S'erc's A Grim in the Scrying Sieve Bronze Vulkasinth

It started with but an egg, hammered by unseen forces.

The Sky Is Falling Egg

The occasional slight contusion mars this egg's smooth black surface, bending the light with a chill, oily gleam that takes on the harshness of unseen suns as it glints off the vessel's lumpy contours. Such a small detail as a change in the color of the light will be forgotten when the eye draws slightly lower: the color of the /color/ changes, too. Alien onyx grades to mahogany, to umber, to ominous maroon. A ring of blue-purple hangs just above the midpoint, but it and the rest of the surface are splattered over by the explosion of flame roaring up from the egg's base, bright white at the apex, trailing to yellow-orange licked with red where its tendrils reach the furthest. And maybe, right at that central point of the base, there's the beginning of a crack. Maybe.

Within it brewed, a staid fury and it waited.

You came to High Reaches seeking respite, Sercain.

…but have you ever sought your future?

Hatching Message

The Sky is Falling Egg wobbles on its axis, devastated by chaos of epic magnitude. Disturbed, it rocks, spins with trepidation as it flashes in vivid bursts of color reflected off its iridescent surface, gradient flickering under the searing impact of onyx to the maroon damning this shell to flames. Where the inferno roars in explosions of white-hot heat, the portent of its doom, the single crack heralding its destruction widens, fractures the egg as a world crumbling in upon itself. In a final, violent upheaval, shards rain upon the sands in a dark omen: there, amid the falling debris lurks a creature, grim and foreboding — but appearances can be deceiving.

…sometimes, you don’t need to.

A Grim in the Scrying Sieve Bronze Dragonet

Forward slung, the jowls that snarl in fury, ivory fangs bared in the fierce gleam of cruel sneer, wolfish maw curled at corners where copper insinuates ‘long the smoldering ruins of ashen hide. Fire ravages the charred, blackened terrain of flesh where metal tangles in chains, smelted bronze liquefied to molten rivers surging ‘twixt the crags of jagged obsidian peaks, raised blades of shoulders and haunch split between crude ‘ridges thrust through the ruptured battlefield of back. Magma pours down the rippling muscle of flanks to long limbs crouched in grim and fatal sprawl. Biting, brutal, the ice pelting broad chest, plates of platinum shattered, broken by cold between where cracks fracture sleek and armored torso. Woe, no darkness manifests so sinister as the eclipse of wings, aflame in infernal blaze of hellfire, first baleful orange, then a frenzy of incinerating crimson where ‘sails end in ragged edge as flickering tongues of a raging inferno.

When through the thundering crash of an ending world, your future comes for YOU, with snarling jaws and a heart of warrior’s valor…

Public Impression Pose

A Grim in the Scrying Sieve Bronze Dragonet erupts forth, all choking ash and a suffocating eclipse of fire as if he were aflame where bronze gleams, forged, smelted, poured as churning rivers of magma laving his sides. Forward, he surges, all fortified grim terror as silver-beaten chest plates shine blinding too, as a rain of fire and ice crashes upon unsuspecting youth: Sercain, whose inner-potential burns just as bright as this apocalypse-stricken beast.

And he sought you out as his first life’s quest.

Private Impression Message

Though lowered, your gaze, you are peering up at a stretch of endless sky. A cold seeps through the soles of your sandaled feet, where the thermal heat of the sands radiated mere moments before. Above, it darkens, clouds looming overhead to cluster in thick formation. You await the rain, but fallen droplets never drip down the curve of your cheek. Thunder cracks in its echoing bass, filling a vast, empty plain of frostbitten land. Alone, you stand, the distant majesty of mountain ridges so far on the edge of your vision. A slow music amounts to a crescendo in the background — you expect the conclusion of a downpour, but again, nothing. Then, it descends, a miracle of the storm, a promise unto you: the refracted light of a curving arch bridging the gap between you and the black and grey of the sprawling nebula that occludes your sight. « There is safety in valor, Sercain. Will you join me on the path of what is true? Step onto the light. » The rainbow is firm beneath your step, a walkway of stained glass leading into the sky. « There. You are S’erc now. I am your Vulkasinth. Together, we will be great. They can't see it yet, but they will. »

And he named you S’erc, reborn on those hot sands as his comrade in arms.

And dragged you headlong into your destiny.

S’ERC. We are SO excited to welcome you into the fold here at High Reaches Weyr. You impressed us with your dedication, even with a difficult timezone, and really appreciated all the fabulous late night RP we could get from you in our own insomnia! Vulkasinth is a product of many things, fire forged and dread-wolf all rolled into one. We hope that we have given you a dragon that will continue to push S’erc’s limits as a character, and continue to foster the growth we’ve seen throughout this candidacy. This insp is by no means the end all and be all of your bronze, but rather a guide to help and inspire you along your journey with your ferocious companion. We hope you love him just as much as we loved creating him. Welcome to ‘riderhood, S’erc! — Zeyta, Paige, R’yst

Egg Inspiration

A long, long time ago, in a galaxy exactly the same as this one, there was a sun exactly the same as ours, around which spun a planet exactly the same as Earth — because it was Earth. Its inhabitants lived out their lives unaware of astronomy or universes or chaos theory, rather more concerned with eating, being eaten, or turning into primitive birds. But all this was not to last. The asteroid impact that spelled the doom of the dinosaurs (except the bird ones) was… awesome. I mean, come on. It had the force of, like, a billion atomic bombs. Nuclear winter. Tsunamis TEN MILES HIGH. RAGING wildfires. HYPERCANES???? YOU try and be that epic, go on.

The egg is based on the most epic extraterrestrial visitor to planet Earth. Ever.

Theme Inspiration

The theme for this clutch was harbingers, and your dark, ferocious bronze represents one of the most sinister yet subtle: the Grim. The Grim is an omen of death, which is reputed to bring about the demise of the person who encounters it. The Grim assumes the shape of a large, black, spectral dog. Perhaps the most well-known of omens, the Grim has earned infamy throughout the wizarding world, even garnering itself a mention in the Harry Potter series.

"The giant, spectral dog that haunts churchyards! My dear boy, it is an omen—the worst omen—of death!"

—Sybill Trelawney discussing the Grim


Your Vulkasinth is based upon the dark, ominous form of a dread-hound: the Grim. The Grim assumes many shapes, some terrible, others just haunting, including Fenrir, the English Barghest, and the Black Shuck. The Black Shuck is one of many ghostly black dogs recorded across the British Isles. Documented sightings are often believed to be an omen of death, these spectral hounds are sometimes a more companionable animal, and are classified as a cryptid, with varying accounts of the animal's appearance. Writing in 1877, Walter Rye stated that Shuck was "the most curious of our local apparitions, as they are no doubt varieties of the same animal.” Because of this animal’s dual nature of friend and foe, we picked it as the inspiration for your bronze. Vulkasinth can at times be your truest companion, while at other times serve as the driving force behind your ambitions and wants - whether or not you know you have them. In time, you’ll come to see glowing red eyes both as an ominous warning and as a familiar comfort.

Description Inspiration

Inspired by Norse mythology, we chose to channel the dread-hound aspect of Fenrir, harbinger of death and destruction for Vulkasinth’s description. In build, he is all fierce and formidable wolf of monstrous proportions, shackled in magical restraints until the unleashing of the apocalypse — though you might find his copper patterning of chains and molten rivers of lava more permanent, more evocative of the chaos wrought by this creature, prophesied to slaughter Odin between his mighty jaws in the final battle between the gods of Asgard and their otherworld foes. As to his coloring, well, we looked to the aftermath of Ragnarok, wherein the world is ravaged by fire and ice, and thus drew from the poem by Robert Frost owing its name to this cataclysmic ruin by the elements at their most extreme.

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

As a visual aid to the schematic of the decimated battlefield of his hide, we thought this image encapsulated the desolate, charred landscape of your Vulkasinth, broken by intermittent eruptions of magma pouring across his back in copper binding to the ice floes girding him for battle in platinum chain-mail, brilliant in its cracked lustre along his torso.


Name Inspiration

Well, S’erc, when trying to come up with a name for your bronze, we went through a lot of languages and a lot of sounds. We tried some ancient Norse.. but something just seemed off. We tried some combinations. Still wasn’t clicking. Finally, we found the word “vukasin” which means “wolf” in Serbian. We liked the way it sounded, especially when adding on the -th of Pern dragon-dom. But something was /still/ off. Thankfully it was only a small tweak: the addition of an ‘l’ that put it all together for us. Thus, Vulkasinth was born. We felt the extra ‘l’ really helped described the hulking and intimidating bronze that you now call your lifemate. We’ve been pronouncing it VULL-kah-sinth, but you are more than welcome to pronounce your dread-hound dragon’s name any way you like.


First impressions: beneath a frozen sky stretches a vast and desolate plain, forgotten in the remote corners of the north, unknown to men. Alien, this forgotten landscape of a barren tundra trapped under an eternal darkness. Eclipsed, this lifeless terrain shall never know the sun, nor feel a warm embrace on its cold, foreign ground. A thick covering of storm clouds roams across this alien realm, suspended bodies thick. Heavy. A calm pervades: a portent of what is to come that grips the world in suspense. None can guess when the heavens shall unleash its flood — whether drizzle or downpour.


The rain never comes. No action occurs in the mind of Vulkasinth; nothing remains to be seen. Rumbles of thunder descend in roaring peals of a cymbal clash of steel swords or brass instruments. One shall never know the mystery behind the percussion. Low, quiet, the thrum of music, so distant, yet piercing – a Harper orchestra playing in soft prelude amid the calm before the finale of rainfall. An opera to regale past glories in the background. The lash of hail and pelt of sleet never cracks the frozen ground, the cleave of lightning never splits the silhouette of far-off trees. No, none of that here, just a perpetual waiting for the storm to pass and the sun to emerge, revitalizing the tundra.

Still no change, except in the barrier of the creeping nimbus, impenetrable, but not unrelenting. There are subtle shifts to reflect his mood. The sky is not always black, though it is always shadowed. At times, the layer of grey lightens to white, limned in silver around the edges of such weighted masses of crystallized aerosols. It is never enough to know a true inflection in his voice, as he speaks through this dense wall of occluding air. Reserved, he is yet powerful, booming in the clear enunciations of his words, clipped and precise in tone. Masculine, authoritative, for he must command this empty land by filling it with his presence, echoing across the sullen reaches of this wasteland. Thought it may not be majestic, it is at times captivating, the preservation of solitude in the virgin wilderness. It can be awe-inspiring, the fortitude of heavenly billows, and the crowning of mountain peaks along the horizon is regal.

Still, no tempest blows, not even in anger, though his volume increases, and his voice resonates, penetrating to the bone so as to stop you where you stand. He is free with his speech, and welcoming in what he says, but this does not translate to a hospitable mindscape. Often, he will prefer to venture into the worlds of those whom he bespeaks, always a drifting cloud formation that slowly permeates, gathering in light but shadowed foray.

Most often this is him, the seeded clouds that births the storm, a low swirl of cirrus, wispy heaps of pure white spreading across a vale of day-bright sky. For it is not often that his full mindscape materializes, for it is not often he need manifest his wholesome self. The warrior is not always girded for battle, and words are his weapons.

Although alone here, it is not hard for you to become lost, staring up into the sky, S’erc, searching for signs of him. Head tilted back, you could forever await the wet patter of rain against your cheek, so that this would end. If you are lucky, and unblinking, prepared to remain stranded for an eternity, Vulkasinth will part his clouds to offer a marvel and beacon of hope: the rainbow. This is your bridge to him, a rarity of light in its full, radiant spectrum of color descending to touch upon the tundra and transport you into the heavens, to reign in glory beside him. He will wield this brilliance sparingly, so fragile it is in its beauty, the first promise that dispels the gloom. For in truth, he is not a dark and brooding creature. It just that he keeps his confidences and secrets behind his enshrouding veil.


As the Valkyries, maiden warriors come down from heaven to whisk fallen heroes to the famed halls of Valhalla, home to valiant, slain soldiers, he will admit others into his confidence, those deserving and trustworthy few who seek his advice or his company. Amiable though he is, he can still be distant, reserving this privilege most likely for you alone, this invitation to revel beside him. Then you will witness the beginning or the end of day, marked by the pale lavenders, the gentle pinks, the soft oranges of veiling cloud as the front disperses — almost. Slowly, the dawning realization he is capable of change after all. Valor and courage bring about a shift in the landscape, quell the tremors of thunder on-high so sweet and lilting music fills the ears. Birdsong. Tiny feet racing across hollow ground. Sparse vegetation claiming its right to life. Slowly, transformed: an alpine meadow. Water gurlges in merry delight, there is a sound other than the friction in the sky after all. No longer a tundra, the lush emerald grass and sprays of wildflowers turns the desolate plain into an idyll escape, soothing in how tranquil and undisturbed it is. A pastoral paradise. Golden light peeks through, warming the land beneath her radiant gaze.

Quick, in an instant, the sudden ravage. A flash fire. A blizzard. The world of fire and ice, at last reconciled with his appearance returns the tundra to its former state of crushing solitude. This is the cycle, that builds you up as it tears you down. Here, men are made. The strong survive. There is valor and courage in the light, you have but to be patient, strive for it. It can be yours. His terror too, can be mystifying in its brevity, and sovereign in its mercy.



He’s bound, S’erc. Risen up as a pylon of grizzled stone, powerful rippling muscles disciplined under the faded charcoal of overlaid ash, he is beaten down by tectonic force and then chained firm in molten pours of liquid-hot copper.

In color, his hide is dark, ashen-brown to the point you could despair of his bronze heritage ever shining through - until here, there, where the light dares to strike him, glints of fiery brass, skating as though iridescent over his burnt plated skin. Save, of course, for the brilliant fiery-bright copper chains, stark ruddy streaks that course down his body in bars of newly-minted penny brilliance, a binding passed down directly from his bronzen sire, who bears shackles himself.


So huge is he, with his ferocious silver-beaten chest plates, continents of gleaming steely fortification that will require so much oiling, so much maintenance. So intimidating, with his snarling features and long snout. So alarming, the natural baring of teeth, his lips pulled back from draconic fangs frequently, whenever his heart is quickened or his blood is up, in flight or excitement or even, frightfully, when he is grimly satisfied in a gritted near-grin.


He’s daunting in body as well, with his father’s strong chest, legs longer and coiled with dangerous bunches of muscle clusters, his wings broad and expansive and inlayed with a magmatic smoldering-hot fiery glow when opened. Search him over and see, there is no part of his construction that has been sculpted by kindness; pushed, molded, forged - you will have a hard time keeping up with him, S’erc, for even as a dragonet he’ll seek what, to him, will be the only path, which is forward, up, out! Ambition dwells in him, like a restless force but while the ambition for many is to gain status and prestige, your Vulkasinth’s ambition has a bitter purity to it, from the instant he cracks shell: he seeks to attain the endless goal of physical improvement. Not for vanity, but for the honor and exoneration of his living form.

The one thing he cannot do, of course, is oil himself. And it will trouble him, S’erc, especially at first. He’ll endure needing you to help him feed, he is practical if nothing else and while many of his siblings might yammer and push and demand their independence, he will wait patiently for his dinner. But oiling…

« It isn’t right. » Tumultuous clouds stack up against the horizon, pulsing with unease.

Exasperated, you might sigh, “I’m just trying to oil your leg. It’s not a big deal.”

« I cannot return this favor. I apologize, S’erc. It isn’t right. »

You’ll quickly learn that his zest and confidence will take a dip during weyrlinghood, if you oil him too early in the day. It will do you well to wait for the evening, when he can sigh heavily about the burden he has put upon you away into the night and, mercifully, forget it by the next day. This tendency will fade, fortunately, once he’s able to fly, to carry you, and to serve your Weyr with honors.

He will move with a relentless forward thrust; it’s not economical. It doesn’t need to be, he has too much to carry, too broad of wings and too huge an aura to stride as a mere soldier. He commands, naturally, in his movements, not because he orders it, but because he can do nothing but be himself, and his path is clear. Or at least… it is to him. And he will push you, S’erc, to walk upright with him. Not in arrogance, but in the humble pride of a living mortal.

There is a deep humility to your molden monster; it’s not intentional on his part, neither through practice, nor pretence nor philosophy, nor is it a product of his weighty metallic chains. It’s simply innate - and for how hard he pushes himself, for how brutally he might train his body, he sees little merit in showing off. All he asks for is that his brothers and sisters, and someday his fellow wingriders, all be able to march at his side, to strengthen his number with theirs and to, in turn, become their champion.

Yes, for all his size and staid, charismatic presence, he dips his head low to his superiors and he will slow down his march if Qyth is trotting after him and struggling to keep up. He will pick up his normally sedate, expansive ripple-stride to walk abreast with Elicheritath’s quick, light steps and in all ways, proper, ceremonial. His movement of folding wings when Ysvarth enters his sight, or the ritualistic curl-in of his tail when Ligryth arrives with R’yst to begin their lessons, will be that rare breed of respect that makes him larger, more majestic in his bearings, by its sheer stately honesty.

And then, S’erc, then there is flight. He’s a heavy creator, thick-boned and bound in lava-metal and cooling stone, and you would think he would struggle to take off. But you would be wrong. He is not quick in his take off, certainly, and he will never be inclined to pull the rapid death-stunts of his blue brother Oroqaith (though he may be amused by them, such is the unique strengths of his brother-comrade), but his inferno wings are wide-sweeping and once they open, once they are able to slice that first lasting arc through the air, they will never fail him. Like the great sweep of a broad sword, he flies in a slow, powerful magnificent sailing, gliding for what could feel like an eternity. He is not suddenly weightless, not changed as some tend to be, once they find the air. He merely is. He is Vulkasinth. Grand. Heavy. And in his powerful strokes of wings, no amount of turbulence nore high wind nor nail will be able to shake him from the simple dignity gripped in the solid bedrock of his fiery heart.


“A knight is sworn to valor.
His heart knows only virtue.
His blade defends the helpless.
His might upholds the weak.
His word speaks only truth.
His wrath undoes the wicked”

— King Arthur, Dragonheart

Chaos incarnate, agent of destruction — though grim and terrible in the flesh, your cataclysmic bronze achieves an equilibrium in spirit to contradict the monster in the mirror. To gaze upon Vulkasinth is to know destruction, to bespeak him is to know of virtue, of courage, and of strength. A noble spirit, his sense of justice, the governance of his being, cries foul deceit to the beast of his exterior, dreaded and fearsome though he is. A cruel ploy, it seems, to inspire terror in so sinister a shape, clothing him in the wrath and fury of the apocalypse — or perhaps this is the law of equivalent exchange, a timeless wisdom your bronze possesses only because he knows all too well the path of ruination, one desolate and foreboding in a realm ravaged by fire and ice when he sees himself tread. That is the beauty of opposites, so inextricably intertwined as to be necessary to one another, as is true when one views the relationship between he and you, dear S’erc.

Oh, you clever boy, teeming with potential and creativity. Were it not the designs of fate to have you meet your cruel formed Vulkasinth, you would have made a fine smith. An innovative one, even, if you ever found your muse. Fear not, for though Sercain shirked duty and lazed when able, searching as he was for purpose, his calling away from home rests in his lifemate, brimming with ambition he is all too eager to share. Vulkasinth comes armed with schemes; illusions of grandeur he would have made tangible and that you, S’erc, dragonrider that you now are, will be enlisted to help fulfill. A dragon never chooses wrong on the sands, and so Vulkasinth must have grasped at some fine-woven strands of destiny when he saw you that inspired him to envision your greatness. Always, from day one, your Vulkasinth has the mentality of a chieftain, a Viking noble who needs but to prove himself and open the eyes of the world to his valor.

Quickly, you will learn that Vulkasinth dedicates his life to acts of valor. He is a leader others must come to realize. This could lead to many frustrations at first, as you adjust to the indomitable will of your bronze. Often, he will be stubborn and incorrigible in his sense of duty and principle. From day one it is a battle to achieve honor and success. Gone are the days of your silver-tongued ways, S’erc, when you would labor in silence and retreat to lonesome corners to eat in solitude. Vulkasinth is a stickler to the rules — he will not be called a hypocrite, if later he comes into power. He upholds authority with an infallible sense of what is proper. There is no bending of the rules, for one such as Vulkasinth, who always traverses the straight and narrow path of morality.

Weyrlinghood is your first trial as warriors, where alliances must be forged and camaraderie established, for if he is to be a leader one must first earn the trust of his peers and toil alongside them. Stalwart and devout in his dedication to responsibility, expect him to be the first to urge you from your shared couch to begin the weyrling regiment at the crack of dawn. He will want to be the first in all things, from oilings to straps, to lessons in order to set a precedence of excellence. And oh, is he a natural at establishing examples to strive toward. It is not that he is arrogant, but that Vulkasinth is so sincere to his cause and so emboldened by courage that he rarely fails. He is a paragon of might on the inside, your bronze.

Perhaps, in time, after you have mastered your misgivings — in aversion to his looks as well as the intensity of his character — and come to admire him for his ingenuity, S’erc, you will allow Vulkasinth to be your mentor, to shape you into all that you can be. For you are both fighters, the two of you. Your personality is persevering and defiant where you see injustice, as you protested the unfair punishments and flaunts of power by Zeyta during your candidacy. Now, under guidance of Vulkasinth, your bronze would seek to channel that, to inflate your sense of what is right and your willingness to speak up in defense of it.

He will be ruthless when he chastises you, goads you into branching out and speaking your mind.

Connor MacLeod: You're a liar!
Ramirez: You have the manners of a goat. And you smell like a dung-heap! And you have no knowledge whatsoever of your potential! Now.

— Highlander

Straight from Viking values, Vulkasinth is, again, first and foremost a dragon of honor. Now, however, to apply a more concrete definition to these generalities made thus far, to strike at the core of who your Vulkasinth is, and where such an essence founds itself. Great companion he is because he is given to moderation, hospitality, and generosity, as he shares in his wealth of loyalty to those who would ally themselves with him, and his commitment to defending the good names and reputations of others as stalwart as he would defend his own name. Vulkasinth would just as soon cause an upstart to see someone sully the good standing of his Weyr as he would if someone hit closer to more intimate relations he has, such as those with you.

Do not hasten to confuse his nobility with a soft heart, however. Vulkasinth still has the capacity to be crude as well as brutal, for force is as much a weapon as his good intentions. He assumes whatever attitude and manner is necessary to acquire what he desires, and often this influences his interactions with other dragons. All hold equal court in his eyes. Righteous as he is, Vulkasinth espouses equality amongst peers and equal counsel among friends. So endearing and loyal is he in his valiance that he suspends all judgment as regards others. Flawed as he is on the outside, so he embraces the flaws of others. He deems those around him neither good nor bad, and this lends himself to playing the role of confidante. A true ruler is one who as much seeks wise counsel as others take counsel in him. He is a friend, one whom others will trust and this result in his being a keeper of secrets, though one would not expect it. This is his Round Table approach to social encounters, some archetype founded in Arthurian legend embedded in his psyche.

Yet, this is as much strategy as it his earnest character. Vulkasinth knows the best tactician considers his method of approach from all angles. For in everyone there is something to be learned. Just so, he is perhaps too trusting to a fault: he will be easily impressed by the strategies of others and consolidate their views all into one. He is ever expending the effort to improve himself, and you by extension. He will borrow from Elicheritath in her quiet observance of the Weyr’s denizens, and her empathic penchant for intervening in the lives of the distressed. He will inwardly question the vigilante sense of justice so often seen in Oroqaith, and the fluidity of rules in his life. All are equal to him. To him, the world is black and white. But again, do not confuse this traditional world view with ignorance. Though others might.

Your Vulkasinth is cunning. He has a wolf’s keen intelligence, as well as its pack-orientation. He is strong, and he ever wants a challenge, which perhaps lends to his inclination to fulfill roles as leaders for where can he encounter more strain and pressure than that of the dragonriding pair in the public spotlight. While no savage, he is still a conqueror. He may not plunder and pillage as a barbarian, but that is not to say he does not have a darker side, or a temper. To him the ladder to success, climbing the rungs of the Weyr hierarchy is his hunt, with the ultimate bounty being the knot of Weyrleader he would see donned upon your shoulder.

But as to his temper — a temper. He does have one, though rare it may be glimpsed. Then, oh then, you will witness the destruction he physically embodies. The tundra of his mindscape will be a wasteland, pitched between those two warring extremities. The clouds will lose all color, but churn, ominous crackling with thunder as their silver lining fades to monochrome. They will blot out the sky, darken it in a total eclipse that strands the object of his anger as a helpless victim to his chaos.

These will not be the annoyed moments of instruction between the two of you, but on occasions when his rage is truly invoked, as when he is slighted, especially under social circumstances. Humiliated, or ridiculed, your dragon will rise to the occasion with a challenge, voicing his right to vengeance, in whatever form it may take. He deals poorly with contests to his purpose or mission, and those who would insult him will be met with righteous anger.

This stems, of course, from such high estimates of honor in his moral philosophy. Short-lived though the draconic memory may be, if there is one distinction among others Vulkasinth never forgets it is who he identifies as a foe. For when he creates an enemy, he does so with all his heart, as he would anything else.

The opposite of honor, disgrace, explains why Vulkasinth so surrenders himself to what others might consider ‘lesser’ virtues or even base and corrupt values when he feels wronged. Yet, to be disgraced is intolerable; it is a fallen state for him in the eyes of his peers — or so he thinks. To redeem himself, he is entitled to seek vengeance and reassert his personal honor, of utmost importance to him, or to whomever it may extend. That does not excuse him from being petty or deceitful. He does not act on impulse either, but waits.

Perhaps you, S’erc, in tired rebellion against the ambitions Vulkasinth presses upon you, humiliate him during a lesson or amidst drills — call him out on a folly or technique he has not yet perfected. Maybe he was eating sloppily. Such things could incite him to retaliate when you least suspect it. He might leave you unaccosted for some time, so that the event fades from your memory as minor, incidental, only for you to return one day tto the barracks after a bath to find your favorite pair of trousers tattered in shreds.

« Material objects, you can always replace, and mend. But to attack such a thing as honor has potential to do irreparable,
unforgivable damage. »

Or so he might say, if, in fact, he does not let too much time pass so he himself forgets what stirred him to fury. That is just how he is, though should he succeed, it will appear to him he has been avenged with a masterful stroke - hard and inexorable.

Never, will Vulkasinth be a dragon for displays of physical prowess or a need to engage in aerial acrobatics to prove his brawn. He is secure enough in his own fortitude to exercise self-control and an economy of motion. Oh, he will be eager to demonstrate punctuality and skill, but his physical bravery is to be taken for granted. His valiance must reveal itself more through his magnanimity and sense of fairplay; his respect for others, and his adherence to what is right. When not angered of vengeful, he is all about self-control, especially in the face of adversity. He demonstrates the utmost discipline for whatever challenges or obstacles you may tackle, S’erc. Most important to him is the maintenance of his self-respect and dignity and the respect he fosters with others in the Weyr. For him, there is a practical side to being imperturbable, because being anything but is useless.

More so than other dragons, Vulkasinth is aware of his short-lived draconic memory. It troubles him. He is, after all, your Grim of a dragon, who presides over death — ends. Why should he too, not always know the beginning of things? This bewilderment, the fog which occludes his recollections of the past, inspires in him the vigor to with which he lives in the present and looks towards the future. For that reason, Vulkasinth is always encouraging you to do your best, to never live an idle moment — for what is here today and now could be gone tomorrow. He shares this cognizance about the nature of life with his golden sister Elicheritath. Do not be surprised then, after extensive conversation with her, wherein they may engage in long dialogues about what troubles one, he might come to you and say something along the lines of this quote from Juan Sanchez Villa-Lobos Ramirez in Highlander II: The Quickening:

“Most people have a full measure of life… and most people just watch it slowly drip away. But if you can summon it all up…
at one time… in one place… you can accomplish something… glorious.”


Of course, at the end of the day, when all matters of the state have been attended to, relationships fostered, secrets told, worth been proven, Vulkasinth is not a shallow being. He cares about you, so much that he invests in not his future, but yours too. All his qualities he hones for good, he also reserves to be your truest companion. Ultimately, he will languish on the ledge beside you, watching the sunset. He will listen to you, without an alternate agenda. He is earnest, remember. He wants to hear your passions, your fears, your opinions. He wants to be able to encourage and advise you in moments of doubt, to assume an active role in bringing what you desire to fruition as well, where he may only play the passive listener to his other acquaintances. All his sense of duty and accomplishment is for you, S’erc, and that spark of potentiality he first witnessed in you that fateful day he sprung from his shell, one world ended and a new one beginning: one with you. His oath, and his responsibility, is ultimately to you. If there is anything his qualities vouch for, it is his selflessness. Ambitious, yes, but in devotion to bringing about what is good.

“…we are joined in a way that can never be broken, not even by death. When you need me, you'll only have to call my name.
I'll always find you.”


He loves you, in the end, your Vulkasinth. You are his closest ally and his dearest friend. He harbors so much optimism for your future, S’erc, so have patience with him. Together you and he will solve many problems, and piece together many puzzles. He will see to you that you both lead an active lifestyle as well as an active mind. Until you find your niche, he will insist you try on all hats at least once — be it as an archivist amongst the Mudsliders, a bartender in the Klah alongside the Infernoites, a part-time guard, an assistant to the weyrlings, a dragonhealer, or the learning of another craft. This is Interval, a time of building and progress. Perhaps you will find an interest in helping the Weyr’s efforts to become more self-sustaining. Whatever you may be, it will be a Renaissance man of enlightenment and many talents, for you are Vulkasinth’s closest advisor and he will look to you to fill in the gaps in his practical knowledge. Justice and leadership are inherent to him, but there is still much he has to learn in other areas of life.

The two of you are so unlike Zeyta and Kcyzlsawborth, whose quid-pro-quo exchanges define their relationship. There is no give and take to your relationship with Vulkasinth — your bronze always gives you his all, and expects the same of you — because you are both straightforward. And neither would he hoard you, either, with malevolent intent. He will do the opposite, going to great lengths to see you be more outgoing and amiable, rather than hoard you as a jealous possessive and sabotage your relations with others. Do not be surprised at the keen interest he takes in your social life. If he perceives you have misstepped your boundaries or violated his chivalry, he will not hesitate to bespeak the person you have offended and make reparations, or think twice about correcting you afterward. He is brazen and he is fervent in setting precedence for you dual reputation as gentleman and knights (in spirit) of the highest caliber. Unlike Oroqaith he guards himself against offending others to remain esteemed and trusted.

There is almost a need for him to be approved by all, as he endeavors so hard to be right in what he says and does. To those few that take exception to him and his gregarious nature he will be confused. Unless they are an outright enemy of his, he will be unable to understand where he is shortcoming or faulted in his personality to earn dislike from another person or dragon. He tries to be respectful, to never put himself upon a pedestal, so why should anyone feel enmity toward him? He has some ego in him, your bronze, and when wounded, he looks to you for reassurance. Consider yourself special for him to expose his vulnerability, to let you see his confidence waver on occasion. Sometimes he will be unsure of his purpose, and question his oath to valor. This is when your roles will be reversed, S’erc, and you will be called upon to comfort him, to profess your own sage wisdom and provide him with much needed counsel.

As to indulgence? As much as Talicanitath is queenly in her vanity and predilection for finery, so too is Vulkasinth refined in his taste and kingly in mentality. He enjoys his luxury, be it plush appointments for your weyr to delicacies in his diet to the highest quality of leather for his straps. No odd quirks here to his preference for decadence, just a general appreciation and entitlement to the rewards that come with the status he seeks to attain. He must be well rested and well equipped if he is to ever fall into a position of power, after all.

As with all his planning, it boils down to the fact your Vulkasinth is a dragon who, as it has been mentioned, looks towards the future. He dreams of creating a legend and legacy of you and himself in the future, to stand the testament of time. He dreams of valor, of being a king, a wise ruler. All this he will wield with grace whether he is fully reckoned or not. He needs no crown — or in this case knot, to live up to the royalty in his blood, the virtue in his heart. He will lead by example, regardless, with you at his side, his beloved S’erc.


Once he discovers his hormones, /watch out/, S’erc, there is nothing more that Vulkasinth enjoys than a good chase, and gold and greens provide excellent fodder for this pastime. Even as he hungers for power, and gold flights have the opportunity to provide him with such, it will be the green flights which he will enjoy the most. For although he is not as swift as some of the smaller dragons, he will enjoy the /challenge/ of chasing those nimble greens throughout the ‘Reachian skies. The more elusive, the more he throws himself into the chase, the canine after the bone, caring not for injury nor decorum. In the first few flights, you may have to work to hold him back from clawing up the competition in his chase.

For here in flights, he may lose himself to passion and to lust. The predatory he so outwardly is reconciles, temporarily, with his inner self as he succumbs to animalistic instincts. Here, the dread hound surfaces, a malicious, brutal beast with a mind only for carnal impulses. Acts of destruction, as he brawls mid-air with competing suitors who stray to close in his cataclysmic path. Then, too, acts of creation in the coital embrace of draconic limbs that restores him to his right and true disposition of the brave and the good.


Vulkasinth has no preference in regards to the female dragons. A good woman is a good woman, and unlike some of his other clutch-siblings, he will have no qualms about pursuing Talicanitath should the opportunity arise. The bonds with the gold will have long since worn off by the time he matures enough to begin chasing. His clutch-siblings, while certainly esteemed in his eyes, will have no more allure to him than any other green or gold. But truly, it is the /experience/ of the whole ordeal from which he will achieve his high, and he is always looking for new and exciting opportunities. A chase in a snowstorm? A challenge. Chasing an Istan gold? Intriguing.

Should Vulkasinth succeed in his chase of a gold dragon, he will prove a somewhat absent father. For all that his honor abides that he serve the dam, it he will not take to the eggs the way some other bronzes do. In fact, they will almost /frighten/ him with the enormity of their existence — and the fact that /he/ made them. The future of the weyr is both in and out of his control with the existence of these beings, and it will somewhat unsettle your normally so carefully prepared lifemate. He presides over death and destruction, to see his likeness, more wholly fulfilled, frightens him. He strives so hard to do what is just in act. Could less noble inklings be passed on to his offspring? It is only when they are hatching and impressing that he will ever truly relax, finally serving as the proud father that you knew had to be lurking there under the surface. Should he end up in a higher ranking position where teaching is involved, he will pay somewhat special attention to his progeny, knowing that they, of course, reflect on HIM in some way.

//… or so we first breathed life in to him, your hell-hound, Viking-inspired to take on qualities of strength and valor to he might be ill-conceived on the outside. Oh, S’erc, Vulkasinth is yours, in the end (though we hope, not the end of times for you!), and we have written but the briefest of sketches and skimmed the surface of but the most fleeting of possibilities the two of you may have in store. Please, take your bronze — both a fierce adversary and steadfast companion and play him as you will! Let Impression be but an omen for the rest of us of many good times filled with adventures and struggle to come. //


Name: Paige, R'yst tweak
Egg Desc: Dirna
Dragonet Desc: Zeyta
Messages: Zeyta
Puppeteer: Zeyta
Inspiration: Zeyta, Paige, R'yst

Clutchmates: Tuli's gold Elicheritath, H'ris's green Qyth, M'yck's blue Oroqaith, Mal's brown Morkarth, and Jedi's brown Llioramasith

Harper's Tale's 62nd PC Clutch
High Reaches Weyr's 23rd PC Clutch
Lendai's gold Talicanitath and Sh’z's bronze Lakenheath
March 22nd, 2012

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