Ashes to Ashes Brown Lukoieth

Impressee: T'sal (Trassal)

Name: Lukoieth
Name Inspiration: Ole Lukøje - Hans Christian Anderson's folk tale about the Sandman, in the 19th century it was spelt Ole Lukøie. Lukøje is Danish for eye-closer.

Colour: Ashes to Ashes Brown
Final Size: 39 feet long, with a wingspan of 64.5 feet
Description: Born from the dirt and sand but too ashy to be earthen. The dusty remains of incense burnt to the sill is smattered along his hide, their muted khaki shades are interlaced with the hints of bole and fallow, defining the dragon lest he would be appear nothing more than a ghostly cloud of brown cinder. A syrupy concoction of molasses flares up from his underbelly and another stroke of the color interrupts his lighter tones with a quick wash down his neck and ridges; a bit painterly in nature, fading in with the other shades. Lukoieth is an artist's experiment in proportion, drawn out perfectly for the exception of what detractors could call a bit of an over-pronounced bite, and talons too big and cumbersome looking to be practical, but for all of his faults he is still an exceptional specimen; smooth lines crafted in precision. Though in the larger echelon of brown dragons, he will certainly the last of his kind to ever be confused for a bronze - his hide too dull for even an oiling to bring shimmer to - he bears the same brawn without any of the brutish bulk.
Hex Colour Code: #483C32

Personality: From that singular moment where the stars seem to align just right and a connection is forged in the sweltering heat of the hatching sands, he will see you as his charge and no other way about it. The dragon is steadfast in his belief in that he knows what is best for you - after all he is a guardian - unwavering in his watch, unfortunately so much so that he suffers from tunnel vision; forgetting the world around him and missing out on the chit-chat and hobnobbing of weyrlinghood. His clutch-mates may speak of him as aloof and reclusive, but you will know him as shy and a little preoccupied with the goings on of his own little world - a place constructed of the hopes and dreams he has for the two of you. And so the tables will turn, for the first time you may be forced to be the alert one, the one left to deal with the stark realities of life, because Lukoieth has an active enough imagination to make up for whatever day-dreaming you are missing out on.

Despite not being very intrinsically aware of his surroundings, there are just some things the brown will encounter and not understand. However curious he will be about it, he is hardly ever direct and will ask every question but the obvious. After all, he is the one looking out for you! It would be terribly unbecoming if you were to get the impression that he didn't know what was best. Nothing irritates him (or rather frightens him) more than the fact that he might not know an answer or have a solution to a problem, and he will always be too proud to admit defeat. Settling for anything short of success would be be a failure in his oath to you.

But as the seasons change, so will your bond. Lukoieth will eventually learn that though you are all that he will ever need in this world, you are not the only thing he wants, and he will seek - cautiously, and from afar - the companionship of fellow dragons. However, when he finally sheds his blinders, Lukoieth will find that it might just be too late. Failing to create any significant connections with other dragons early on, he can merely watch from the sidelines as the others preen and sunbathe by the lakeside. No matter how much you may urge him to socialize, he will only be able to squeak out the meekest hellos. Natath… he will start, all of the eloquent words he has acquired bubbling at the back of his head and begging to be said but instead can only finish with, hello?

The fledgling sprig of insecurity will grow into a beast of unbridled jealousy after all the turns he spent on the outside looking in. Lukoieth will lust after everything he can't have, the dragonesses that find a ledge next to a weyrmate, the ones claimed with the draping of a wing, and most of all: the golds for he is allured by their aureate beauty and the way Rukbat so adorns them with a luminous hide. Females will drift in and out of his thoughts with a steady ebb and flow…until of course a female rises, their mating calls crack against his brain and rattle his bones. Though it is rather unlike him to get very riled about anything, flights seem to be the exception to the rule. He will be the first in line to chase any dragon, and more than willing to attempt to de-throne the incumbent bronze competitor in a gold flight.

Should he be successful, he will be the overly excited father fitting in mention of his eggs on the sand into every conversation, much to the dismay of the Weyr's bronzes. He will watch the eggs for hours at a time, as a quiet sentinel, which will give you a brief break from his ever watchful eye. No matter how small his clutches may be, he will see them as great, even vastly superior to any other clutch ever laid (and yes, every clutch he has will be considered the best clutch). In respect to hatchings he will be very much like his own sire, wholly loyal to the gold mother and their brood, at least until the next female takes to the skies.

Threadfall is nothing as glamorous or exciting as the victory of a flight for Lukoieth, but it is something that he will approach with a liberal dose of gravity. He'll take on the evil doing Thread because it must be done rather than for accolades or the reverence of the people…well, maybe he does like it when the little hold people fawn over him, but honestly it is mostly because it is his sworn duty to Pern! Though it is important to mention he isn't exactly the most graceful brown to ever take to the skies. He is a little clumsy, and lumbers around too much at first to ever go scoreless. For this he will take some guff from his wingmates, and a stern word or two from the wingleader's dragon, but he will take it all in stride - as he does with oh so many things with finesse and savoir faire.

Inspiration: A mixture of various Sandman tales, admittedly with the song "Headfirst Slide Into Cooperstown" as a jumping off point.

Voice: The soft and soothing whispers of a lullaby; golden throated and smooth it has all the markings of a young father easing his child to sleep. Pleasant with hardly the sharp word or pointed remark, he will be last to raise his voice. He feels there is more power in what words you are saying than how they are projected and as such each word he uses is purposeful and chosen for the situation. Should he so resort to yelling or shouting it will be the verklempt voice of exasperation cracking under stress; frustration apparent, but never the signs of anger or malice. Soft-spoken as he may be, in private conversation his words ooze a quiet confidence that are often missed or unheard in everyday banter.

Hatching Message: The 'Twas The Night Before Egg shook with the slightest rustling. The sapphiric shell swelled before tiny fissures ran down the sides like spider veins; pieces chipping off in small shards as a wing poked here and a tail thrashed there. There was no explosion, and no thundering crackles. The egg did not shatter but rather inconspicuously collapsed as the dragonet lazily pushed his way out - flakes of his prison hanging down from his snout, clinging to stretches of embryonic goo. After a wide-jawed yawn exposes his razor lined pearly whites and curled forked tongue, the brown hatchling flicked his head letting drippings splatter around the sands, and took his first steps out into the big scary world. After a moment of hesitation and a glance back at his towering clutch parents he began his search, inspecting each candidate with ardent scrutiny.

Public Impression Message: Having stuck his brown snout under countless white robes and prodding the stomach of every candidate he could reach, the Ashes to Ashes Brown still felt a little…unsatisfied. He cocked his head in confusion, wondering to himself where his could possibly be, toddling across the sands in the uneven gait of the swayback creatures. A candidate with short, reddish brown hair caught his attention, and he swayed in that direction like a moth to the flame, looking up at the man sedately when he reached him.

Personal Impression Message: In the midst of the chaotic spectacle that was the hatching, you were found, and if he had anything to do about it you would never be lost ever again. Like a fire was ignited at your feet, a warmth crept up through your body, even to your very bones. It was a sign; you would never be alone.

There you are, he said assuredly and almost condescendingly, as if you were a naughty child caught fooling around past your bedtime, how did you get past me my T'sal? Perhaps he is just a dream, because he is certainly unreal; staring at you as the rest of the world seemed to move at a snail's pace. The pale brown creature stretched his wings sleepily before you and cocked his head in the anticipation of a reply, Don't you know me? It's Lukoieth! There, now we aren't strangers and we can eat. He didn't want to admit that he was relying on you to cut up his meal and fill his belly.

Dragon Credit: Written by Vandelay, inspiration by Special K.

Name: ‘Twas The Night Before Egg
Description: Inky midnight blue casts its shade across this egg. Though deep, definite jewel blue tones shine through the night sky, its color is primarily a uniform dark blue with shimmers here and there. Soft, snow laden clouds of silvery white hang loftily around the egg’s apex, calmly waiting for the hatchling inside to part. Hiding behind the clouds, haphazardly scattered across the sky, bronzey-gold speckles shine through. These stars possess no luminosity of their own, but when the light hits this egg just right you could almost see them twinkle. And there- towards the top of the egg –a conspicuous silhouette, looking like a sleigh being driven by tiny figures, weaves in between the clouds. This small detail would be easily lost against the dark night sky if not for a glowing speck of cherry red leading the way.
Inspiration: After a night of delivering presents to all the good little girls and boys, Santa packs up his sleigh and lifts off into the night, proclaiming “Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!” This egg is based off of Clement C. Moore’s famous poem.
Credit: Cassie

Dam: Gold Tylaith (Levay)
Sire: Bronze Cioruath (S'tyn)

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License