S'phen's Mulled Cider Brown Trebinth
When speaking to a Nuff of Very Little Brain, remember that long words may Bother him.
— Winnie the Nuff

Winter Wheat Egg

Perfectly oval, this egg's hues mix and blend in an overtly grand fashion that's shadowed o'er by the snowy illusion of silvered mist. Starting dark klah at its base, it fades and changes until it reaches springtime's green, and then shifts again — green to white and then deep sunshine blue: winter's reflected in wheat's growing glory.

Mulled Cider Brown Dragonet

Smooth, liquid browns wash all his limber length with cider's heady flavor, runneling darker to talons spiked with nutmeg and tail's fluid flip. A few shakes of cinnamon dust his narrow muzzle and mull about the ridges of his spine, while apple's sweet, golden undertones curtain his broad wings with warmth. Warmth, too, radiates from the pooled light of his gaze, its intense focus lending strength to his already sturdy and sensible frame.

Private Impression Message

Darkness. But darkness is where it all begins, and it begins now: he trickles down into your mind like a friend through an open door and then the warmth begins to spread, like you've taken a gulp of a hot drink that's heating you all from the stomach out. /He/ warms from the /mind/ out, edging cinnamon-spiced awareness into all the crannies of your mind until he is firmly steeped, and it is like he was always there. » /There/ you are! I certainly hope you weren't trying to hide; it's just me, Trebinth. « Already that deep voice soothes, strengthens, sharing all that you are and all that you will be.

Name Inspiration

Trebinth's name derives from a character in a short story by author Mercedes Lackey, who served a guardian's role: that's who Trebinth is, Stephen's guardian, his confidante, his mercenary if need be. The bouncer outside the club of Stephen's life: » No admittance, sorry, we're all full up. « But you can't bribe /this/ guy. He is not unfriendly, to others, but has his interests and yours First and Foremost. Always and forever.


His voice is dark, rich brown, thick and sweet like honey-dripped molasses, with a touch of cinnamon and cider when he's feeling especially mellow. It's one of those soothing, down-to-earth deep voices that make you just want to sink into a chair and listen to it - think James Earl Jones. In annoyance, or excitment, it takes on a harder, tougher edge—caramel, perhaps, when it's hardened in the bottom of the pan? When there's a proddy female about his tone goes yet deeper still, vibrating the back of your skull with each hushed vocalization: » She is truly /so/ very green. «


When very close, the scent of his hide is reminiscent of hot cider freshly stirred with a cinnamon stick; that spice dominates, with nutmeg tickling the nose just after and the sweet, clean sensation of apple just underneath it all. His is the kind of scent you catch from apple pies baking in the kitchen, almost enough to make your mouth water (though taking a bite of Trebinth is not advised!). It will be more potent just after he's oiled, but still, you will have to be quite close to tell.


This one won't tend to either extreme, in size: he's neither creeping-up-on-the-bronzes large nor Piccath's beetlebug small, he's just right down the middle.. which suits his personality, really. Long limbed, maybe, but he's got some muscle even at the beginning, and it only firms and bulks to his long bones as he grows. So if dragons were furniture/room accents, and say Xeth's that designer divan over there, and Eldiath's that lava lamp all sleek and hot on the table at the back, Trebinth's the easy chair. Legs long and sturdy enough to hold the breadth of him, and muscle cushioning all the rest. The kind of dragon you want to flop against at the end of a long, hard day.

His hide is a study in textures: it all starts with the soft, easy stretch of suede that is neck and flanks, haunches and tail; pleasing against the skin and boy does it soak the oil. It tends to the softest at his belly, at his muzzle, and the silken dream of his wings, but there's grit to him, too - neckridges and talons are just the slightest shade rougher, harder, like river-polished stone. Still smooth to the touch, but the difference is there to those who know Trebinth as /you/ will know Trebinth, Stephen.

In hue he's the brown-golden richness a good cider has, with nutmeg talons tending to darker, earthier flavor. Cinnamon's dusting along muzzle gives him freckles that edge nearly into reds, and those freckles plague him all the way down neckridges to tail's end. Wings are near translucent and apple's sweet hue lends them crisp, clear color; after oiling, his hide will gleam, but his wings will /shine/. (Don't think he won't use this to his advantage when he begins to notice the females.)

So, like the easy chair, he was made to fit. He's got an easy confidence about him that belies his size, so even as he grows, he seems the selfsame dragon he always.. he won't seem to shrink in the presence of metallics, and he won't loom over the other chromatics: he is Trebinth, and he just Is.

In flight he may not be the fastest, but he's got this inner, fluid grace that enables him both to perfectly control the efficiency of each wingsweep and make some pretty snazzy turns. He won't be able to match the sheer whirly-gig ability of Piccath, but he might instead bank himself at /just/ the right angle to intercept the female as she comes out of her dive. Even as he just begins to try out his wings, he'll be able to quickly find his stride and master the physics of it all. When in the air, he becomes all boneless ease and swift, staying flight that makes him able to put in a bid for the golds even as he spears the air after greens; he's game, for any and all. This ability will be put to more practical use in the life-and-death struggle that is Threadfall; he'll see the Threads, he'll gauge the wind, and then he'll just slither on through. You might be tempted to reign him in, sometimes, because although /you/ have complete faith in him your Wingleader may not.

But, as far as females go, his lust burns like a lit candle, and not like lit fireworks; he's not randy, willing and waiting at the drop of a hat, he's more subtle, more considering, more considerate. But when blooded and ready, and his veins pump with hot ichor spiced with far more than simple cider ever could be, he'll showcase his liquid prowess to the fullest.


"It's you and me against the world, kid. But hey, at least it's you /and/ me."

Trebinth. A big, honey-dipped, slightly rough-around-the-edges lump of a dragon with a heart of gold. He's definitely masculine, a warm safe Fatherly sortbut like a great many single parents in the modern world, he will try to be mother and father both to his dear childer, rider.

For the first few months after Impression, this won't show so much. During this time he is forming that bond, devouring you, permeating you…you will dream together, most nights, vivid concoctions of scent and sound that may leave you a bit disoriented when morning comes. Privacy? Personal space? A foreign concept for this first Turn, for you will have neither—but that's all right, because you revel in this new experience every bit as much as he does.

He's not the prankster or the most sober of the bunch; he's a mediator, an in-between, and if one of the weyrling beasts says that the oil barrel is bottomless because he can't get his paw to touch the bottom, and another says it's not, Trebinth will solve the trouble by knocking the whole goshing thing over.

» A bottom. You were right, Tamaleth - what is that noise? Ah, our riders come. They are so pleased to see us, look at the way they run. «

As he grows, especially when it becomes obvious he's much bigger than you are, that's when his parental side comes out. He knows you, your limitations, your hopes and dreams and fears, better than anyone, including sometimes yourself. So when you're pushing yourself too hard, or beating yourself up inside for not being able to do just the right thing to help someone, his comforting presence slips into your mind and holds you there. Because you, the penultimate Healer, are almost smothering in your protectiveness towards others. Trebinth can be the same way—but his protectiveness is for you, and you alone; his admonishments range from

« Shouldn't you be wearing a coat? It's cold out there. » to « Oh, let the Weyrling handle that herself, she's a big girl. »

Though it will probably never occur to him to let you do the same.

He will always want to be 'looking over your shoulder,' to be a part of whatever you are doing, and on that rare occasion when you want a little mental space to yourself, you'll have to be the one to remind him. Forcefully. "Trebinth! Please, just let me /think/ this by myself for a minute!" And he will rear up his head and dig in his talons and bravely attempt to do so, but he can never be truly quiet, truly absent: in the recesses of your mind, always, mulled cider seeps and flows and pools at the very edge of thought.

It's rarer yet that he will ever speak to anyone other than you. This bond is for you and he alone, and he's not inclined to be accepting of anyone entering it. While he knows you should have friends, he will never be entirely accepting of your lovers—even if the relationship is a result of a flight /he/ won. He can be truly Parental, in this - no one is good enough for his Stephen.

» You spend much time with Lakisha. Have you seen that growth on her big toe? One does not see a talon such as that outside of dragonkind very much. «

He's teasing, yes, but under it all is a hint of the What Do You See In /Her/? attitude. He will be a bit more forgiving if the other is a rider (they Impressed after all, this shows they have /some/ sense), and if someday you /do/ lose your heart, a long heart-to-heart will be in order to explain to Trebenth that /yes/, this person is very important to you. For him, it enters a grey area of understanding.

» There is you, and there is me. Why do we need Lakisha and her thorny toe? «

Why, indeed? /He's/ the family for Stephen now; his center, his mentor, his one great and true friend. He's doting father, big brother, and best friend all rolled into one, and neither of you would replace the other even if you could.


Name: Trebinth
Dragonet: Mulled Cider Brown Dragonet
Egg: Winter Wheat Egg
Hatcher: Ophelia
Credits: Name - Jh'ral/Ophelia
Desc - Ophelia, Nuff-tweaks
Egg - Farmcraft
Insp - Aife, Ophelia

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