Shadowed Willow Green Iraslenth

Dragon Description

Pale, spring-time green tinted with a hint of baby blue ripples across the soft curves that dominate this round young lady. Perhaps she's too round for her own good: time in the egg has been much kinder to this hatchling than to most, for layers of baby fat cover what might eventually be muscular legs and an attractively curved belly, giving her an adorable, stuffed toy appearance. Too bad she doesn't like being cute. There's a harshness to her that goes beyond the purely physical, a hard quality revealed in the patterning on translucent, glass-green wingsails. Veins are obvious in those slender pinions, creating an odd, dappled pattern remiscent of the sun coming through long willow leaves. There are other spots on her body where close inspection would reveal that oddly shadowed quality: along the length of her tail, over her neck, and most especially on her right cheek will reflections of light create shadows instead of dispelling them. Perpetual darkness lingers over each of her paws, however, as streaks of malachate darken springtime shades, extending down over her hand until they meet dully gleaming onyx talons that curve, scimitar-like, to show off their keen edge even at such a young age.


Egg Name and Description

Bloody Sunday Egg
Brilliant crimson ravishes across rounded sides, spreading darkened ruby all the way around the ovoid, enveloping all save the smallest patches of purest alabaster. But that is not all — nay, for littering across the surface of this lurid little egg are various scenes, patterns of onyx and peach figures that carouse together, mingle together, and ultimately perish together. Up at the very apex of the shell, where a particularly large patch of purest white lies, the figures are the most at peace, resting together in calm oblivion. Slowly, however, as the line of gaze travels linearly down from the apex to the wide base, the chaos grows and the patches of alabaster dwindle, eventually leaving the very base as naught but violent, angry red. Indeed, the figures of black and peach begin to clash, shapes of all sizes roiling together in palpable fury as stick-like limbs are frozen in mid-motion of kicks and punches. Finally, however, even the rage must ebb, as it does at the very base, but it is not a pleasant ending; none of the peace evident in the apex shows here, except the peace of the final repose.


Hatching Message

War-ravaged and quaking, the Bloody Sunday Egg can take none of this turmoil from within. Right down the middle split, cracks begin to web outwards from one central point that seems to be taking the brunt of the hatchling within's impact. Not long, not long—- CRACK. With a sickening noise that echoes through the cavern, the egg splits asunder, allowing a mass of thick limbs and a round, round torso to spill free. The little hatchling rolls over and over, the momentum from her precipitous escape from the shell that was her prison sending her a good ten feet forward towards the candidates. A moment's pause, and then with a groan she rights herself, blinking red-violet eyes bleerily. Great. Just great. Now what's a poor little green to do?


Hatchling Name and Description

Shadowed Willow Green Hatchling
Pale, spring-time green tinted with a hint of baby blue ripples across the soft curves that dominate this round young lady. Perhaps she's too round for her own good: time in the egg has been much kinder to this hatchling than to most, for layers of baby fat cover what might eventually be muscular legs and an attractively curved belly, giving her an adorable, stuffed toy appearance. Too bad she doesn't like being cute. There's a harshness to her that goes beyond the purely physical, a hard quality revealed in the patterning on translucent, glass-green wingsails. Veins are obvious in those slender pinions, creating an odd, dappled pattern remiscent of the sun coming through long willow leaves. There are other spots on her body where close inspection would reveal that oddly shadowed quality: along the length of her tail, over her neck, and most especially on her right cheek will reflections of light create shadows instead of dispelling them. Perpetual darkness lingers over each of her paws, however, as streaks of malachate darken springtime shades, extending down over her hand until they meet dully gleaming onyx talons that curve, scimitar-like, to show off their keen edge even at such a young age.


Impression Message

And the battle's just begun… but who has lost and who has won?

There is a battle, to be certain: sounds of steel and leather creak all around you, followed by what first sounds like the wind creeping through skeletal trees. But no… it's whispering. Someone's watching you. Many someones. They're talking about you, invisible fingers are pointing, gesturing, accusing you of something you can't quite understand. It's quite maddening, really. But wait— hope is not lost. From the cacophony rises one voice, husky and alto and strong: « Enough! Enough of this. You. You hear me, do you not? » A pause in that definitively femenine, british voice oddly reminiscent of a certain granddam. « Kohana, you hear me? Me? Iraslenth? » Ah, yes. The whispers have been silenced by curls of violet smoke that twine up around you, enwrapping your mind in comforting warmth. « Good, yes. This will do. Come, now, and we will begin our battles together, my Kohana. »


Mindvoice Name and Description

Whispering Curls of Violet
Sometimes like smoke, sometimes the primal fire that spawns it, the one thing common about Iraslenth's mind as that the feeling of 'others' is always there. No matter who it is she's talking to — or even if it's just to you — there will always be whispers carried on the wind in that hidden darkness of her mind, incomprehensible mutterings that express the thoughts that are always churning through that crafty little brain of hers. When she's calm, her mind resembles nothing more than a curtain of shimmering violet smoke that shifts hues based on the range and intensity of her emotions. Tendrils will detach from the main body to brush against whomever it is she's talking to, a representation of mental probes sent in to retrieve information that can't be expressed verbally. When she's been riled up, however, that smoke gives way to silent, red-violet flames that blaze up, often out of control, in a writhing tempest that demands answers. Either way, contact with her mind will bring a shock, rather like a spark of electricity to sizzle its way down your spine, until you get used to it or she learns to control the raw power that is her mind.


Inspiration

Iraslenth was based off the Princess Sorsha from the 1988 cult film classic 'Willow'. Like her, she's the spawn of an evil queen (well, grandspawn) who has to fight against those tendencies towards violence and destruction in order to survive in the world. Her name, pronounced Ee-rawz-lenth (or with a silent 's' if you prefer) was taken from the name of the good castle in the movie, Tir Asleen. The egg, the Bloody Sunday Egg, was based off U2's song Sunday Bloody Sunday, about the violence in Ireland.


Personality (RP Tips)

Strong, brave and bold, Iraslenth is the consummate warrior, the perfect heir to Arolaeth's legacy. And yet there is more to her than a love of violence and a disdain for males: there's a soft side, one rarely seen. A split exists between the public facade of wicked strength and the inner quietness of one who's soul still cries out to be good.

If there's one thing that, through and through, defines your Iraslenth, it's that strength both mental and physical. She's not the type to take any sort of garbage from anyone, be they fellow green, pursuing brown, or even golden queen. She has principles, she believes strongly in them, and woe be to the person or dragon who dares to cross them. Quick of wit, and with a vicious sarcastic attitude, she finds it far easier to make enemies than compatriots, and even harder to make friends with those who cannot understand what it is that drives her. And what is that? It's an inherent insecurity, the belief that she must be strong in order to be taken seriously, that to show soft emotions — love, kindness, warmth — is to become soft yourself and to invite in disaster.

You, Kohana, are her soft spot, the one shining light of love that she's not afraid to admit despite the professional tone she might put on your relationship when discussing it with others. There is nothing she wouldn't do to defend you from harm, to keep you sheltered against the hurt of the world, to take damage for you. In matters of friends and matters of love, she'll encourage a cautious distance, and will not hesitate to take them aside and give them an interrogation should be feel you've been wronged. To others, she may come off as sharp, vicious and overprotective, with an unnecessary amount of sting to her mental touch. To you, at least, the shock is muted to a pleasant tingling, and rare will be the times that she will raise her voice in anger.

Love for her is something rare, something not to be admitted to. She'll be one of the slowest to mature to the full nature that is a green female, and definately one of the slowest to realize that she's actually attractive to those males she grew up with. Her heart is a difficult one to woo, but it is possible. Proddiness is a time when that female within can peek out, can be drawn free by those eternal courtship gifts: poetry, food, oil, and all other manner of things. Deep, deep down she's a romantic: any sort of poetry, even if it's utterly corny, can endear a chaser to her hurt — Grummith might find himself in luck, here. But it will take a true show of commitment for whoever eventually catches her to win her permanent favor, and once it's lost he'll have a difficult time winning himself back into her good graces.%%R%%TSo who is Iraslenth? She's like so many today, an outer shell of a warrior, the inner soul of a romantic bound beneath layers of cold, analytical behavior and a fear of attachment.


Growing Up

Sure, she might be a round, pudgy little thing on hatching — there's no way she's going to let herself stay like /that/. Kohana, you're going to be subjected to all sorts of tacit grumpings and complainings while she tries to work herself into some sort of shape… without much luck. Her rate of growth is against her, you see. She's a slow grower… very slow. Iraslenth will be one of the very last greens in the clutch to mature, and definately the last to reach her full growth. There will be times when she'll be the smallest in the class, much to her utter and absolute dismay, and times where she grows through those awful overnight growth spurts, though not to the degree of some of her other siblings. And always, always, always, at least until she takes to the skies for the first time, will she be pudgy. Only the rigerous exercise that comes with flight will be able to work off that fat and reveal the gorgeous, willowy figure that lives within.


Why?

So, why did Iraslenth pick little Kohana out of all the girls and boys waiting there on hatching night? Well, it was easy. Within you, she picked out images of the times from your imprisonment by the Renegades, on those emotions stirred up by those contacts. She felt your need of a strong ally, of growth for your fighting spirit, and your need of a friend that would always be there, no strings attached. She, on the other hand, needed a ground, someone who knows reality and can keep her in check. Someone who can be diplomatic, who can soothe the raging wildfires that her emotions can be, and who can protect her when that inborn niavette towards the opposite sex kicked in. In short, she needed a best friend and twin sister, and for that, she found you. Her perfect. Her match. Her lifemate.


Credits

Name Green Iraslenth
Dam Gold Kazarenth
Sire Bronze Angelesth
Created By Syra
Impress To Kohana
Hatched June 26, 2002
Eastern Weyr
PernWorld MUSH
Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License