M'lir's Mummers and Minstrels Bronze Oirfeath

Clutching Pose

Tiareth attends the eggs she has, for awhile, moving them around without really showing them off. Some are quickly buried — especially the purple ones — buried far deeper than one might think is good for them. Perhaps a dragons color is determined by the heat of the Sands that harden it? Whatever her reasoning, she continues to fuss over the clutch and get everything Just Right. Then she adds some more.

Tarnished Gold Penny-Whistle Egg

The crisp, clean white of this egg's surface is broken by a series of thin, parallel lines which march regimentally along the curvature. A playful parade of black circles cascade musically upon these lines, a few given a cheerful flourish by a stem or a flag. Though interesting in itself, the musical background is overshadowed by a bronze-gold bar that streaks across at an angle along one side. Golden in hue, the smooth stripe is neither metallic nor particularly shiny - rather, it has the tarnished look often seen on old, well-loved instruments, the similarity emphasized by a row of evenly-spaced black dots. Towards the bar's end, the dingy gleam turns abruptly to bright green, the sudden switch bringing out the tired glow of the bronze.

Hatching Message

Tarnished Penny Whistle Egg succumbs to the being wriggling within it. Every song must have an end, yes? Well, except for really annoying ones. The cracks give way, and a foot pokes through a gaping hole. From there it's a rapid decrescendo into oblivion for the shell, and a wet dragonet is left standing in the shards.

Mummers and Minstrels Bronze Dragonet

Bard's essence directs this dramatic dragonet to centerstage, overplaying the sweeping cascade of his oversized 'ridges whose finale is but the tapering whip of a long, and masterful tail. His commanding carriage also boasts a broad, deep chest and long legs, a noble head spiked with fair, fey headknobs, and a vast sheltering of wingsails that flutter to cape his knobby back. His color is only subtext: a crown of leaves and woodland green that garlands the golden-brown of his hide and ribbons the drab hues that darken to shadow his face and mask the beguiling charm in those glittering eyes. Only the backdrop of his wings are impressively hued, splashed with a bold, shimmery bronze that draws the eye and betrays his color. Gradiose he might appear, but a certain errant indolence and cheerful informality permeates his lanky body and belies his grand, leading-man looks.

Public Impression Pose

Mummers and Minstrels Bronze Dragonet stops, listening to the creaky noise sounding above the din of the Sands. There it is again. And he can sense where it's coming from now. Gathering himself, he saunters grandly past a couple of healer boys and a weyrbrat. He stops in front of a herder boy and flourishes his wings as he dips his front half in a bow-like motion. Myliren.

Private Impression Message

A piping whistle melody infringes upon your consciousness. At first, it seems to be distant, as though someone in the galleries is playing a song, but gradually, it crescendos, finally blocking out all the noise and excitement of the Sands. When it comes to an abrupt stop mid-note, your environment doesn't return, and even the pain of the burning sand seems distant. « What's this? » A flurry of inquisitive colors pokes at your mind, softly at first, then with growing enthusiasm. « Oooo, you'll make a wonderful story, Myliren. A story and a song—M'lir and Oirfeath. How does that strike you? »

Myliren! We braved Myra's wrath to bring you up here to play with us… and (much to her dismay, we're sure), we've decided to keep you! We hope you enjoy it as much up here in the land of snow and llamas as we've enjoyed having you with us. So welcome to the 'Reaches, and without further ado, we present you with your Oirfeath!

Egg Inspiration

The background of this egg is, of course, a piece of music, but the really interesting bit isn't the background, of course. The streak across it is based off my old penny whistle. I've had the thing for ages, and it's long since ceased to be a bright, shiny gold. It's tarnished and mottled, and about the dingiest instrument I've ever seen, but it still plays music just as well as ever. And, truth be told, I think I prefer the tarnished lookit adds character.
It's pretty obvious why we chose this one for Oirfeath to hatch from
it's perfect! Not only did you say you liked it, but there was no other egg on the sand quite so suited to his musical nature, so when it came time to divvy the eggs out, we pounced on this one for you.

Theme Inspiration

Oirfeath is based on a combination of mummers and minstrels, a dual love of play and songs. What are mummers, you may ask?
Mummers were kind of like players..they did very similar kinds of plays… usually St George killing the…..uh oh…!!!
The play tended to go like this - Dragon takes princess prisoner, Black knight comes to battle the dragon but fails, St George comes to battle the dragon and succeeds. Usually both the black knight and St George get hurt at some stage of the battle and a doctor comes on to make them better with some kind of medicine.
A sample line from a mummer's play Sasha participated in:
Princess: Oh save me brave St George! With heart so bold and true!
St G: Fear not, sweet maid, with /this/ I'll run him through!
Other variations involve a battle directly with an evil knight or some other similar villain.
More on mummer-type dragons: http://www2.prestel.co.uk/aspen/sussex/dragon.html
More on mummering: http://www2.prestel.co.uk/aspen/sussex/mumming.html#main1
And of course, minstrels are a common item in medieval culture, roaming musicians and entertainers. From these two sources, we derived your Oirfeath.

When in the springtime of the year
When the trees are crowned with leaves
When the ash and oak, and the birch and yew
Are dressed in ribbons fair

When owls call the breathless moon
In the blue veil of the night
The shadows of the trees appear
Amidst the lantern light

We've been rambling all the night
And some time of this day
Now returning back again
We bring a garland gay

Who will go down to those shady groves
And summon the shadows there
And tie a ribbon on those sheltering arms
In the springtime of the year

The songs of birds seem to fill the wood
That when the fiddler plays
All their voices can be heard
Long past their woodland days


And so they linked their hands and danced
Round in circles and in rows
And so the journey of the night descends
When all the shades are gone

"A garland gay we bring you here
And at your door we stand
It is a sprout well budded out
The work of our lord's hand"

—"The Mummer's Dance," by Loreena McKennitt

Description Inspiration

We wanted Oirfeath's outward appearance to reflect his personality, so we really hammed him up. Any performer, be it in drama or in music, needs to be able to draw the attention of an audience, both with attitude and with build. He's got very dramatic neckridges, huge and sweeping like an epic story, and his carriage and length give him an eye-catching appeal very handy to a performer, and his glittery, cape-like wings are useful in giving that extra flourish to a story's point. The greenish mask on his face is a reference specifically to the mummer side of him. The drabness of his hide may seem out of place, but then, minstrels generally don't have excessive amounts of coin to spend on fancy clothes, and it gives him a more down-to-earth feel, grounding in reality his otherwise pretentious appearance—not a lord, Oirfeath, just an entertainer with an impeccable sense of showmanship.

Name Inspiration

Oirfeath comes from the Gaelic word oirfideach, entertainer.Because at his heart, that's what your dragon is—an entertainer. He loves music and drama and all of those wonderful sorts of things, and is constantly on the lookout for more to perform. There are probably all sorts of ways one could pronounce it, and of course you should say it as it sounds right to you, but I say it "WEER-feeth." Other possible pronunciations are oh-IR-fee-ath or WHAR-faith, etc, but as long as you're happy with the way you say it, we're happy, too.


Oirfeath's mental presence is nothing short of august: herald'd in brilliant golds and the bright splashes of rich colors, he will always carry his high tenor with something of delicious ease. Rolling and smooth, it's a presenter's voice, grandiose and beautiful in masculine manner. Always playing to the cooler side of scents, it will be fresh pine and growing grass; with colors to match, hunter-green and oh-so-droolable bugrandy playing wonderous, dark counterpoints to the lighter flashes of sky-blue and mint.


Oirfeath is attention-drawing. He's not shiny or pretty really, but there's something in his bearing that pulls eyes like honey draws insects. He holds himself well, but it's not a regal carriage. Instead, he radiates self-confidence and joviality. His movements are smooth and proud, but he glides and flourishes rather than strutting and preening.
He's a very lengthy dragon. There's not much substance to most of him, lanky as he is, but with such a long tail and legs, he's among the tallest and longest bronzes, though most of them probably outweigh him. His neckridges are oversized, and his headknobs sweep back almost like rapiers. His wings are probably the only parts of him that aren't long and thin, actually.

He has an average wingspan for his size, but they's so broad that they appear short. He has massive amounts of wingsail, and a distinct knack for billowing them about and using them to great effect. In fact, he's rather obsessive about them. He keeps them in constant motion, to show off the only part of his hide that is glittery, and takes great pains to keep them well cared-for. The membranes have a tendency to be dry, and if you don't keep an eye on them, he'll let you know in no uncertain terms that they're getting itchy again.

As for his color… it's really almost a letdown. It's not precisely ugly, it just seems to be such a shabby covering for such a vibrant personality. It has a sort of earthy, organic feel where one might expect a dragon like him to have a bright, metallic shine. « But one cannot have all the best of everything. Conflict drives the story. » And he's right… a sparkling hide would be just a bit over the top, and the leafy look keeps him closer to his audience. And the audience is, of course, everything.


Oirfeath is obsessed with the arts. He loves music and drama the most, but also has an eye for paintings and the like. It won't be rare to hear speculation about why he chose Myliren rather than a harper lad, but he brushes such ideas aside with a scoff.

« Those harpers… they're so trained up that they've lost sight of the whole point. Besides, you're a much more interesting subject. The boy in a family of herders, the only one who didn't want to be a herder, but who doesn't want to injure his family by saying so. Then suddenly, fate intervenes and you're whisked away to an exotic place, thrown in with strange people, and find what you've always been longing for waiting on the blistering heat of the Sands! All we need now is a suitably evil villain and a love interest, and we're set! »

Indeed, he'll go out of his way to find new stories. He loves the traditional tales of derring-do (man saves girl from evil villain, nearly dying in the process, but is saved at the last minute by a handy healer, and goes on to live happily ever after with the girl, etc.), but odder elements appeal to him as well. He'll forever be sniffing out new inspirations, poking his nose into everything in the world and putting it into a rousing tale to stir the masses… He'll stick his nose into anything and everything, curiosity driving him to seek out the whys and wherefores of everything. And then, of course, the whys and wherefores become overdone prose.

« And lo, they set forth, with their quest firmly in mind. Not for the faint of heart, this task. Along the way, they would face blood and gore, and hordes of rampaging beasts, and— »
"Just get on with it and pick a herdbeast and eat, Oirfeath. We don't need an oratory."

Oh, and in his drama, did we mention he won't be one to spare a listener? He'll put in every minute detail. /Every/ detail. Down to where it could be… nasty.

Minstrel: Bravely bold Sir Robin rode forth from Camelot. He was not afraid to die, oh brave Sir Robin. He was not at all afraid to be killed in nasty ways, brave, brave, brave, brave Sir Robin. He was not in the least bit scared to be mashed into a pulp, or to have his eyes carved out, and his elbows broken. To have his kneecaps split, and his body burned away, and his limbs all hacked and mangled, brave Sir Robin. His head smashed in and heart cut out, and his liver removed, and his bowels unplugged, and his nostrils ripped and his bottom burned off and his penis…
Sir Robin: THAT'S, that's quite enough, Minstrel.
(From Monty Python and the Holy Grail)

« Why is the sky blue? » could be a prelude to « Well, I wanted to know because it has to do with… » and he'll rattle off his latest plotline. But it also could preceed something far more rare, something more along the lines of: « Because Sidramuntalath told me that the sky is blue because our perceptions deem it to be blue. If we thought it black, he says, it would turn black. I don't believe him. I think he thinks too much. »
Of course, it could always just be, « Because I wanted to tell Jakith that it's not /just/because/it's/his/hide's/color/, » spoken rather plaintively.
Second only to drama in his heart is music. He adores it. When he's younger, he'll remain convinced that he can whistle on his own. It might be wise to invest in a set of earplug, because the ungodly sounds that are as close as a dragon can get to a whistle will be highly unpleasant. Even when he outgrows this stage, though, music will imbue everything he does. His bugle will be lilting. His steps will have a distinct, precise rhythm. Even his assorted angry noises will be perfectly pitched.
He'll rarely become depressed. He's so /happy/, and so /bubbly/, and /curious/ and /inquisitive/ — not to mention one heck of a storyteller — that he'll never get down because "Nissionath is always going to be bigger than he is", or "Fantorith always gets his way"; he'll look for the bright side of things.

« Say.. Nissionath.. those wings of yours are awfully clumsy… » or « Fantorith, can I base a story on your charm? Your wit? Your debonair countance? … your good looks. No, I am not coming on to you. »

He has a lesser liking for arts of other sorts. Sculpture and paintings intrigue him, but mostly as inspiration for the performing arts. He's gain infamy in time for his splendid renditions of exciting Falls and Weyr scandals. You'll have to remember the plotlines for him, draconic memory being what it is, but he's the one who puts it all into such eloquent words that other dragons will gather to listen and relate the stories to their riders.
He relies on you for more than that, though. Art provides momentary inspiration, but you are his lasting inspiration. You are the story that caught his attention before he even cracked shell, and you are the one person from whom he always seeks approval. The audiences must be satisfied, but you must be /moved/. This isn't to say he'll always agree with you—he's an artist, after all, and artists are tempermental at best. But even when he's refusing to cooperate or sulking because you won't let him explore the cave that's so interesting, he'll be the first to jump to your defense and the last to leave your side.

« Of course I'm mad at you, M'lir. But Rashkecharath called you stupid. I couldn't let that go. »

The minstrel's code; it is said of a minstrel who has done something dishonorable: *His harp is unstrung, his song's forgotten.*
But that won't be the case with Oir. He'll pick his mental harp right back up, and start writin' those songs once more. They're his sunshine, his glory - an intricate aspect of his personality, his dramatic side is, but they don't hold a candle to -you-, M'lir. He's Yours, and You're His. And that is that.

« Did Vespurath just call my Lir a herder-wannabe? Did… did she? Oh! And doth the villian's words run deep? Nay, they lay shallow, like her true personalty, like the fiend she truly is! »

Anger. Deep, pulsating anger. He'll take his anger out in words, lacing them darker than usual, more flowery — or more blunt. You'll be able to gauge his seriousness by if he tries to incorperate whatever topic it's about with a storyline or not. And whenever it's about you, he's serious indeed. /His/ M'lir is perfectthough he won't let on to you, of courseand any who say otherwise will receive a very thorough tongue-lashing.
No, he's not the most constant, nor the smartest, nor the prettiest. But he has a good heart, and above all, he's /yours/, to his marrow.

Oirfeath isn't a bloody dragon. He's not like Miravith, Druseth, or even Sidramuntalath in that manner - no, he's more of a clean dragon. He understands, of course, that blooding *must* happen, and he accepts it; as a plot twist, perhaps.

« And lo, the poor herdbeast was sentenced to an untimely death, the doom predestined - yet he was sacrificed for the greater good… »
And about here you'll get fed up and say, "For what? Your nookie?"
(Insert silence here.)

Oirfeath is wordy during flights. He has a polite interest in the ladies, a sort of overdone gallantry that is chraming in the generic way any woman knows isn't applied to her specifically. He's not a randy bronze, preferring the romantic side of the whole thing. It translates much better into story. Thus, he is wordy when chasing. He doesn't sweet-talk the girls, though. Instead, it's like a running commentary on the story he's composing about the flight.

« And then the glowing green maiden—hrm, drat, she's risen before, guess I can't use maiden. The glowing green gem rose into the heights of the sky, emerald hide sparkling against a clear blue backdrop as she fled her pursuers… » And so on and so forth.

His big wings keep him from beings incredibly agile, so his luck will be better with golds than greens… which will probably afford much relief to you, M'lir, since golds rise less frequently and are inevitably ridden by females. He also behaves differently with the different colors, to some extent. An actor ever, he'll playing the dashingly gallant gentleman to the greens, feeding out lines from his story-in-progress as he wings after them. With the golds, though, he'll take on a more pompous role.

« Cadgwith, there is no need to be running from moor to mountain. /Oirfeath/ is here. » Or:
« Chayath. Whyever do you dodge my wings? You know I'm the one who will catch you. »

It's all an act, of course — just as he uses that crafty acting of bumbling dudley-do-right in green flights, he'll use that acting talent of his to make everyone think he thinks himself of lofty, self-important, /arrogant/ and then catch them /right/ when they start to underestimate him.
Post-flights, though, he'll be back to his normal self. He'll never truly give himself to his flightmates, willingly: he's got you, M'lir, so why should he choose to stake so much of the heart to some fickle green or gold? However, if he -does- fall for that Special Someone, he'll fall hard, and suddenly, all those majestic, flowery pronouns and wild tales will be spun around her. He'll be downright needy, and if his heart is broken… well, he has you to pick up the pieces, right?


Name: Sii'kyn, Sasha, Ciera
Egg Desc: Sariani; Fyria, Pyrene tweak
Dragonet Desc: Ciera; Nuff tweak
Messages: Ciera
Puppeteer: Ciera
Inspiration: Sii'kyn, Ciera, Sasha

Zana (Zorana) and blue Braezyth, Nylca and green Laeth, C'ela (Enceladus) and bronze Ejotzeth, Sein (Seilyn) and green Aibhlusaith, Marina and green Chisth, Larna (Larnat) and brown Rashkecharath, Vaeli (Vaedelle) and gold Nissionath, G'ram (Graiham) and brown Fantorith, D'ean (Goldean) and green Iztenith, and Tye (Laytai) and blue Valedath

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