like the sky during daytime, each one accented with white outlines so that his wings almost look as though they’re plumed. These feathery outlines are also visible on the wedge of his tail, giving it a depth that some might find lovely – but most would likely find disturbing. To complete this avian-esque coloring, his chest is an almost completely a network of silvery spiderweb-like patterns, shimmering more metallic than anything else. And his highlights are vividly bright, not unlike gazing at a sapphire under the light of the moon. Very… strange.
Personality: Stubborn, dominant, ridiculously controlling and intolerant: these are terms that apply to Velqueath’s personality, and it will make him a very difficult dragon to get along with for his mindmate. First things first: He’s absolutely unwilling to obey without a very good reason and this goes for metallic dragons as well as his mindmate. He’s intelligent and thus reasoning with him and explaining things will help to win one’s favor, but flat out, Velqueath is not willing to listen if the explanation is illogical. Thus, it is usually better to try to ask him to do things than demand them – because he has a very it’s my way or the highway attitude. He also makes extensive demands of his mindmate and he fully expects them to be followed to the letter and to defy him is to risk his temper, which is very explosive. He’s smart enough to know how to cut with words and even his chosen is not immune to that viciousness. He will not tolerant foolish behavior; trying to behave with anything less than decorum and perfect professionalism around him is a good way to get on his nerves.
And unfortunately, Velqueath has very high expectations. His chosen will find this out all too quickly. Mistakes are to be corrected immediately and then not repeated. Repeating them is a good way to get insulted. So is inability. As far as he’s concerned, they as a pair are unstoppable. Bronzes, browns and golds are in no way superior to him – just because they’re bigger doesn’t make them better. Same for blues that are larger. The word ‘ambitious’ might spring to mind, but it’s inaccurate: he doesn’t actually want to lead, he simply wants people to recognize his obvious superiority and because he’s superior, his must gain recognition as well. He has a very Do as I say, not as I do mentality that will also likely frustrate others. It’s totally fine for him to insult his mindmate, but anyone else doing it will get claws through them – literally. He’s violently protective of his chosen. So just because he might haul his mindmate around by their ankles trying to make them learn a lesson, don’t think for one second that they’re okay to pick on. They definitely are not!
