Kaishori's Haunting Dance of the Spirits Blue Avirath

Kaishori! On behalf of all of us here at High Reaches Weyr, you’ve surprised us, delighted us and kept us guessing on where you will take your character! Did you really think we would let you escape us?? We hope that Avirath will only make you want to RP with us more!

You began your time here on a journey, as a seeker of not only your past, but also your future. It is in the present, though, that your story unfolds. It starts with an egg.

Cataclysm Egg
Death on the wing crackles over the bottom half of this egg in ferocious molten crust and raw earth, split by fury-driven lava in asymmetrical ruin. Hope springs forever renewed, a ring of color ringing the equator with Teldrassil evergreen and Barrens wheat-gold standing in clear defiance of the apocalyptic feng shui that the lower-crust of this egg shows. Despair and dismay shows in are those bloody fingers? What suspiciously looks like a week's worth of discarded Starbucks and fast food wrappers offers the top of this egg a dubious color-scheme, an odd pairing of swirled shapes in shining gold offering up that magic number that all seek in this eternal quest: 85.

Things We Might Could Regret… the redneck version of the egg theme. World of Warcraft. Biggest 'why oh why did I get sucked into this?!' of all time, right? So you left after you beat the Lich King. Understandable. But… but… Cataclysm is coming out! I'll just play it through Christmas break. That surely sounds like a good idea… right? — Rhaeyn

In the face of the horror of a world breaking, you stood on the Hatching sands, frozen in terror as you laid hands on the shell of the egg. In the final quest, you were called to task by its occupant, cloaked in the guise of another…

As the elements rage, Kaelidyth steps forward, death in her eyes. As the world breaks around you, the galleries gone, the weyr gone, and the earth shakes, you realize this is all in answer to /her/ call. Your hair whips across your face and neck, and just before Kaelidyth ends the existence of the world, of your life, she whispers in a voice made of darkness itself, "Do you seek /me/?" And then you're released. – Egg Emit

Cataclysm Egg lets out an explosive CRACK! The world breaks, severing the ties between Teldrassil and the Barrens, teeming landscapes parched by the network of fissures crisscrossing the shell that fractures and crumbles away, muted by the single sound of a haunting cry; a darkness emerges from the ravages of a broken world. That single, foreboding wail is the only announcement to mark the birth of the Haunting Dance of the Spirits Blue Dragonet; an old soul in a new world, an element incarnate.

So you stand before the egg once more, in the final hour, as it hatches into the one who’s voice forced you to question what it really is you seek…

Haunting Dance of the Spirits Blue Dragonet
Breathless, the falling veil of night; royal blue kneels to the inevitable dark. Tempest winds buffet brisk across the biting lines of slender flanks, stripped bare of bulk from lean shoulders to tapered hips, substance whipping away into the whistling lash of streamlined tail tendril. Ageless gaze holds cool beneath the filigree frost of eyeridge awning, braced tight to either side by the airy slopes of forbidding cheekbone, sweeping down to tapered jaw and even here, there thrives the windswept drop into glacial shadow. But think not the darkness is total; between the daggar’d pickets of delicate spars, sails unfold luminous ribbons of ethereal brilliance; gusts and gales unraveling in veils of electric cobalt, thrashing as cold fire where the vexing light of day dares evoke its hidden colors. Beneath, down the weightless wisps of long limbs, faint first in scratches then crossing stronger in slashes, the haunted black of naked branches grasp upwards in fell fingers, thickening to arms, to interwoven trunks, until silent feet pad heartless in ink that leaves not a foot print behind.

In all stories, there is a beginning and an end. In this quest, you have found an end, but not the end. The quest conquered, you have met face to face with your destiny, for better or for wore. With the bitter sting of winter’s wind stinging your mind, you have realized that the final twist is on you. For he has claimed you for his own…

Public Impression Pose
A gust of movement that settles to still gentleness; feet fluidly double back the way they came from. What is this? Dark wings shift, allowing the brief hint of a hidden sparkle to be seen before he settles. It is the calm before the storm; stirred by the tempest of a broken world, the Haunting Dance of Spirits Blue Dragonet finally takes a step. Another. In a rush of grace, he has chosen. The one who sought him before. Rearing back, his wings unfold to reveal their eerie and haunting play of dancing light as that chilling cry echoes once, twice, then falls silent as the wind blows strong to the ginger-haired Candidate: Kaishori. Hiding is not permitted!

From here, only you can tell us where your story will go…

Private Impression Message
It starts so subtly in the beginning that, at first, you think it’s a stray breeze that brushes across your face. Eerie whispers follow, like the sound of strange and twisted voices caught on the wind and bringing their distorted words to your ears until it’s all nonsensical. It’s the soft breeze that stirs the dead leaves of autumn, but bone-chilling cold. So cold you tremble at its touch; so cold that even the sands feel as if you’re standing in an ever growing gale-force winter wind. Brilliant lights flash across the darkness, and behind, the glitter of stars lingers not far off. « You have sought me once before. I have come. I am yours as you are mine. » His voice is dry, like the crackling of dead leaves, crunching beneath winter’s chill of death. Dry, soft, melodious. Whispering like the wind that stirs the lights to dancing. « Avirath. » In eddies of spinning wind that stirs the leaves and brings forth the frozen smell of earth, you realize that the pain you feel in your very bones, of winter’s cold wind, is actually hunger. You both, you hunger.

**Theme inspiration **

Winter! This clutch’s overall theme is winter and all it encompasses. We’ve chosen to base Avirath on the theme of the wind, as you requested. Not just the wind, but also the winter lights that dance across the sky to the solar wind’s whim in both the north and the south poles. On Earth, they are called aurora borealis (northern lights) and aurora australis (southern lights). This is your Avirath. He is as mysterious as the wind, full of beauty and grace, and yet, cruel. For winter’s wind can chill a person to the bone and leave them for dead.

I've never seen the wind
I seen the effects of the wind
But I've never seen the wind
Can you see the breeze?
There's a mystery to it
— Lyrics from Mind’s Eye, DC Talk

Name / Name inspiration

Avirath! You, you came up with this one. Avirath is your blue air spirit!

1. AVIRA: Male Aramaic name meaning "air, atmosphere, spirit."

Desc Inspiration

Winter wind, the northern lights, and the cold chill brought by both. From blistering, bone-chilling wind to soft, gentle caresses of autumn’s cooling season. He is haunting, singing with the many thousand voices of the wind: wailing, howling, whispering, rustling, and shrieking. From the small, wispy shape of his body to the hidden aurora borealis on his wings, Avirath is the very embodiment of the haunting call of winter’s blustery wind. Ethereal and beautiful, yet deadly and unforgiving. The wind is utter impartiality.

Mind Voice

When you’re standing in a frozen field, with the wind whipping around you, chilling you to your very core, and that scent of dried leaves and frozen earth reach your nose? That is Avirath in simplicity, but he is so much more than that. He will not be given to strange, alien landscapes like Ysvarth or watery perches like Ligryth; no, he is the wind. You can feel the effects of the wind, but you can’t see the wind. It is the solar wind that generates the polar lights; they are eerie and beautiful.

In fact, that’s where Avirath’s dragonet name comes from. “The northern lights have had a number of names throughout history. The Cree call this phenomenon the "Dance of the Spirits.”— Wikipedia”

His actual voice is hard to determine what range of baritone for when he speaks, the tone is hidden in dry whispers, the crunch of autumn leaves, and the eerie sound of distorted voices that come just before he actually speaks. He is not given to eloquence, for he would rather use the flurry of dry leaves to paint you a picture of his wants and desires. This does not mean he doesn’t speak, just that he’s not given to large monologues like other dragons.

When you close your eyes, beyond the darkness of the night’s sky, beyond the buffeting might of the wind, is the clear tapestry of stars that make the final backdrop to the eerie and beautiful display of polar lights that dance across this small winter landscape.

The swirl of leaves and churned, frozen earth fills your senses and in your mind’s eye, you see the leaves dancing to the whim of the wind. Russet orange, red-brown, they dance upon the wind and form lyrical, mystical patterns for you to decipher. Not unlike the cards you must read for others, so must you read his whims on the wind. Just perhaps, this pattern is woven into hunger.

“Are you hungry?” You may ask.

And if you get it wrong, the wind will strip you bare of your own wants and desires and supplant it with his, but only for a time. For he is melded to your sweetness and unlikely manipulation in the sheer desire of wanting his success. « Yes. Hroskuth’s dinner is making me hungry. »

It will be a learning process, but you will forever be reading his voice as you would read your cards and often they are cloaked in the mystery of what his true desires are. This is a singular quirk of the inter-communication between you and Avirath.

“A great wind is blowing, and that gives you either imagination or a headache.”

~Catherine the Great

To other dragons, he is as elusive as the wind, choosing to speak a few words to get his point across. Perhaps using the swirling of leaves when a word is not necessarily required, but it would not do for him to get lost between with the inability to speak. He will speak to other dragons, but when he does it will be sparse and to the point, using as few words as possible. To some, he might inspire the imagination with his dancing lights and swirling leaves, but to others, his wind-driven cold will only give them a headache, so don’t be surprised if his terse ways and habit of using leaf imagery earns him few friends.

Sweeping cold and dancing lights give rise to a warning, as sharp as the bone-chilling cold of winter’s wrath. Slow at first, the rise of eerie voices, hushed whispers of trapped souls, rises with the howling of the wind until the very leaves swirl and dance. With them comes the scent of upturned earth, the winter-scape behind the dancing light and leaves blurred. A hint of warning. The desire to stop illustrated by the unearthly fall of leaves that crackle like dry paper. « It falls. » And it is true; Erolinyath is about to step beneath an overhang from which a great drift of snow is on the trembling edge of falling.

Again, it is not that he cannot speak, it is that he chooses to be as sparse as the wind in how he speaks. To you, he will communicate in the language of the leaves and churned, frozen earth. Adding in the dancing, polar lights for emphasis, and rarely, behind the wind and leaves will be the glitter of stars and twinkling starlight. A rare vision that you will come to treasure when it sprinkles through your shared discourse.

Between you and him, you will find yourself reading him as you would your own cards, and finding both insight and enigma in what he says.

Always with this winter landscape of desolation, blurred out of focus so the mind’s eye is drawn to the northern lights above. The faint glitter of stars in the cold winter’s night that dance across that expanse of celestial darkness. It is the wind, however, that carries his voice; it can howl, it can rage, it can be the most tender of touches, it can carry with it the gale force of the famous nor’easters. When he is angry, well and truly angry, it will be these winds that whip through the minds of you and others alike. Never does he yell; nay, he uses the wind’s might to prove his point, but his voice is forever a dry and rasping whisper, trailing on the heels of eerie, distorted voices carried by the wind. It can warm, it can chill to the very bone, but always, it’s a haunting echo that may set humans and dragons alike on the edge of unease.

When it comes to communication of things not related to physical needs, such as memories or desires, it will be up to you to decipher the meaning of what he tells you. You’ll learn to read the leaves as much as you’ve learned to read the cards. Sometimes his desires are of the past, the present or the future and not everything is as it seems. His mental landscape is mysterious, eerie, with disjointed, distorted voices that can eclipse to howling storms or soften to just barely rustle the dried, and dead leaves of a fall past. In this way, he is aloof and untouchable. You’ll know him as well as you know the wind… which is not well at all.


I am the maestro

Of land sky and sea

I am

A living



Of many sounds

And sights

~ The Winds Concerto, Elaine George

Avirath really is the maestro of the sky and sea, of the land and trees and mountains, and the poem personifies many things, both about his physical attributes and about the very essence of his personality. Look it up and enjoy the poem, so that as you read through this inspiration, you can hold some of these key elements in your mind. Of your haunting wind-born blue and his dancing lights. For he is the wind.


In looks, Avirath is a windswept winter nightscape in the far north. All of his lines and contours are smooth and wispy, bulkless to the point of appearing almost weightless. The dark blue of a starless night enshrouds his slight, diminutive body, while tangles of black branches break away from ebony feet to grasp up the length of his long legs to scrape at the heartless sky above. The dark of this landscape is only broken when his wings open to flight and the solar winds of the Northern Lights can be seen streaking across his sails as they carry him across the sky. When he lands, they will fold again to conceal this hidden treasure of brilliance and he will return once more to moving in shadow.


And oh, how he moves!

It is said there are those that can command the elements of a very room with the force of their presence. Your dragon is the opposite. Avirath will seem to move entirely on the whims of a force outside himself, as if he were put on this planet to pay individual tribute to his ever-changing environment. He is not the sturdy tree, nor even the bending reed; he is the wind they each must contend with in their own way. And like the wind, he shall flow past them unchanged. Unbent. Unbroken and uncaring.

He’ll have a curious knack for rarely needing to go around the obstacles in his path. The way he can maneuver each limb, fold each wing just so, compensate his weight where it will be held best without ever a pause, he will often seem to glide along his path as a mist more than a creature of substance. He’ll flow up the side of boulders with such fluidity he would make a serpent look clunky and then to pour off the other side like a broken egg yoke, never changing stride - and that stride will be just as swift and flowing as the wind.

As a feather might gust up from a table when a door is opened, you will come to notice that your dragon is perpetually shifting and adjust his body in subtle compensation for unseen changes around him. When people come into your weyr, it might require a corresponding shift of shoulders, tail - his wings will cape out or contract in all the organic ways that make things just subtly more aligned. Feng shui literally means ‘wind and water’ and it comes naturally to Avirath in every bone and muscle of his body.

This fine motor control will take time, of course. That sensitivity and heightened responsiveness will require that same trial-and-error period all young must make. But rather than the clumsy footwork many of his fellows might have to stagger through, Avirath will more seem to be overly-conscious of his weight and overly-involved in his balance at the slightest change. Those inky dark feet of his always shifting, his wings adjusting, his tail lashing here, there, testing his environment and every aspect of both how he’s situated in it and how he could be situated in it.

He’ll be restless in his youth, as disinclined to bind himself to a single place as the wind. You could go for a walk with him and when you decide to stop, rather than stopping beside you, he might walk past you, circle around you in a slowing orbit spiraling gradually towards the ground until he settles as a leaf might come to temporary pause in a waning autumn breeze. But not for long. This will make oiling him a particularly challenging process, one that might well take your whole bag of tricks to cozen even his temporary cooperation. And when you are done he will probably need to alight to motion for a while just to catch up on those invisible currents that you just don’t see, flowing up and down over furniture, landscapes, the climbing the walls or dropping off the ledge to do Faranth knows what for Faranth knows how long.

So, too, will flight find him. His size will make him of the more nimble blues, reading and responding to shifting air current with a deft wing. You may note that, as the seasons affect his moods so too will the weather affect his flight style. Blustering windy days may find him reckless and daring, throwing himself into corkscrew turns around the spires and skimming along the choppy surface of lakes. Mellow, windless days may find him almost lazy, disinterested in the acrobatics that he had just yesterday performed with such dedication. He’ll want to fly higher, extend his wings and coast languid along the thermals in slow drop. You will need to learn to watch him closely during times of storms, when the weather is dangerous to flight, where he will be most restless and begrudging of staying indoors against that powerful call to respond to the turmoil of the skies.

He is given to lurking in the shadows when that restlessness allows him to find moments of peace, moving with the grace of the wind out of the path of direct sunlight. And like the shadows and the wind, he will be disinclined to make noise. That is not to say that he is mute; for it would be a horrible thing to be unable to warn a fellow dragon away from certain death if a mere bugle of warning would have sufficed to avoid disaster. No, he is not mute, but neither does he make much sound. Only in very rare circumstances does he make a vocal sound, and even then, if a mind touch or mental warning will suffice, he will always fall back on mental communication versus physical.

If he does chance to speak or make a vocal sound, it is haunting and eerie. Have you ever heard the sound of a hawk or eagle from up high? Those are the sounds that come from his mouth, haunting and high-pitched. They echo across a vast sky in sharp, discordant notes. Soft sounds, chuffs, bugles; these are not for your lifemate. It is the high-pitched, piercing cries that come forth when bidden, and those times are rare.

Avirath is a haunting, silent creature. Unnerving the folk of the weyr with his silent gaze. His is an old soul in a young body, a trait that his dam will appreciate and understand, for it is from her that he inherits this spirit of ancientness. While his body might constantly be moving, driven by the restlessness of the wind, it is his gaze that settles with weighty silence on the objects upon which he looks. It is his ancient gaze that holds within all the calm his body does not have.


As he whispers a secret in her ear

the wind grabs the whisper and

carries around the world

only the wind decides where

it will take the whisper

if you stop and close your eyes

you can hear the millions of whispers the

wind carries

listen closely but the wind

never revels anyone's secret

the wind carries million of secrets

from millions of years past

will you be the one the wind

tell one of the secrets too…?

Close your eyes and listen as the

wind tells the tale of many secrets

-The Wind, Aiyanna Ortiz

Have you ever seen leaves caught up in a circulating wind? They fly up, fly around for a bit and then fall back down? Only to be repeated when the crosswinds stir up again? This very dance of nature symbolizes your bond with Avirath. He is as mysterious as the wind, stirring Kaishori up from afar, but it is Kaishori that dances to the tune of the leaves, finding herself seeking to be the one to bring them closer. Reaching out, sometimes unknowingly, to sway his thoughts.

The bond between you and Avirath is almost an elaborate dance. Kaishori’s light is a counterpoint to his darkness, and where he will do anything for her, she will, inherently, want to do anything for him.

As Kaishori learns to read the telling of the leaves, his desires and intent will become better known, but that’s not to say that she’ll know him. While he will not be as aloof with Kaishori as he is with other dragons, he will never be the warm confidant, the loving brother, or even the paternal figure she’s missing. Avirath is a force of a nature and just as aloof; Kaishori will find the bond much different than her fellow weyrlings. It is not so much love as it is an eternal draw of his darkness to her sweetness and light that will get the wind to keep returning, to keep stirring up the leaves of her life like disturbing the silt of her existence. And each time he comes around, she will find ways to be stirred into him, allowing her an accidental manipulation for Avirath will do anything for her, even if it means turning from the subtle malicious gambles of his own desires.

“Winter dies into the spring, to be born again in the autumn.”

~Marche Blumenberg

The closeness of the bond will cycle with the seasons. In the winter, he will be the strongest in her mind, in the forefront of her thoughts, never very far away. As the season closes into spring and new life, he will withdraw until the warm summer months have come. It is in the summer that will form the coldest of the bond between dragon and rider, driven the furthest apart. This will manifest in the way it takes more coercing to get in gear for things such as drills, etc.

He will be at his most malicious during these unfettered summer months, because he is a creature of winter. Of darkness. Of cold things, blistered by wind. He will revile the summer heat and choose to remain aloof, caught in the upper atmosphere where the air is high and thin and chilly. Physically present, he will be slow moving and have a penchant for wanting to fly higher, to be up in the air where the skeins of wind can be felt blowing cold over his wings. He will come down for Kaishori, manipulated into action by her genuine caring of their well being and a desire to do things right. In this, he is tethered to her sweetness and light, though his malevolent machinations will escalate. How he chooses to express this will be wide and varied. Perhaps through biting commentary or perhaps through actions to bring misery upon those around him. Always, he is brought to heel by her concern and desire; laid low by her sweetness until he is the softest of breezes that caress her cheek. However, while he is most malicious during this time, he will also be most meddlesome towards you. More concerned with what’s going on in Kaishori’s life, but his drive to maliciousness and malevolence and sheer capriciousness will cause unexpected results. For he’ll meddle, but in the worst ways possible.

As the seasons swing back around to the first cooling hints of autumn, he will slowly return like the harbinger of winter. You will know the moment winter fully sets in for he will be there. Blustery winds, bone-chilling breezes and that hint of windburn frost to his words. It is during this season that he is at his most friendly, at his most engaging with you and with others. The scarcity of his words lessens, and when the bitter winds rage outside, his own internal winds will warm Kaishori in those cold winter months. This is the season of passage and with it he will have the most desire to be mystical, to be the diviner to her whims and desires. To be the benevolent air spirit that swirls in slow eddies to only gently stir the leaves.

Along with his ever changing moods dictated by the turn of seasons, so will you see a mischief in Avirath wax and wane with the arrival of winter and it’s passing into spring. While no trickster, there will always be that cloak of mystery, the invisible guise of wind that allows it to be felt and heard but never seen – except through its effects. Just as arctic gusts may drive two bodies huddled together for warmth, so too will Kaishori learn to appreciate this quirk of her air spirit of a dragon, and indeed, perhaps miss it when he distances himself to those lofty heights of the atmosphere during those warmer months of the turn, though at first it may frustrate her to no end.

From weyrlinghood onward, your Avirath will parallel the winter winds on which he is based in his tendency to litter his abode with random articles tracked inside from nature. These are not the same as the gifts he brings you in those endearing moments of forgiveness, no, this is an unquestioned trait, which both he and the air bear in common. Always unpredictable, and never expected, you while find a slow accumulation of debris covering his couch once those autumn leaves begin to flame in their colors most brilliant and drift down to the ground. Where they come from, you will never know – your Avirath moves with that unyielding fluidity after all, always converging and cresting over the obstacles in his path – yet somehow, just as the wind carries in a detritus of dying foliage, you will discover his curious flair for decoration in the crunchy bedding he will provide himself – and you – as the weather begins to chill.

In winter, you will perhaps laugh or grow frustrated with the parts of High Reaches he will bring inside your weyr. Kaishori may wake up one morning to find her creature of the night has tracked in fresh-fallen snow like some night flurry that threatens to trap her indoors. Piles of melting frost will be scattered throughout your home as if they were blown inside, and the largest heap of snow you can expect to find will be gathered on his couch. If pressed for an explanation as to why he must bring in the outside world into your weyr, you will be met with the forever cryptic rustle of leaves that seems to say, ‘this is just how it is.’

Once spring hits and the very first thaw begins to melt at the land, such draconic displays of interior design will vanish entirely, and you might find the one perk of the warmer weather’s strain on your bond is the ability to keep everything in immaculate order.

"I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape - the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn't show."

~Andrew Wyeth

In this way, their bond is a dance within dances. Not only is Kaishori there to soften him, to thaw him with her sweetness, he is also there to come back to her, to always be drawn back so that in the cold heart of winter, he is there. For her, he is more than merely a stir of echoes, the haunting howl of the wind or the lurking presence of nature’s shadow; for her, he is the gale force wind to her eye of the storm. Always circling, always dancing around her, but for her. As he is cold and cruel and impartial to the world, she is his heart. In the heart, there are only soft breezes and the brilliant, gleaming cold of the night sky and the dancing polar lights.

Kaishori’ll find from the very beginning of Weyrlinghood that something is different, off, strange with Avirath. He will not be chatty with the other dragons, and while he will speak with them, it will often be in cold, broody words. Words meant to curry disfavor or to dissuade inviting further conversation. Avirath is not an evil dragon, per se, but there is a dash of malicious intent in him. Like the wind, sometimes he blows with bone-stripping force, instilling within the killing chill of winter. Why? Because it amuses him. He is not an evil dragon, but he is a force of nature. And nature can be both cruel and gentle; this sums Avirath up quite nicely.

“Why did you do that?” You may ask, staring at a mess Avirath has made of the weyrling barracks.

Nestled within the searing, cold wind is a hint of satisfaction, of mirth. The leaves stir, lift and then fall again, as if in a shrug. Pleasure, contentment and satisfaction are woven, threaded, through the scent of frozen earth and the dry, papery rustle of leaves of autumn. Blood-red, russet-gold, brown-gold; these colors all form a tapestry of intent that spells out a single desire that gives allusions to ‘Because I can’.

Avirath is not above finding the weakness in others to exploit for his own amusement. He is as fickle as the wind and just as cruel and pleasant. Do not mistake his malevolent intent for trickery; it is merely his nature. You may not always understand why he does the things he does, but he will always provide a way for you to read his intent as you would read your own fortune with the cards.

Avirath will perform his duties to the weyr with a cold practicality and expectation that Aevryscienth might appreciate and Rhaeyn might see as a second-generation inherited trait from his grand dam. He will neither garner nor give out praise on a job well done, for it is a job and if it is not well done, then why do it at all? While you might have to maneuver him into doing his drills at times during the summer months, there is an ownership of tasks that he takes well in hand. Should you ever find yourself in a leadership position, Aevryscienth’s bloodline will carry him well; he will have the wind’s fickle command at his fingertips and that black and white view of others complements of his bloodline. When they perform well, he will hold them in trust, yet when they perform poorly, he will disregard them as useless. Much like the senior queen, this will earn him few friends but those of the most stalwart heart that can suffer such a capricious and fickle nature.

He is not the nosy busybody or the one to push Kaishori to make restitution with her background. Avirath is actually content with her remaining forever in the dark or even enlightened by some returning memory. In this, he has nature’s coldness and uncaring aspect. Should a memory bubble up between them, along the lines of the bond, Kaishori will be hard pressed to decipher his strange, swirling leaves to even divine an answer. Should she ever ask, he will respond as he always does: to read the leaves. It is up to Kaishori to interpret their meaning, but without knowing whether he means past, present or future, the divination of such things will be a challenge to say the least.

“If you reveal your secrets to the wind you should not blame the wind for revealing them to the trees.”

~Kahlil Gibran

Avirath is her mystic, her diviner; he will encourage and approve of her penchant for card reading and, in fact, implore her to use it more in her daily life. It goes along so closely with his own gravitation to use the leaves to hold hidden messages for her to divine. He does hold within him the ability to be mystical and philosophical, but it must be written in the leaves and divined from a reading of the leaves. Something that will both vex, encourage, and challenge Kaishori through her life, and cause problems when she reads it wrong for he will not always tell her if she is right or she is wrong. In cold truth, self-discovery is not a thing that can be purely right or purely wrong and the wind cares little for the rightness or wrongness of the outcome.

On rare occasions, these divinations of self-discovery are given to others if Avirath feels that Kaishori needs someone else to understand. Though, it’s not in so many words then, either, for the recipient must be able to decipher the cloaked mystery behind the eerie, haunting echo of the stirring of leaves. It is in these rare moments when Kaishori is at her weakest, at her most vulnerable that Avirath will seek to find a confidant, spurred on by his desire to protect and give her all that she needs as well as all that she wants.

And if that confidant cannot understand what Avirath is telling him, he is disregarded and another is sought. Only the right one will do, for the wind has no time for the suffering of fools.

The cold, impartiality of the wind means that often times, there will conflict between Kaishori and Avirath, especially during the summer when he’s at his most malevolent, and most volatile. Like unstable atmosphere, storms will come and buffet against Kaishori, in a hail of fury until they’re tapped out and he’s once again coming back to her. Often, he will come with a tribute, to curry her favor and return back to her good graces. In this, Kaishori’s sweet personality is an unintended manipulation, because he would do anything for her.

As the spring wind comes with the scent of new growth, churned earth and green things, winter’s wind, your Avirath, will come to Kaishori with offerings of forgiveness. The sharp, crisp scent of frost in his voice and the scent of frozen earth and just tumbled fall leaves. While not given to making sounds, his return to curry her favor will come with haunting echoes of eerie whispers and voices. It’s so haunting as to bring tears to Kaishori’s eyes, and usually comes with a token — now, whether that token was pilfered or legitimately found…

“Where did you get this?” You may ask, holding a glittering stone in your hand of unparalleled beauty.

The haunting echo of the wind is gentle, but still brings with it frost and the stirring of dry, papery leaves. Hints of frozen earth assail your nose along with the mulled, spiced cider of comforting warmth carried from afar by the wind. The leaves stir, flowing through a pattern of shapes that dance on the wind. Interpretation is often left up to you, but in times of currying favor, the dry, eerie sound of his voice fills your mind, whirling around corners and bringing with it the distorted chorus of voices that whisper nonsensical things. « I found it. » In essence, truth, but so much more…

Avirath is as haunted by Kaishori as he haunts other dragons and folk alike. Like warm buttered rum, her sweetness melts the bitter cold and winter’s chill within. Where they falter, he will be there to pick up and make amends, forever haunted by his own lifemate and his desires to see that her life is full-filled. As the leaves dance attendance to the wind’s whim, so do they dance into the wind. A lovely dance as intricate as drawing shapes in the sand.

Ba da pa pa ba da pa pa…
Come here
Pretty please
Can you tell me where I am
You won't you say something
I need to get my bearings
I'm lost
And the shadows keep on changing

And I'm haunted
By the lives that I have loved
And actions I have hated
I'm haunted
By the lives that wove the web
Inside my haunted head

Ba da pa pa ba da pa pa…

Don't cry,
There's always a way
Here in November in this house of leaves
We'll pray
Please, I know it's hard to believe
To see a perfect forest
Through so many splintered trees
You and me
And these shadows keep on changing

And I'm haunted
By the lives that I have loved
And actions I have hated
I'm haunted
By the promises I've made
And others I have broken
I'm haunted
By the lives that wove the web
Inside my haunted head

Hallways… always

I'll always love you
I'll always need you
I'll always want you

And I will always miss you

Ba da pa pa ba da pa pa…

Come here
No I won't say please
One more look at the ghost
Before I'm gonna make it leave
Come here
I've got the pieces here
Time to gather up the splinters
Build a casket for my tears

I'm haunted
(By the lives that I have loved)
I'm haunted
(By the promises I've made)
I'm haunted
By the hallways in this tiny room
The echos there of me and you
The voices that are carrying this tune

Ba da pa pa…

Father :
What is it Annie?

Daughter :
You think I'll cry? I won't cry!
My heart will break before I cry!
I will go mad. //
Haunted//, by Poe

In summary, Kaishori, your Avirath is one part diviner, one part mysticism, one part the cruelty of nature, and one part that signifies the beautiful, dancing lights. His is a malevolence masked with delicate beauty. The beautiful side of cruel and uncaring, of comforting and tender embraces. His a force of nature and that does not lend well to the manipulation by others. Because he is uncaring of how his own behavior affects those around him, as impartial as the wind itself, he is immune to manipulation and trickery where Kaishori may not be so immune. In this, he serves as protector to ensure that she does not get caught up in the machinations of others, though it will all depend on how she reads his moods and instruction.


“Absence weakens mediocre passions and increases great ones, as the wind blows out candles and kindles fires.”

~ François de la Rochefoucauld

Ahhh, flights. The nature of the wind has a duality to it; it is both corrosive and the bringer of life. The wind shapes our world and yet brings with it the seeds to start anew. The wind no more carries Desire with it than it does Truth; the wind is merely existence. Sometimes, Life is caught up in the wrath of the wind’s whim, to be moved from place to place. Even the winter wind carries seeds to be placed for spring’s growth.

“Erolinyath is looking quite… brilliant,” You may state in the shade of worry.

« Is she? I have not noticed. » The rustling of leaves lends credence to indifference as the whispery voice touches upon these words in softly given autumnal breeze. Delicate, gentle, and yet somehow still cold and impartial. Aloof.

As such, Avirath will be less than inclined to chase after proddy greens, seeing them no differently than he would see a brown or another blue. Or even a gold. In the winter wind’s cold practicality, these dragons make up the intricate network of the vast world in which he is given to shape and form. Hroskuth’s manly pride and Erolinyath’s round beauty will no more move him than he can move a mountain.

In time, though, you will learn that his lack of interest is directly correlated to two things: the seasons and Kaishori herself. The more Kaishori stands in the shade of worry of an outcome of a flight, the less interest he has in it. He will circle ever tighter around that which always draws him back: you. As soon as Kaishori’s comfort level increases, so, too, will his interest in flights, though he will never be a dragon who’s whims are decided by Desire. However, this is only half of the equation to get his interest in flights. The other half revolves around the core of his very nature.

“Why do you not chase, even if I want you to?” You may ask one day, when the man of your desire is seen to have a proddy lifemate.

Sullenness is etched in the shapes of the brilliant array of russet-orange, fire-gold red, and sandy brown that dance through the bone-chilling wind that cuts through skin and scarf alike. The message is played for you in shapes that you’re left to decipher, though overall the tone is one of sullen disinterest. It is, after all, past the summer equinox.

In the summer and spring months, he is less inclined to chase, even if you want him to. Only the sweet, unintentional manipulation from Kaishori would even get him into the air, and only if it would mean utter and complete disappointment if he didn’t. It is hard enough to get him moving to do the things he should do, and while he is never too far physically, mentally is as far from Kaishori and all those around him as the east is from the west. He stays in the time of blistery winds, freezing cold, and pelting sleet and ice. It is almost as if Time leaves him behind in the march to the forward, warm months.

However, the winter. Ahhhh, the winter. In the winter, Kaishori can wind him around her finger to do nearly whatever she wants him to do. It is the winter in which he is most biddable, and much less malevolent in intent for it is the winter in which his very presence feels alive. The autumn begins the season of closeness and winter ends it; so bound by these, flight becomes ever more possible.

In Flight, Avirath changes little; he is just as fickle and whimsical and cruel when chasing a proddy green as he is when performing drills. You will not see a night and day difference, as is the case with Ysvarth. Nor will you see the strutting of manly prowess as with Hroskuth. Nay, Avirath is as changeable as the wind, which means that any two flights could be vastly different.

For Erolinyath, perhaps he will chase with the gusto and strength of a nor’easter, to get her snowflakes and snow stirring. For Ligryth, perhaps he will chase with the insidious cold of the northern winds, dazzling her with the solar winds that play the northern lights across his mental landscape.

He chases in images as well as body, for while others will never be able to decipher the telling of the leaves, they can understand the cold snap of a gust of wind, the hauntingly beautiful display of lights, and the gentlest touch of a cool autumn breeze. All against a fuzzy and out of focus backdrop of a winter landscape with barren, dead trees and the faintest touch of treasured starlight.

In form, he is fast like the wind, but what he has in quickness he lacks in endurance. This will make chasing the smaller greens easier and the larger greens more challenging. By the end, he will have used up all of his energy blowing around the green, trying to get her within his cold clutches, trailing his haunting eerie echoes behind him. If he does manage to capture her, his embrace and touch is as cold as the wind, though his body is warm. Coupling is quick and as soon as it’s done, he is off. As fickle and cold as the wind, there is little else but to de-tangle and fly away. Kaishori may even find herself in utterly embarrassing situations of still being with the rider when Avirath flies away, done with the female he’s just caught. There is no cuddling. After all, exactly how does one cuddle the wind?

“The wind moans, like a long wail from some despairing soul shut out in the awful storm!”

~William Hamilton Gibson

Oh, but when he does not win… let the tempest begin! He will rail and rage and circle the weyr with all the great might of the nor’easters, blizzards, hurricanes and tornadoes. In both mind and body, he will rage at the wind’s loss. And when it is done and the winner is occupied with the female in question, his malevolent streak will come to the surface in force. In pure cruelty, he will somehow find a way to spite the winner. Either that same night or the very next day, within the constraint of his short dragon memory. Whether it be petty theft or finding a way to make the winner look bad in public, he will somehow make them pay. For winning. For besting him. And so, too, must they dance to the whims of his fickle and cruel nature. Perhaps, the winner’s ledge will be decorated in debris as if a forceful winter storm suddenly blew through…

As with any of Avirath’s rages, Kaishori can bring him back around to rights again using her sweetness and her own probable dismay over the destructive rage and gale-force winds of his displeasure. As in the eye of a hurricane, eventually, Kaishori can bring him back again; it is this cycle of having to control Avirath’s rages and bring him back to her that will downplay any lingering lust she may have from losing. Losing for this pair will ultimately result in the taming of the tempest wind so there will be little time or worry about suffering the aftermath of desire.

By the time it’s over, Kaishori will look back and remember that at one point she must have felt the winds capricious and overwhelming desire, but it will be hard to remember and even harder still to feel it again until the winds of Avirath’s mind have once more stilled.

As the final act closes, a parting gift of sorrow to ease Kaishori’s unease through these rages will be left behind. Whether of flower or other trinket; the sincerity of the gift will be real. Until all is lost within the cloaked memory of the wind, held both eternal and in obscurity.

Everything we’ve woven together for you in your Avirath is all a suggestion. We certainly hope you love him; we’ve had a blast creating him, but in the end, he will come to life in your mind and writing. Take this inspiration as a guide, for it truly is an inspiration. It is not a hard and fast rule set that you must follow, but a suggestion of what you’ve asked for, interpreted by the minds of SearchCo, to give you a wide variety of tools in which to play him. Enjoy!

Name: You! Eth’n/R’yst tweak
Egg Desc: Rhaeyn
Dragonet Desc: R’yst; Eth’n tweak
Messages: Eth’n, Y’an, R’yst
Puppeteer: Eth’n
Inspiration: Eth’n, Y’an, R’yst

Clutchmates: X’vik and brown Argolath, Za’an and green Erolinyath, S’zin and bronze Karsedreth, B’ayn and brown Hroskuth

Harper's Tale's 58th PC Clutch
High Reaches Weyr's 21st PC Clutch
Linny's gold Kaelidyth and D'ren's bronze Aikuonath
December 5th, 2010

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