Maosa’s In Soviet Southern Aliens Conspiracy You Blue Osweith

Maosa.. Maosa.. Maosa. We are so sorry, in advance. SO SORRY. But you asked for him… and you know what they say about being careful about what you ask for! Your Osweith lies below, in all of his majestic paranoid glory. We only hope that you enjoy him as much as we enjoyed making him (and that you hide any LSD, as tripping balls will absolutely 110% increase any and all delusional tendencies he may exhibit) — and as always, please know that Osweith is YOURS to do with as you please; this inspiration is to inspire you to play him as you wish to play him. We look forward to seeing how you grow and change one another… and how you change Southern. Without any further ado: your Osweith. — Bails and HannahBanana

as a great mystery he began, an innocuous fogbound egg from a fogbound night…

Clutching Pose

Dhiammarath, now content with the home for those-who-shall-be, turns demurely to face the galleries, her Belior-lit expression one of concentration and focus. First-laid, highest-honored: but which one of them was it, exactly? Three are there as she shifts: one of over-the-top pinks, another fog-shrouded and uneasy to the eye, and a third volatile with color and intent.

Sleepless Savagery Egg

So strange, the cresting grey of this egg's creamy shell: fleshly warm but occluded by the obscuring mist of grey fog hanging low over the apex. One shining light bleaches color from a fist-width spot amidst the darkness of the lower curving. The southernly sweep of shell is indeed blackened by briers and bridges that bramble any hope of chaotic escape for that last dying of the light. Ride, Ichabod, ride: there is only the tracing of darkness and ripe-pumpkin orange, rife and ever-present among the tribal pattern of mazed shell, denying light's last hope in a cresting of omnipotent omen.

to hatch among the moonlight…

Hatching Message

Sleepless Savagery shifts and shakes, shuddering with dire portent. The time has come. Briers and brambles turn into tinder as the shell flakes away, a little at a time. When the occupant therein finally rises from the dust, he does so with a surprising minimum of egg-goo, stepping forth with purpose as if chased by some force beyond comprehension… or perhaps pushed by one, to seek out what lies beyond.

In Soviet Southern Aliens Conspiracy You Blue Dragonet

Conspiracy clads this slender blue in conservative attire tailored for his sighthound-sleek build: classic-cut his hide, a navy suit seen through a modest veiling of smoke. Pinstriped indigo neatly lines the patrician sweep of snout and buttons smartly up the aerodynamic calculus of elongated neckridges; below and beneath, everyman paisley faintly patterns the hollow of his narrow chest. Coat-tail wingsails rise in clandestine disguise, though the papyrus-thin translucence of gunmetal sails remain inadequate to cover-up the enigmatic map of ichor’d veins that sprawls as a mystery unsolved. An uncanny core under covert camouflage, innocuous he would remain but for a brilliant mask of truthseeker blue blazoned under canted eyeridges, a paradox rendered in cerulean.

… to bind you as his greatest ally in his quest for the Truth.

Public Impression Pose

Illuminating the Invisible Blue Dragonet slows his frenetic pace — abruptly, rather, coming to a sudden and unanticipated halt. He sees not the longing looks cast his way, instead focusing upon the nearest cluster of candidates with wariness etched into the lines of his stance. There is obviously more at work here than is obvious at first glance. He makes to slink past them in a wide circle, so preoccupied by keeping a close watch on the tall and burly boy at the forefront that he nearly stumbles over the feet of a dark-haired local girl — a really local girl. His head butts into her midrift, and only after the collision do his eyes rise in belated understanding. Coincidence? Nothing in life ever is, Maosa.

Private Impression Message

Vision shatters in absolute darkness. Bereft of sight and of sound and of scent… and yet, does the air smell different, suddenly? Is there the sense of a room about you, that you cannot see? Shadows layer upon shadows, and the blood roars in your ears. Darkness. Darkness. Darkness. Tobacco smoke and the sudden flare of emberlit light, just a spot, coincidental with a whisper of sound like a breath taken: or is that your own? There is smoke, ephemeral grey illuminated by amber light, and then there is only the memory of that in the darkness. Suddenly you are aware that you are in the center of a maze, and every path is foreign: and yet you are not afraid of that knowledge, nor of the dragonmen, nor of this strange darkness. And why would you be, Maosa, when it is as the universe conspired? Osweith is with you, now, and you will never be blind for as long as he is there to open your eyes to the truth of the world around you: for now, and forever.

Egg Inspiration

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, and Ichabod Crane's frenetic flight from the headless horseman. In the end it may just be Brom Bones with a pumpkin, but Ichabod's fear is so very tangible.

It starts slowly, the clatter of foreign hooves on even more foreign cobblestones: whoever knew they could make such a racket, such a thundering cacophony of sound and sensation? The hooves set the very air on fire, or perhaps that sensation of tightness in your chest is just an early sign of heart failure: whatever it may be, the tempo increases, frenetic, frantic, moving outwards, outwards, ever-outwards: the center of the sound reaches your ears and passes over to leave… silence, ringing, ringing, … ringing. Somehow, the absence of sound is more ominous than the hooves that came before.

Theme Inspiration

We have eggs built upon legends, so what better dragon theme to go with that than Legendary Places? For a conspiracy theories such as yourself, Maosa, we knew almost instantly which place we wanted to use.

Our Mission

The Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) is an independent US government agency responsible for providing national security intelligence to senior US policymakers.

The shadow world is best seen through the lens of the CIA, the agency where conspiracy theories are as numerous as grains of sand on the beach. However, it’s not just the CIA — that’s not a place, but an entity. Although, perhaps the conspiracies could argue that those two ideas aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive!

So what better place to weave a theme throughout your Osweith than Langley itself?


Such an unassuming façade for what truly goes on in there. The hub of the international spy network for the United States, Langley protects the lives of the agents in field offices around the world. They work for the betterment of the US government and for the good of the world…

… or do they? Or would some say they have a secret mission? The world is full of dark secrets, Maosa. Tricky ones, hidden ones, and even more unnerving: some secrets are hidden in plain sight.

Langley holds onto its secrets… will you and Osweith?


Description Inspiration

There is nothing in the world quite so refreshing to look upon as a smart-dressed man. Well-dressed women turn heads and spark desire, but is there really anything as cool-as-a-cucumber as a tailored suit on a lean figure?


This is the inspiration for your Osweith’s physicality: a lean young man in dark-blue pinstripe and just the faintest touch of paisley. The touch of smoke is a nod to both The Smoking Man and a more general feeling of truth clouded by fog.

His build is vaguely inspired by Ewan McGregor’s hilarious GQ suit shoot. He’s just that perfect middle: no need to be skinny, no need to be bulky: he is sleek and lean and well-disguised. But just like Ewan’s socks, Osweith’s description has a tell…

That truthseeker mask around his eyes - vivid, vivid blue, startling against the otherwise-muted tones.


Name Inspiration

Maosa, Maosa, Maosa. We would love to tell you that we spent HOURS and HOURS and HOURS deliberating on a name for you… but… it just wouldn’t be TRUE. What had happened was…. Hannah and Bailey sat down. And we thought, WHAT ARE SOME CONSPIRACY THEORIES. And we thought: what conspiracy theory is greater than Roswell, NM? Seriously. Aliens. You just can’t get better than aliens.

Well, except for maybe the name we played with and finally settled on: Osweith! It’s a nod to the birthplace of Area 51, a name that could be barked or laughed, and sounds ominously awkward, just like a conspiracy theorist SHOULD sound.

Truly paranoid individuals may even start examining the patterns of Maosa and Osweith… because isn’t just so coincidental that (M)aosa (a)nd (O)sweith could stand for Operation: Mao?

Food for thought.


The Truth is Out There.

In the very beginning, there was darkness with a hint of smoke that curls through the shadows that cling impenetrable to the closeness of a room you can sense, but not see. A touch of orange floats in time to the movement of smoke that you can briefly see when the orange-red glow flares. You remember this from the moment of Impression, but Osweith is so much more than a single instance of darkness.

The Truth is Out There — a mantra that hums through the expansive feel of the corridors of his mind; hallways that expand outward from this first meeting room, patterned in white-glow light at regular intervals that give a strange feel of velocity as you traverse these inner pathways. Cement walls and cement floors, they gather shadows that fight the weak illumination, hiding as much as they display. Piles of hides lean against the walls of these hallways, getting more and more cluttered as you make your way to the heart of it all: Osweith’s office.


This small, dark room is sacrosanct for anyone but you. This is the place where truths can be given and received, where no lies will ever be tolerated. Piles and piles of hides and folders and papers cling in jumbled masses to every surface. Oak peeks out from beneath the weight of your blue’s collected evidence, as the piece of the desk that can be seen is scratched and sorely used, but well loved. Old rings of water stains suggest that Osweith would possibly be a heavy klah drinker — incidentally, this little quirk will make him more apt to be enamoured of Yulena, excuse us, Yules — were he human. His presence clings to the laden bookshelves that cram the tiny space, manifesting in the faint breeze that ruffles the hide-bound poster depicting an abandoned landscape with shadow figures painted onto it. When thoughtful, he ripples the top of the cold mug of klah that still sits, within the water rings, upon the scarred desktop. A mental dervish of activity, his presence is keenly felt here, knocking off books and hides when searching for an answer to a problem.

« Mao. » Sometimes, when particularly caught up in an idea or thought, he will shorten your name, but never does it feel cutesy. It’s economy of words so that he can blaze onward to the real meat of a problem. « Vossuth did something to my dam. I just know it. Why else would I be so small? Why else would I not be able to procreate? The bronzes, they’re //doing these things to us. »

“…” In the beginning, your response might just be incredulous silence as you try to //take
in all the crazy thoughts that whirl about this small, cramped inner office. “I think you’re wrong…”

The chair provided on the other side of the desk, the one meant for //you, shudders as the sudden frenzy of activity stirs the hides and papers, knocks over a stack of books to clatter to the ground, echoing in a dull thud when contact is made to the stone-like floor. It’s not stone, but it’s hard like stone and yet strangely porous. « I am not wrong! Did you see the way Kraakenaeth subtly leads Talicanitath along? Do you see the way they croon over all those bronzes? Chorzeczoyth, Qianvaelth… » as he goes through the list of clutchbrothers, agitation ripples the cold klah, sending a ripple of its once-delicious scent wafting through the tiny room, « … Iaxryth, Raxsonath. They will soon be brought into the bronze brotherhood and then we will have to watch them. »//


On and on he will rant and rave, about how it’s just a matter of time before his clutchbrothers can’t be trusted, and thus will begin the fostering of distrust between you and just about everyone else. Born in the small office he claims as his own, with the one person he claims as his own. You are his partner within these dark hallways, but for everyone else, they are treated to shadows and stone-like hallways of the same hard, yet porous substance that holds a grey cast where the white-glow light strikes it.


It is easy to get lost in the lengths of corridor riddled with the stacks of hides, especially for someone who does not instinctively know how to navigate the twists and turns (aka, you). For anyone not you, it is impossible. Except for possibly the rare connection to a like minded dragon… but just where would he find such a dragon?! Especially as a baby, he will sometimes “accidentally” try to trick his clutchsiblings down those tricky hallways, though as he grows older, you’ll find that he will do this on purpose. Especially to his bronze clutchbrothers, as if trying to trick them into revealing their “brotherhood”.

//Darkness clings, a hint of the musty odor of settled dust clogs the senses. « Qianvaelth. » A warm baritone pitched at a soothing tone, shadows clinging to the corners of the stone-like hallway where the bright-white light spills out from where it’s placed in the center of the ceiling. « I heard that the Weyrleader is going to be giving yours special lessons on leadership. » //

Regardless of what Qianvaelth will respond with, you know that Osweith is convinced that those lessons are the beginning of the “Bronze Brotherhood” as he will take to calling it. The moment he makes this connection, that smooth baritone that spills across your mind like the finest of fruit-infused brandy will roughen, and the hint of acrid smoke will return. That curlicue of smoke is accompanied by the red-orange glow of the lit end of what can only be some kind of smoke-stick. Good thing Pern has no concept of lung cancer!

This hint of smoke is probably the part of his mind that affects you the most, causing an almost physical reaction — the watering of eyes, the feel of a cough settling in your chest to rid yourself of the polluted smell of the smoke. Sometimes, a cough might slip free or your eyes will water with no reason whatsoever except that Osweith has finally grasped a particularly trying truth or has discovered the twist to the story — his story. Not only will the cigarette — or smoke stick as you’d refer to it — hang embodied, a lurking presence will linger in the darkness. The outline of an aged and angled face, the hint of a mysterious smile that plays at the edge of where the smoke-stick hangs at the corners of his lips until it’s plucked between two gnarled fingers. This man, this smoking man is the manifestation of Osweith’s agitation and revelation. Two ideas that are so tangled together that often you’ll find it difficult to untangle which is which.

Agitation collects in the waiting room before the maze-like hallways that pepper the underground bulwark beneath the institution of information: Langley. The sharply defined features of a shadowed figure hangs in the background of the small waiting room, where little light is played. « Maosa. Did you //see the way the bronzes treated Desmeth and his rider? » Orange-red flares in the darkness, a curl of acrid smoke clogs the senses, a delicate tendril of white set against the shadows.

“What do you mean?” Your confusion is probably a normal thing for him, especially in those early days.

« I mean. They look at her different. Treat her different. Like they expect more from her. The bronzes… » The cigarette dances upwards as the shadow’d figure takes a long draw. The darkness writhes with uncertainties. « They are going to brainwash them… »//

“…” (Have we mentioned that this type of response will come often?!) Until you gather your wits and try to convince him, “Osweith. The bronzes are just other dragons…”

But are they? Is perhaps he right? The smoking man’s influence is deep within your blue, and therefore, will start to put questions in your thoughts. For you are as connected to Osweith as you can possibly be to another living creature. So when it comes to it, perhaps, Osweith has a grain of truth there…

This deep connection, well. It will mean that the mindlink is definitely something that you both will have to work on, because at times you will feel like you could get lost in the corridors of his mind. As you explore this place that is uniquely Osweith, as you get deeper and deeper, past the heart — the office — and into the parts of this place that start to crumble, an ancient feeling can be discerned here. As if a millennia ago, there was another place here. A place that hints at what was once a jungle, with the orderly pyramid temples that reached to a virginal blue sky. Conspiracies born so long ago have founded the very foundation of Osweith’s inner mindscape. This glimpse will occur only once or twice, for Osweith is entirely too orderly to ever let the foundations of his beginning to affect his here-and-now, but it will give you a glimpse into just how deep these feelings go. And if you follow the hallways to the very end, at the very end of your lives together, your last moments will be in a jungle-rich land with a legacy of conspiracies that came at the birth of your world.


That, Maosa, is what will fuel your dreams of your lifemate, but in the here-and-now, Osweith’s mindvoice is more akin to the basements of Langley and the FBI, where the lost truths are stored and hidden away. All of it is here, ready to be discovered, discerned, and where he pulls his ideas from. A never ending treasure trove of ideas.

His actual voice is very smooth: a rich baritone that’s capable of much more complexity of sound than he’ll ever really use other than when he’s after a proddy female. This rich sound is adept at pulling information from others — at least before he starts talking crazy and pitching the crazy tangled mess of the underground world of Langley at the dragons he’s trying to pump for information.

In terms of his mindscape, Osweith’s is not the rich tapestry of colors that others like Qianvaelth or Jiamoth may have or the expansive depth that Chorzeczoyth will have or even the liqueur-infusion that Desmeth has. In fact, his is the total opposite of many of his clutchsiblings, being a more cloistered, maze-like feel, but where he lacks in space he makes up for in the richness of detail.

Of course, at first glance, Osweith is shadows and cement, though Maosa will liken it to stone, of course. Some stone-like substance that she’ll never fully get an explanation of, however, it’s hard and rough to the touch. Which, should anyone brush against the walls of his basement hallways, the gritty feel is there. It’s real. And very, very detailed. As is the hint of leaking water from a leak somewhere within, the air eddies carrying wafts of mold that come at odd intervals. Dust collects along the leaning stacks of hides, papers, and old books, clouding up when Osweith’s dervish presence stirs the air and sends the clouds dancing in the white-light bright glows placed in the center of square-tiled stone-like ceilings.

The crunch of your feet down the length of the shadow’d hallways, the echo of hard soles striking stone, these are all of the small details that richly make up Osweith’s mental presence. So while, colors may not play into it beyond the faded colors of the tomes and hides that he’s collected or the posters of conspiracy laden paintings that dot the walls now and again, the details are there. He is richly faceted, your Osweith. More so when you realize the layers of numerology that associated with all the little pieces of his mindvoice.


The white-light glows that space down those corridors that echo in a series of seven. In fact, seven will be his number, his favorite number, and everything within his mindvoice is a multiplication factor of seven. Seven lights for seven corridors. There are seven sections of the catacombs of the basement in which makes up his mental landscape. Seven times seven, yields you forty-nine layers of twisting hallways. He masks his favorite number by adding in the details: the heart of his lair, the office, is added to the waiting-room that most will be left to cool their heels in, to give you fifty-one areas in which to find your Osweith. For every hallway, the stacks of the debris of research is done in chunks of seven, but all of the stacks have a layer of bits and pieces that distract from the meat of what lies buried, so the pattern of seven is not so easy to see.

Anything he considers strange or unbelievable or a perversion of the truth? Is projected into series of six’s. Not the 666 of Christianity’s evil, but more like not 7. Six bits of information hide each stack’s true wealth of knowledge, and he’s stingy about what truths he doles out to those around him.

Shadows cling, the dervish of activity ripples the klah that sits cold on the scarred desk. His notes stir, the door to this private sanctuary slams shut. « Have you noticed that there are //six bronzeriders when you think about Kraakenaeth influencing my clutchbrothers, and Cignalusath as weyrlingmaster. I swear, Maosa, the bronze brotherhood is a series of concentric circles of six. Here, here, I can prove it! » Books fall from the bookshelves, though more than enough books still clog the equally scarred bookshelves. Haphazard is his filing system, but this, too, is its own form of protection.

“Osweith, really, they aren’t out to get us…”

« Oh but they are, they are. See this? This is how many bronzes — well discount that one, he’s too told to do anything and if you remove this one, see how they all line up… » Regardless of whether you sit in the darkness with him, going through all the “evidence” he lines up, he will regale you with this… for days to come.//

That is, until he forgets. But once one idea is forgotten, another idea will spring up, all originating in the stacks of hides and books that litter the mental corridors of the underground world where conspiracy theorists thrive. When he feels an informant has come forward, or something is particularly important, the shadow’d smoking man will lurk within the waiting room, where his wildest ideas will come to play.

This is your lifemate, Maosa, and his rich mental mindscape that at first glance seems so simple, yet so many secrets are shielded by simplicity. To others, he will be strange, dark, and frenetic, but to you, he is complex, lovely and has a soul as good as the federal agents that seek out the truth. In this way, his voice and the clutter of his mind is directly inspired by Fox Mulder, as is his deep desire to believe in the good despite all the lies he feels the world is feeding him. He hunts down the truth, squirreling away all the details within the vaults of his mind, for the better good. Truth, when it hits the light, does everyone a good turn, right?

Right, Maosa?

Can you handle the Truth? Because it’s out there, and it’s ready to be found.

Before we release you into the intricacies of Osweith’s physicalities, there’s a footnote we need to add to his mindvoice. Complex, rich, full of nooks and crannies and books and stacks, and even to the deepest, oldest part of him carries an overlay of the ancient jungle that carries some of the first conspiracies — all of this is true. But Osweith has a frivolous side to him as well. One that might match him well to Chorzeczoyth — if the bronze were not bronze and could tolerate the conspiracy theories.

Much like you’ll learn later in Flights, Osweith has a few … surprises, shall we say. Walking the corridors of his mind, at times two spots of bright lights will reflect the white-light glow lights from the darkness. When a thought is particularly shocking, those lazer beam kitty eyes — that’s what they are — will stalk you, until they POUNCE suddenly from the darkness to grapple with silken paws at your legs. It might shock you, scare the SHIT out of you, because this little inhabitant that occupies the basement of Osweith’s mind comes at odd times. Never when you can predict it, never when you expect it. Even invading your dreams — for that mental closeness… well. It has it’s drawbacks.


Because sometimes… sometimes… there is a POUNCE.

Glowing eyes flash in the darkness, the scramble of claws the only clue that something hurtles towards you at breakneck speed. Until, suddenly: CONTACT.

« Gotcha! »


Your clutchsiblings will have to get used to you yelling his name all the time. Really.


Hide in Plain Sight.

From the first moment he’s hatched, to that first walk across the sands, to the moment his head butted into you, no one would consider him overly cute or overly strange or malproportioned. He is no Chorzeczoyth — all flash and pomp with his oddly put together parts. See the best conspiracy theorist or person who seeks to shed light onto the truths that undermine the government (or in this case, the Weyr) hides in plain sight. Any indulgence to the slightly weird in appearance is given in his coloring, which is striking.

In any good dossier of a Person of Interest, you first start with the physical form. See, Maosa, he is long and lean, with very little visual muscle to give any indication of the strength of form. In fact, when first glimpsed, you might think Osweith will be a really weak dragon for how lean he is, at least when first-hatched. Lean he may be, but bony he is not. Hints of ribs or knobby joints are not attributes of his leanness, except in times of famine (should there ever be any in Southern like there was in Old-Time High Reaches) when the subtle play of the ripple of ribs might be seen beneath the soft hide.

Deceptive softness over a lean, strong body.

Even in the physical world, Osweith is deceptive, hiding the strength that’s his beneath the veneer of velveteen softness. If dragons had the concept, your blue would very much be the standard office worker within the CIA or FBI. Not the Booth of Bones, but the Mulder of the X-Files. Long (tall) and lean with a handsome visage that’s just slightly quirky enough to keep him from being handsome. See, handsome dragons — Qianvaelth will be the target of much suspicion for how beautiful his hide is along with his membership in the “bronze brotherhood” — stand out. Strange dragons — even Chorzeczoyth will be given weird looks for however strangely put together that one is (truly, Osweith will sometimes consider that maybe something happened to his egg), even he is still in the “bronze brotherhood” — stand out, too.

Jiamoth, for example, with all her beauty will never be without admirers. Which means attention. Which means she won’t be skulking about the shadows, trying to get a handle on what’s going on or what information might be gleaned from those around her. So, in this sense, Osweith will use his physical normalcy to his advantage. He falls right in the middle of the spectrum between beautiful and weird, into the unassuming territory.

Civilization is a conspiracy. Modern life is the silent compact of comfortable folk to keep up pretences.

~John Buchan

From the moment he’s hatched, through the tender months of his babyhood, he will be a handful. Not in the sense that other dragons are a handful. He will never misbehave or purposefully knock things over. In fact, despite the length of his form, he’s a throwback to another dragon aeons ago with an uncanny ability to know just how to maneuver that length. Always lean, yet soft to the touch, almost plushy without looking like it. His wings are large and dark, not unlike a cloak of night-shrouded blue that, when held to the sunlight, glint as if patterned in crushed jewels of lapis, dark sapphire, blue spinel and black-lace onyx. He is, for all this conspiracies theories, his mother’s child.

In form, a faint feline cast comes to play, which will give him, AT TIMES, the ability to be adorable. Case in point, this is a favored pose of his:


Lying on his side, head tilted up, looking one part cute and nine parts goofy, but even this has a purpose. Which ties into how he’ll be a handful. While others are chasing errant dragonets bent on destruction, or trying to keep their lifemates from accidentally causing chaos, Osweith basically says… “Fuck that.” He will be the dragon to try to sneak you out of the barracks, into the leadership courtyard to spy on the Leadership. He will never trust the leadership, because leadership lies. From the moment you impress, he will be bent on getting intel. Oh, he’ll want food, yes. However, you will be the only weyrling not driven to distraction by hunger, although, you’ll be driven to distraction by Osweith’s desire to be out of the barracks getting his intel.


You asked for not overbearingly cute, and Osweith isn’t that, ever. The internet is full of cats, however, and given that your blue is really based heavily upon the bone structure and coloring of cats, the weirdness comes into play in the very essence of the cat. He is aloof, with the penchant for weird poses and weird behaviors. Not as heavily strange as the spider-queen in Igen, and he would happily gobble up Inlayraith if he were EVER given a chance, but his coloring is striking.

This is where he stands out. The complexity of his coloring and the versatility it gives him.

The steely greys of the blues of his hide, the shadows and smoke that plays along his coloring do very well at keeping him hidden in the shadows. So that, as a baby, when he’s stalking the leadership ledges, it will be difficult for others to see him. Now, that doesn’t mean that those dragons won’t sense him for his mental aura is a heady experience, but visually he will do well stalking in the shadows. This might lend him well for a wing choice of Lynx given their subtle and … shall we say, clandestine nature. Even as an adult, the dark banding and the mask about his eyes and the subtle shades of the blue of his color, he will be able to blend into the shadows well.


it’s not that you have a different dragon from shadows to sunlight, but… you have a different dragon from shadows to sunlight! Have you ever noticed the coloring of your common household cat? The brilliance of the fur when it’s seen through shafts of sunlight? Osweith’s hide is no different. This is where the complexity of his colors really shine, and where you can see Dhiammarath’s influence in the slight iridescence that sweeps across his hide, picking up the silver sheen and the subtle patterns that flow through the navy shadows of his hide. If you squinted, he would almost look pin-striped.

Seriously, we would never do that… or would we? WOULD WE DO THAT MAOSA? You’ll never know. (But maybe we did.)


Despite the versatility of his body — both in coloring and form (have you ever SEEN how cats can lay on things — wait, wait, we’re getting ahead of ourselves here…) — Osweith can have a regal bearing. With headknobs pointed, face set back, shoulders set, and paws held outward, he can be what some might call a handsome dragon. If one was really enticed by lanky, ninja-cat style dragons, sure.

For all the darkness of his coloring, the purity of a brilliant, deep sapphire blue limns his eyes like the Old Egyptions used to use kohl to accentuate and line the eyes. It’s such a deep, purity of blue that gives him an almost startled expression for how richly his eyes are lined. It’s as if… it gives a glimpse into who he could have become had suspicions not marred and clouded the pure soul within.


Imagine that… only in striking, striking blue.

Speaking of cats — see, cats are so… so… well here’s the word again: versatile. They can do or be or lay anywhere. He will never be picky about his weyr or his straps (they are all details, Maosa, unimportant details), and so you’ll often find him laying about in strange, contorted positions. It’s not uncommon to find him propped up against the sharp edge of a rock, or laying almost on his wings with his feet up in the air. It’s unassuming, and often during these moments, he’ll have both lids partially slitted. Napping.


That’s what he wants you to think, anyway. You, the leadership, the other dragons, his other clutchmates — he’s tricking them see. Listening, gathering information to fill the mental vault he’s got set up. He’s always, always watching.

Waiting for the right moment…


… to pounce.

Sometimes, it’s a proverbial pounce.

« Jiamoth! Jiamoth! Did you see how E’don got special treatment? » Neverending corridors are presented to his green sister, stacks of files falling over in his haste to right himself and dash after her. « I just heard Ja’kai giving him a special assignment! »

Sometimes… it’s a real pounce. Like how he will suddenly find himself thrashing about to pounce you when he’s a baby. Okay, okay, even when he’s an adult, he will delight in the SURPRISE-I’M-REALLY-AWAKE move that tends to send someone sprawling in fright. This is like his one indulgence away from the super-spy, conspiracy theorist dogma. The flight of fancy that provokes his playful moments. He has them — everyone does. They don’t last long, but they’re there.

You asked for weird, Maosa, and you’re getting weird. Not traditionally weird in the same sense as other dragons, but Osweith has got some damn weird physical peccadilloes that you’ll have to deal with. As many as there are internet cat memes!



// Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t all out to get you. //

… a day in the life: a typical afternoon with Osweith.

« How can you say aliens don’t exist? Have you SEEN whers?! »

« The oldtimers are behind the firestone shortage, Maosa. I just know it. »

« Doesn’t the whole notion of Thread just.. make you wonder? I mean, how plausible is it, really? Think about it. Solid acid that rains from the sky only to eat us, and we just happen to breathe fire? Doesn’t that seem like a really tenuous plot? It sounds too convenient. This isn’t a Harper’s tale, Maosa. There must be something else. »

« How can you say aliens don’t exist? WHO MADE THE STAR STONES THEN?! »

« It doesn’t seem… the least bit trite, to you, that the Star Stones never shift or fall out of order, and consistently over years and years and centuries and centuries accurately predict Threadfall? Come on. »

« Whoever made the whers and the starstones must be behind Thread. It’s just a form of social control, Maosa. However else would everyone allow themselves to be controlled by a random woman and the man whose telepathic firebreathing dragon has random sex with? Seriously. »

« It doesn’t make sense that the oldtimers… that the oldtimers exist. Why would they come to Thread? If they were REALLY from back-when, wouldn’t they have stopped when they hit the Interval? They would be dumb as crackdust to keep jumping. »
« The oldtimers just can’t exist, Maosa. It doesn’t make any sense. They aren’t any different than us, except that their dragons are bigger… and they don’t wear tights. They must have GIVEN us something to make all the rest of us smaller! »

« There has to be a master plan. To create a master race. That’s why we’re smaller. They had to change us. They want to make it so that there are no more browns or blues or greens anymore, Maosa. It’s like they think nobody even WANTS us. Why would someone want only bronzes and golds? WHERE IS THE SENSE IN THAT?! »

« It has to be that we were better. There must have been a war in the past, Maosa. Blue firelizards can sire clutches. It makes no sense for blue dragons to not be able to. Maosa, they did something to me. I know it. »

« The Herders SPAY the greens, Maosa. I heard a beasthealer say it! It has to be true. »

« I think Dhiammarath is at the head of it all. Where else would the leader hide but in plain sight? Khalyssrielth must be her minion. Look how small she is. She has to be a minion. I bet they tried to make her blue but she wasn’t awesome enough to survive, so she’s just a sad, tiny, twisted little gold instead. »

« That probably explains why she’s so evil. »

« Maybe Dhiammarath is a bronzerider. Vossuth is really her lifemate, and Hannah’s just a puppet! Maybe all of the other riders are puppets, Maosa. How wretched would that be? Can you imagine if all the dragons were puppets? »

« Maybe the bronzeriders created the Star Stones. It would explain why Raxsonath’s Impressed. They need someone to do maintenance on them, and it’s not like they could just tell your average joe to go out there and fix it so that they can propagate their evil lies. »

« No, it has to be the Herders. Think about it. The Herders control all of the beasts. Without the beasts, where are we? Dragons can’t eat without them. It’s not like the weyr just has a plentiful, ever-renewing source of herdbeasts just… tucked into some tiny little never-used room. Whoever would believe THAT? »

« Maybe whers are aliens because they have been around glows so much. Wait. Wait. MAOSA. The GLOWS are aliens. MAOSA. THE GLOWS. !!!! »

« That must be how they stunted the dragons. Maosa. Maosa we can’t ever let ourselves get close to the glows. Don’t look into them Maosa! Don’t look into the light! »

« Maosa, it’s better to be in the dark than to be brainwashed by the alien glows. »

« Maybe we can just get you… a helmet. Or some of those tinted glasses. Or maybe you could get the Smiths to hammer out some metal, really thin, and wrap it around your head. That would prevent the glows from sinking into you, Maosa. I promise. »

« Maosa, you need a helmet. Maybe the Smiths could foil… what? I just talked about this? No, Maosa, I’d never forget something as important as this! »

« If the glows are really so evil, Maosa, we need to get you protection. Maybe a helme… Maosa why are you making that sound? Are you in pain? Why are you screaming? »

« I don’t know why you are always saying I’m forgetting things, Maosa. I have an impeccable memory. Why, I remember something I was going to mention to you. The glows. When you are…. Maosa why are you walking away from me? »

« MAOSA. Why did they make the glows take all of our memories? WHAT DO THEY WANT DRAGONS TO FORGET? »

« Maosa. It must be the Herders, Maosa. Or maybe the bronzeriders. They have to be taking our memories when we sleep. Don’t sleep, Maosa! Don’t give into it! »

« I was thinking. :: between ::. When you go through there… why can’t you feel dead things? Why can’t you feel all the things that are left behind? Shouldn’t you leave smelling like dragon farts, at least, if there’s that much metric shit in ::between::? Maosa… Maosa it makes no sense. »

« Maosa. You can’t just walk around unprotected all the time. I’m thinking you need a helmet… »

::: - ::: - ::: - ::: - :::


// In Soviet Southern, the GLOWS CONSPIRACY YOU. //

We’re so sorry, Maosa. Osweith will be so very pleasant with everyone else: he’s well-spoken, intelligent, even a tad bit charming. Certainly he’s eccentric, but isn’t everyone who hits a certain factor of intelligence? Genius and insanity, as they say. Everyone else will see the posh side of Osweith, the normal side, the comes-to-work and does-what-he-should, dutiful and unassuming Osweith.

And you. You get …. Osweith.


This isn’t to say that he won’t… slowly bring others into the fold of his thoughts. You see, the sad thing is that… all of Osweith’s conjectures make a tremendous amount of SENSE, if you don’t think about them too hard that is — and some of them if you think about them too hard to begin with. His clutchmates will be the first ones that he feels disarmed amongst to distribute his particular ideas, morseled out slowly. Jiamoth, maybe, first. The fact that she rationally dismisses half of his ideas is of no consequence. He’ll feel so FREE in airing his suspicions that it will make his previous (and future — he’s always forgetting something he’s previously speculated over) predictions even that much more incredibly poignant.


But that’s still only for a very select audience. For most of the weyr at large, Osweith will play his role of The Straight Man with aplomb. He of all dragons is hyperaware of how appearances can influence perception, and so he will be superbly careful in his own presentation of himself. This doesn’t mean to say he won’t be… interesting, as a youngling.

He hatched smart, Osweith. He hatched canny. He hatched wary. And most of all, he hatched suspicious of his surroundings. Ja’kai will probably drive himself to distraction trying to figure out exactly why Osweith sits as he does and stares at Ilayth, who will remain a constant fascination for the blue, even past the point of maturity: however a conundrum she is! A dangerous green in her own right, paired with a militant oldtimer, unafraid to go toe to toe with the biggest and baddest bronzes — she is a paradox that will fascinate Osweith, and perhaps shape some of his eventual mental perceptions.

He will so painfully try to fit in, your blue, especially in those dangerously vulnerable emotional periods when he’s just coming into his own. Adolescence is a lonely and shaky time for all species, and Os will have it worse than some others if only because he had the misfortune — in some aspects — of picking you, Maosa, as his lifemate. You are as alien to the weyr as his fantastical alien whers, in some ways, and he will have to work doubly hard to fit in with that distinct element of other clinging to him.

Perhaps that is why, then, he will turn out like he does. Because he will, in the end, grow up to be quite a smooth-talker in his own right, a suave - perhaps even debonaire - exhibition of why Blue Is Best. He is the Pernese version of a kid who grew up to be an FBI agent because he’s paranoid about the CSI: while he’ll take very conservative tacks to finding out the answers to the problems that he envisions Pern having, he will chase the truth until the truth comes back to chase him.

Sure, his beliefs will shape a lot of how he turns out; and his surroundings will likely stamp him as well. Moreso than any of the others, Osweith has the most pliable future: he is in many ways a dragon that will make what he can of life based upon the events that happen to him and you, Maosa. He is and will always be a hardy soul, an intelligent mind, and the bearer of an incredible imagination. Responses to how he utilizes those three will doubtless shape him in ways we cannot even begin to imagine, but always know that your Osweith is one to adapt to a plethora of situations. Just know that nothing will ever change his skeptical view of the rest of the world… and his insane devotion to you.

Provided you continue to provide him with the necessities, that is: a general acceptance of darkness in lieu of alien mindcontrolling glows, a willingness to wear tin-foil hats, and pettings whenever he craves the touch of someone beloved to anchor him firmly to reality.



Never Let Love Be a Secret.

I hope you’re ready for a handful, Maosa, because when your Osweith gets a hint of a woman in heat, you’d better be prepared for the battle of your life. Well. Each proddy green will yield this battle, so maybe for him, it’ll be the battle of your life. But for you, having the grace to remember every other time, well… Y’anno… it’ll be a battle anyway.

A battle?, you ask.

What kind of battle do you mean? Well! Imagine Osweith, on the prowl, so to speak. He’s wrapped soooooo tightly into his conspiracies within conspiracies that he may not notice the world around him. This is the danger of being so tightly bound to the truths of others that what’s right beneath your nose is missed.

That is. THAT IS. Until the first hint of glow touches upon the glorious green hide of whatever green that he happens to notice. And he will notice a lot, but that first time is special. Partly, because you’ll be unprepared. Up until now, he’s shown some crazy tendencies but truly, they’re all something that you can keep contained, and out of the public eye. However, once the proddy-glow has been spotted, Osweith switches from the conspiracy theorist who’s more at home in an office in Langely to a blue dragon that caterwauls to the proddy green.

« Yeeeoooowwwwwl. Yeeeeeeoooooowwwwwwwl. Mrrrrrrooooooooooooooullll. »
“What the fuck is that?!”
« Mrrrrrrneeeefaaaa— what, what? You don’t think she likes my singing?! »

He will serenade his chosen.

All. Night. Long.

Luckily, during the day, he will be back to “normal” self. It really is too bad that Eth’n and Ysvarth have long gone to dust, because Eth’n could tell you a thing or two on how to manage a very different Flight-Mode lifemate. Alas! Good luck, Maosa, because when night falls… you better believe that he will be serenading the green again. Outside her ledge. Enough that her own lifemate might try to shoo you both off. Surely, Maosa can deal with this embarrassment, yeah?

He will do this over and over again until she flies. Oh boy, Maosa. Just wait until she flies. You might think that this will bring you relief from Osweith’s particular peccadilloes when it comes to the females in heat, but see the thing is, it’s only just begun.

As soon as that green takes to the air, your blue will be after her like white on rice; he will fly far and away as fast and as he can. His goal is to get to that female before the others. Being a blue, he will have the maneuverability of his class, and the predatory sleekness of the heart that lies within, that beats for such primal urges as the simple urge to mate. This singular moment is when the trappings of his more civilized (if strange) self are torn off.

You will not recognize Osweith as Osweith that first time. His mind will be alien, full of dark shadows that twist within the hallways of his mindscape. A primal hint of jungle will escape, showing how thin the veneer between civility and savagery really is. The fair use of claws and teeth and wingspars will bring a violence to flights that’s driven with purpose. Until he catches his heart’s desire or she’s caught by someone else, he will fight claw and tooth to get that which he wants. Caterwauling the entire time. You thought pre-proddy was bad? DURING THE FLIGHT will be torture. So loud. And you’ll likely have to explain what he’s doing to the rider of the one he chases.

But this is something that you, yourself, already have knowledge of, right Maosa?

Sometimes, he will win. Sometimes, he won’t.

When he wins, oh how the heavens will cry for the joy of his silence. But the coupling will never last long. You will never have to worry about being finished first — not like poor K’ane, who’s always getting the shaft when Dhioth flies — because Osweith will chat.

All. Night. Long.

Do you sense a trend here?

What will Osweith chat about? In this rare moment of intimacy with another dragon, he will regale his mate with his craziest conspiracy theories. It doesn’t matter whether they’re secrets or not, or they sound crazy or not, he is telling her everything. There comes the awkward moment when the sex is done and you’d rather go to sleep, but the green’s rider might just kick you AND your Osweith off her ledge or the ground weyrs or wherever you end up, because he won’t shut up. And you’ll be left having to escape far before you’re ready just to ensure that no one kills him (we kid, really, who’d kill him?) or you for being associated with him!

If you thought that winning could be bad, well. You’re in for it if he loses. Because if he loses, then it will be all about how that greenrider had it out for him, that her rider was in with the bronzes to keep a good man down. Now, if that was just to you, it’d be fiiiiiiine. You can handle him, right?


Not right. Because he will be that guy. That guy that follows the couple to their place of sex and chatters at them to ruin the mood. It will be a comedy of errors. And a comedy of embarrassments. You’d best get a good handle on him now to prevent the future where some green’s rider has to get you to come get your dragon so she can get it on in peace. Nothing’s quite like having to do the walk of shame BACK into the ground weyrs after losing only to be told that your dragon is making a menace of himself.

So when it’s all said and done, win or lose, when he finally does shut up in this entire cycle of proddy?

The entire weyr will say a combined thank you!

Oh. We should note something here. It’s a teeny, tiny detail. We’re sure you’ll just … figure it out. But he loves the ladies. And he looooooooves when they go proddy. So this isn’t a once-a-turn thing. This is … something you’d better get used to.

He’ll even want to chase the golds. And he’ll want to tell everrrrrrrryone how the bronzes are keeping a good man down when that gold goes proddy. Obviously, he can’t actually chase golds. However, he will think that they are doing something to him, to make it impossible.

And hey. Who knows. He might try caterwauling to one of the gold flights sometime. Just to see. Just to seeeee if they were RIGHT that he can’t chase them.

Sometimes, a conspiracy works by making you believe something as a truth that’s not really a truth and thus the real truth escapes you.


Question everything.

Oh Maosa! By now, you’ve realized just what kind of handful your blue is, but that knowledge is a drop in the bucket of what he will be when Thread starts. His motif is to question everything.

From the moment you start drilling. Even as a weyrling! Once you get past all the babyhood stuff and get into the meatier lessons of betweening and firestone hauling and chewing and flaming, he will question Ja’kai’s motives.

A curl of smoke, illuminated by an overhead light, drifts in front of the shadow man’s profile. Suspicion is deep, coursing through the flare of brilliant orange of the lit end of the smoke-stick. « I don’t trust Ilayth. I think Cignalusath and Kraakenaeth has got to him. Why don’t you ask him why we have to learn how to fly only half of a Fall. That makes no sense! We’re strong! »

“Osweith…” You’ll groan, because if you don’t ask, he will. So you’d better learn to ferry his questions while you can still filter them out.

Because if there comes a time when you feel a question is too outlandish to ask? He will project to the weyr and ask in the most obnoxious way possible, and then you will be held in his suspicious regard. He’ll start to wonder if the bronzes have gotten to you somehow. If his sweet, sweet Mao-Mao (okay, maybe he likes to nickname you sometimes) has gotten turned somehow. This is when his feline tendencies will surface as he’ll become recalcitrant and intractable in wanting to practice drills. Until you find some way to reassure him that, in no way, have the bronzes gotten to you, and that yes, you are still you and not a mindless zombie of oldtimer spouting nonsense.

Oh Maosa. We laugh when we think of you and Osweith part of wing preparations. Whether you ever rise to rank (Wingleader, Wingsecond, or beyond), you’ll find that Osweith has no troubles skipping over the heads of his superiors to go straight to the Weyrleader to question, why, why, why, why?!

He’s the question man. Faranth forbid he ever never agree with anyone’s flight plan when it comes to drills or Threadfall. Remember how chatty he can be when it comes to a proddy flight? Well imagine that ten times over when he argues with Th’seus or Q’fex or Nika or whomever might be Wingleader or Weyrleader or Weyrsecond at the time. He will fight TOOTH and NAIL for what he thinks is the best plan. See, Osweith is actually pretty brilliant for a dragon, and his plans — while unorthodox and have a strangely similar thread of putting bronzes in the shadows — are actually usually pretty good.

Consider it … foreplay. See, Osweith likes a lot, a LOT of foreplay before actually getting to the Thread fighting part. He likes to know the plans, the details, the people — see, he’s looking for holes. He’s looking, looking for conspiracies within conspiracies. The number of dragons in a formation will mean a lot to him, so he’ll push for factors of seven. Seven plus seven, seven times seven; seven, seven, seven. Until you are sick of the number seven.

However, when all the foreplay is done, you’ll find that Osweith is actually really good at fighting Thread. Not in the conventional way, necessarily. He’ll never be the dragon that lets no Thread through his line or have the most Thread burned in a ‘Fall. Osweith is not built to be the athlete of his clutch. However, he will have an uncanny ability to know when Thread is about to be fatally harmful to those of his wing. Especially to those who lurk within the lower flight. See, he values his goldriders and his dragonhealers quite a bit. Thus, you probably won’t end up in Serval unless you push him! He aims to strive towards the big boys — proving to everyone that he can hold his own.

But don’t be surprised if he breaks formation to swoop down, down, down to the lower flight ot catch what the bronzes — it’s always the those bronzes that miss Thread! — let through the line right before it causes a fatal or crippling wound to those valuable members who keep everyone patched up (dragonhealers) or keep the baby dragons coming (the queens).

In that regard, Osweith can be a super hero… if that super hero talks your ear off all night long about his theories on how the bronzes are trying to keep the weyr just a little crippled, just a little needing of them too much.

« Vossuth. Did you see the way he nearly let Nika’s head get Threadscored when he missed that clump?! » Agitation stirs up the acrid smoke, flickers the overhead lights and causes the butt of the smoke-stick to almost light on fire.

“Osweith… Th’seus would never — “

« It’s the Bronze Brotherhood. I’m telling you. They want us to not be //as good and make sure that we keep our commodities just a little under strength so that they can save the day… » On and on it’ll go.//

When he’s not suspiciously eyeing the “bronzes”, and he’s not dashing downward to save the precious members of the weyr, he will push himself to his limits in trying to keep up with the bigger dragons. He will loathe having to switch out for the next wing of blues and greens, hating that he can’t fly an entire Fall himself. Thus, he will push and push and push until he trains himself to last just a little bit long, a little bit farther than the average blue can. Will he ever stand out as a super special shiny snowflake at Threadfall? No. He is well within the upper limits of his size, his color group, and his age. However, in spirit… he is all of that and more. Where he’ll shine the most is intellectually. In the planning. In the ferreting out of holes and misguided assumptions. Which will resume as soon as the fight is done. When all the burrows have been cleansed. He will plan, plan, plan, plan, plan…

We wouldn’t suggest you plan on getting any sleep leading up to and after a ‘Fall. He likes a lot of foreplay (planning) leading up to the wham-bam session (the actual ‘Fall) and then a looooooot of conversational cuddle post event (the after-’Fall planning and re-hashing).

« Maosa. » Your name echoes through the hallways of his mind, knocking over the piles of his crap that clutter every nook and cranny, drawing you into the special heart of within. The tiny office. Cold klah assaults your nose as the dervish of activity ripples the congealing, cold surface of the old drink. « I saw Sekhaenkath wobbling on the last turn there, and I think that Kraakenaeth’s should really considering bolstering that side … »

“Osweith… it’s late. I’m tired, we’re sleeping now. Not talking.”

« But Mao-Mao — »


« — I really think — »


« — that you should listen — »

“ — OSWEITH!!!!!”

Sullenness is the lazer-beam kitty eyes that glare from the shadows of his file-filled corridors. Rather that deign to comment, the black-cat stands up, lifts it’s tail and turns it’s ass on you before trotting out. You can almost feel the HARUMPTH. But hey… bright side? Maybe you can sleep now.

It is only just beginning…

Are you ready for it?

Because Osweith sure is.


Even Scent is a Conspiracy.

Here’s the deal, Maosa. Osweith doesn’t really smell like much. Not … that you can tell anyway. Especially as a baby, other than a kind of clean, dry smell. But nothing that zings the senses. Your fellow clutchmates might comment on the scents of their lifemates and you will be eternally confused.


Until the moment he reaches his majority. The first time he catches sight of a proddy green dragon, a different odor will permeate the senses of those around him. It’s not that it is any particular scent, mind, as you will rather see the effect that his scent has on those around him rather than smell it, if you will. Pheromone based, it’s a drive to mate, a scent that’s pleasing to the females around him, and drives the perception of male/female interaction. And when the proddy cycle is done?

He’s back to ‘normal’. But if you ask him? He will wax eloquent on the theory of how a smell will drive a girl wild and how it’s yet another way that the bronzes keep a good blue down. After all, crammed into wings full of blues and browns, changes a male’s very scent… or does it?

The others won’t need it — your Osweith is a very complexly layered dragon of conspiracies within conspiracies — but to help you understand the “Smell Conspiracy”, we’ve provided a handy little under-the-table link… if you can find it. It’s there, in this section… Shhhhhh. Don’t tell anyone.


Even the Number Holds the Key.

For Southern’s first cycle, Bailey and Hannah wanted even the dragon’s dbref # to have meaning. Not only is it a ‘special’ number (often referred to as ‘magic’) in how easy it is to type, but this time we strategically chose a number that reflects some aspect of the inspiration. This one was easy! See, Hannah went to Mexico and learned about the Mayans of Xichen Itza. To the Mayans (and really a lot of cultures around the world), the number 7 is revered. Woven through your inspiration is the number seven, so it makes sense that Osweith’s dbref # should be set to #8778!

« Didn’t I TELL you the bronzes — »

Just wait until he figures out the deeper conspiracy behind the choices of beginning and end… wait, conspiracies within conspiracies?!


Strive to Be a Stalker.

The Police: Every Breath You Take

Every breath you take
Every move you make
Every bond you break
Every step you take
I'll be watching you.

Every single day
Every word you say
Every game you play
Every night you stay
I'll be watching you.

Oh can't you see
You belong to me?
How my poor heart aches with every step you take.

Every move you make
Every vow you break
Every smile you fake
Every claim you stake
I'll be watching you.

Since you've gone I've been lost without a trace.
I dream at night, I can only see your face.
I look around but it's you I can't replace.
I feel so cold, and I long for your embrace.
I keep crying baby, baby please…

Every move you make
Every vow you break
Every smile you fake
Every claim you stake
I'll be watching you.

Every move you make
Every vow you break
Every smile you fake
Every claim you stake
I'll be watching you…


We’re not saying it’s aliens… but it was ALIENS that did this…


Name: Bailey, Hannah
Egg Desc: Bailey
Dragonet Desc: Bailey
Messages: Bailey, Hannah
Puppeteer: Bailey
Inspiration: Bailey, Hannah

D’tri (Dimitri) and bronze Chorzeczoyth
Kaia (Kapia) and green Salanaith*
Yules (Yulena) and brown Desmeth
S’yn (Sytin) and bronze Iaxryth
T’ral (Taralde) and blue Esanth*
D’cen (Daycen) and bronze Raxsonath
Cerise and green Jiamoth
E’don (Donner) and bronze Qianvaelth

Harper’s Tale 66th Clutch
(New) Southern Weyr’s 1st PC clutch
Hannah’s Gold Dhiammarath x Th’seus’ Bronze Vossuth
October 17th, 2013