Omen of the Gods Brown Loxiath

Polished copper fire slicks along arrow-straight spine, pouring over ribs and haunches in a rush of amber that gradually deepens to umber as it caresses broad chest and lean belly. Taupe drips, gently pooling along his underside, where darkening flames are eventually consumed by roiling clouds the color of ebony. Atop sinuous, fire-streaked neck, his wedge-shaped head is graced with a long, aristocratic muzzle, its high-set eye ridges canted upwards, giving him a seeming of perpetual, sardonic amusement. Ridges march with mathematical precision from the crown of his head to the base of his lengthy, limber tail, the rich gilt hue constantly glittering as though lit from within, nearly argent in its brilliance. From between broad shoulder blades erupts a startlingly glorious spread, sunlit spars weaving triumphantly through the wide sweep of his wings, catching between them translucent sails of a pale white-gold, blazing incandescently. With his lithe limbs, long, supple tail, and slender frame, this lean brown lacks the bulk of many of his brethren, but more than makes up for it in arrogant poise and supple grace.

Egg Name and Description

The World Engendered Egg
Crackling lines of thin black cover the shell of this blue-green egg in its entirety, tropical waters split by basalt reefs in etched, circular patterns like a dragon's footprints. The dark, starling black fades out grey and then in most places melts into the shell's natural hue, settling at the base of the egg where, in some places, the seawater-colored shell is entirely obscured by shadow. The shell is perpetually smooth, catching light and reflecting it back evenly.

The Greatest Gift comes slowly, accompanied by the sweet chimes of silver bells. As the melody plays in the darkness, shapes form, misty figures dancing at the edge of your mind, hazy and indistinct. Voices murmur, unintelligible, coaxing answers unknowing from your thoughts as they ply at your memories. There is no discrimination in the recollections it dredges from your subconscious: sad memories, happy memories - family, friends, experiences, and desires, all of them are touched upon by unobtrusive fingers. For all the casual nature of the search, however, there is a definite lingering upon those rememberances which bring about a feeling of contentment, of joy, of home and hearth and all things love. Who were you, before now? The answer is dredged from your memories, until, contented, the silver bells slowly fade to a tinkling murmur, then fall silent, figures fading back into the empty nothingness, but for a single globe of light. Someone left a glow uncovered, a beacon in the dark.

The Greatest Gift dances in once more, this time accompanied by the sweet, silvery voices of children. Though the words of the song themselves are lost within the music, it is a joyful beat that keeps time with the soft flow of warmth and color as it envelops your receptive mind. Memories are ignored - instead, slender fingers pluck thoughtfully at your current stream of consciousness, stretching forth to tease at the thoughts that linger topmost in your mind. Here, a face: someone special? An impression of a stranger? Breakfast, perhaps - or maybe the fading enjoyment of last night's supper. It seems most curious about what is making you tick at this moment: what do you feel, as you stand here, allowing an unborn dragon to skim your thoughts? Sad? Angry? Confused? Or do the sleepy warmth and soft, soothing strands of color ease you into a sense of well-being and contentment? Who are you, at this moment - the question comes, not in so many words, but in the constant delicate scrabble of its thoughts on yours. Pleased, it fades away, leaving behind that solitary, flickering light. A candle in the window, against the darkness of nothing at all.

The Greatest Gift is preceeded this time by music, the stridant tone of a horn, announcing its arrival with a glorious fanfare, before fading into the soft, deep tones of the viola. Color swirls - reds and greens, silver and gold, thick streamers draping across your mind in festive glory as somewhere, in the distance, white wings flutter. Memories are ignored, thoughts are dismissed - no, this time it delves deep, plunging beyond those half-forgotten wisps of recollection, past the stream of consciousness that continues to murmur as every experience is catalogued. No, for it, desires. Wishes. Dreams. Is that you upon a dragon's back, with great ribbed wings of gold, no green, no blue, no brown, no bronze, no, it's a ship, dashing through the waves, the silvery backs of dolphins rising from the deeps. It's music, glorious music, splashing across a page as creative frenzy overtakes you. But wait, is that the scent of a well-baked bubbly pie? No, indeed, it's the heady perfume of the finest wine, carefully aged to perfection. Who will you be? The question lingers even as the music fades, the scents waft away, the streamers dissolve into nothingness. Soon, all is nothing more than a simple speck of light - a star, shining bright from the distance - then blink, and it is gone, and there's nothing there but your own thoughts.

Hatching Message

The World Engendered Egg rocks back and forth in its little sandy nook, not quite ready to burst apart, though those basalt cracks seem deeper, darker. Then it settles, stilling, waiting. The cataclysm is yet forestalled.

The World Engendered Egg rolls to and fro, heaving out of its cradle and spinning along the sands, fetching up against a hillock of sand. Where once turquoise seas sat calm, now the surface roils from pressure beneath, fissures appearing as chips begin to fall away. The cataclysm cometh.

The World Engendered Egg shatters, chunks of turquoise and black shell spinning away as it dissolves beneath the pressure, unable to contain the entity within its depths any longer. Where once was a silent ocean is now the blazing form of a newborn hatchling, still wobbling from his abrupt entrance into this new world, but already gaining his feet and rhythm. Stand in awe, for the cataclysm has arrived, the ending of an egg and the beginning of new life.

Impression Message

« In all of this world I seek to find. » The words intrude upon your consciousness as the sands disintegrate in a rush around you, dissolving into a scene that is nothing but light, brilliant and golden, streaming down from every quarter. « A match, a mate, made mind-to-mind. Yes, I like that alliteration. » The rich baritone ripples with laughter, accompanied by the soft pulse of harp strings and the tinkling of tiny silver bells. « The inspiration in my life, my single perfect muse. » Apples and cinnamon warm beneath the heat of the constant sunlight, infusing your senses with those homey, humble scents. « Yes, it is you. It is you, my V'ric, that I choose. My, my, wasn't that a pretty piece of drivel? But what can you expect, I've only just hatched. It'll get better, » adds that voice, silky and cajoling, « I, your Loxiath, have spoken. And, you know, what I speak is truth. Speaking of truth, it's true I'm awfully hungry. Might I bother you for a bite to eat? Perhaps a bit of meat? Hah! That rhymed. »


Apollo - in his aspect as bringer of the light, he is the god of music and medicine, but like any god, he has a dark side, the plaguebringer, god of ill prophecy. Your dragon is much like this - he is, essentially, a bright dragon, cheerful and filled with joy - but as with all creatures, this is not always the case, and there are times when his humor grows dark and his mind chills. Perhaps not unsurprisingly, much of Loxiath's demeanor is tied to the sun.

When the sun is up and shining down, unobscured by clouds, your Loxiath will often be in fine form, eager to be outside and drinking in that glorious sunlight. It is during times like these that he will be at his most creative - perhaps declaiming a lyric or two, or humming in tune as he goes about his business. He is not necessarily a lazy creature, though he is apt to find the nearest patch of sunlight and settle into it for some serious soaking. Even while he absorbs his daily dose of Vitamin D, however, he's still plying his creative trade - a master of draconic music, he'll be inclined to compose, even if his masterpieces are never performed, as few dragons can meet his criteria for musical prowess. « Alas, if only Gylith could carry a tune in a bucket, we could have the most fabulous Weyr on Pern. » You, too, will be expected to strain your creative side - not, however, musically. That is his specialty - yours, in his determination, is medicine. Expect to be pushed towards the healing arts, particularly as they pertain to dragon healing. It is your duty to fulfill the promise you show and seek training for the gift you have been given. Don't be surprised to find yourself led to injured animals, or have them deposited on your ledge for you to work with. « V'ric, it aches, can you not feel it? Ply thy trade upon this wounded beast, that it may enjoy life as we do once more. »

However, the sun does not always shine - clouds can obscure it, and night chases it beyond the horizon. Loxiath's mood darkens with the sky. This is not to say he is inclined towards sulkiness or anger, but rather a more macabre version of himself. For instance - he feeds best when the sun is down or otherwise masked, more interested in rending his prey than having you heal it. His music will often take on a melancholy air, often shifting into a minor key. Any poetry that comes upon him during those times when the sun is hidden is likely to be dark and biting - more satiric than lyric in nature. In this, he is a good match for his twisted brother Velokraeth - do not be surprised should the two of them begin a friendship based more on insult than compliment. His conversations - with you, with other dragons - will take on a biting, impatient tone. It is during these times that he is inclined to snipe with his peers, and even you will not be safe from his dark wit. His poetical mind is quick, and he often has a witty - and wicked - turn of phrase, twisting words to offer insult couched in seeming compliment. « Halinith, you are indeed as perfect as you seem - perfectly dull in every way. Mock not my own imperfection of wit with your bland candor, lest we both suffer the same fate: death by blunt object. »

Though your dragon is not bulky, tending more towards lean and limber, this is not indicative of weakness. Indeed, he has an innate grace that serves him well - once he gets used to it. As a Weyrling, you may find that Loxiath is all paws and tail and tripping, still growing into the dancer's grace that will someday be the hallmark of his movements. It won't take long, however, for him to sort himself out and find his rhythm, and once he does, you'll discover that even on land, he won't have that curious shuffle that often marks a dragon's passage. His in-born musicality will serve him well in walking, and once he's grown into that sinuous frame of his, he'll ever be surefooted even under the most trying conditions.

On land, your dragon is a dancer - but in the air, your dragon is an arrow, launched from the bow of a master archer. Straight and sure and frighteningly fast, your dragon will not be much for aerobatics, though when needed he can turn on wing and do rolls with the best of them. He is, however, quite single-minded, and with his natural stamina and aerodynamic form, he can attain a speed matched by few, even his speedy green sisters and blue brothers. The sky is his natural domain, and so close to the sun, his joy will be boundless. Don't be surprised if as you fly, he breaks into hymns of praise for the glory of the day - though when he flies at night, it will only emphasize the lack of sunlight, and his internal tune may be closer to a dirge.

When it comes to mating flights, your Loxiath lacks the size to compete for a queen's attention - but that doesn't faze him at all. One might assume that the glittering gold hide of a proddy queen would be a beacon to him, but no: your Loxiath does not appreciate the cold false sun that a gold represents. He prefers the more earthy greens as his mates, and his natural agility and speed will give him a boost in their flights. Light of love, he'll be disinclined to settle down. Though he'll sing the praises of any female who catches his eye, they will be legion, and he will not be kept by any one lady - not when there are so may out there to choose from. Don't be surprised to find him declaiming to any nearby greens - proddy or not, and when the mating fervor takes him, his mind only becomes more eloquent, showering her with praise even as he arrows through the pack in his efforts to claim her, however briefly.

Loxiath is a complex creature - light and dark, sun and eclipse, healer and plaguebringer in one body. With his keen wit and natural sense of rhythm, it will be difficult for any other to unbalance your dragon - in a war of words, he is nearly matchless. As long as the sun is shining, your life will be filled with his joy, and even the bleakest moods will be hard-pressed to stand against his cheer - but once the sun is gone, beware, for with it goes your lifemate's good nature, bringing forth that deeper, darker side that lurks within us all.


No matter his mood, sunlight is the basis of Loxiath's mind-scape - that pure, unwavering light that offers home and hearth and love wrapped into one shining strand of incandescence. Even when his moods are at their darkest, there is always a gentle gleam of sun, however dim, in the far reaches of his mind. It may take some time to get used to this particular facet of your lifemate - that constant, unceasing blaze in the back of your mind, just beyond eye's reach, but fear not, for even at his worst, Loxiath will take care to shield you from the ravages of pure sunlight, for he understands how fragile the human mind can be, and would never risk you by imposing his full glory upon you.

Because of the brightness of his mindscape, there is not much in the way of imagery connected to Loxiath's mind - simply a brightening and dulling of the ambient light. However, what he lacks in color and shape he more than makes up for with the richness of his voice. A soft baritone, his every word is note-on, the lyrical fall of his words always in perfect rhythm. There is more sound to his mind, however, than simply a rich speaking voice - always, there is the soft accompaniment of music. When he is happy, lute and harp are the predominant instruments, often accompanied by a flute or a sweet-voiced bell. When his mood has dipped into its darker reaches, however, prepare for the wail of a bagpipe or the sorrowful voice of the saxophone to weave their way through his words.

Scent, too is a constant companion in Loxiath's mind - scents of home and hearth. Cinnamon, apple, and mint are predominant, with a faint strain of striking incense winding through, adding an exotic cast to his mind. When he's cheerful, the scents tantalize the nose and tease the senses, increasing the sensation of security and comfort. However, when his dark moods overtake his mind, the cinnamon burns, the apple rots, and the mint grows sharp and pungent, while the incense overpowers, turning everything to bitter spice. Might want to carry some handkerchiefs - you might well find yourself sneezing when darkness falls.



Name: Loxiath comes from one of the names for Apollo, Loxias. Apollon Loxias was a title often granted to Apollo in his guise as the god of oracles and prophecy. It is derived from the Greek word Loxos, meaning "crooked", a reference to the fact that prophecy is never straightforward.

Inspiration: As asked for, Apollo, in his guise as both the Charioteer and the Plaguebringer. One of the twelve major deities of the Greek Pantheon, Apollo took up Helius' chariot when the elder god was forgotten, taking over as Sun God as well as the god of music, of healing, and of oracles.

Description: The description for Loxiath is based on a picture found of a solar eclipse: Additional description was taken from the gem Zircon, one of two gems which symbolize the month December:

Mind voice: While the sun in Loxiath's mind voice is obvious, the particular instruments and scents unique to your dragon's mind may not be. The theme for this clutch is months, and the month for this egg is December. The sounds of harps, flutes, bells, saxophones, and bagpipes are traditional for many Christmas songs - Christmas being a principle December holiday. Additionally, the scents which permeate Loxiath's mindscape - cinnamon, apple, and mint - are all Christmas time scents. The incense refers both to frankincense and myrrh - from the story of the Magi - and to the incense burned in Apollo's temple


Name Brown Omen of the Gods Brown Loxiath
Dam Gold Miraneith
Sire Bronze Glyith
Created By liandyn
Impressee V'ric
Hatched July 31, 20011
Western Weyr
PernWorld MUSH

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