Eslyn's Blue Rocorth

Wasted Oasis Egg

A shifting, impulsive kaleidoscope ghosts across this egg, casting brilliant emeralds on curves and planes with no true coherency to their design. Malachite dusts the deep green surface, glinting silver beneath angled light - but beyond that, far more distinct than both glitter and jade, is a heavy fog of murkiest rust smothering what lies beneath. Reminiscent of smoke, sepia and bronze storm unchecked above the viridian hues, spreading dark shadows to veil that which is beautiful. The smog plays havoc with its verdant field, and seems not merely able but eager to swallow all else that may approach.

Egg Inspiration: "The Return to Oz" by Scissor Sisters

He said is this the return to Oz?
The grass is dead
The gold is brown
And the sky has claws
There's a wind-up man walking round and round
What once was Emerald City
Is now a crystal town.

Hatching Message: A precipitous trembling sets the shell of the Wasted Oasis Egg vibrating with the frenzied effort of the creature within. At last, hairline cracks give way to the sudden breakaway of a slab of shell, leaving a window from which spills gelatinous egg-liquid and one wet, slick blue hatchling. Deprived of his mass to hold its shape, the shell collapses upon itself behind him. The newborn dragon does not look back - he gathers himself up from the gooey puddle in the sand and stretches his wings wide, tongue lashing a hungry path over baby-sharp teeth.

Prodigal Prussian Blue

Even more than his striking darkness, this small blue is defined by his shape. Lined with the sleek shadows and starry highlights of a compact, sparingly muscular form, he's never to be called lithe or lengthy like so many of his kind. Instead he's a shadow, a midnight sky crowned with wispy neckridges and stubby headknobs the color of angry thunderclouds. A wide, expressive maw and heavy-set eyeridges dominate his face, brightened by azure flecks in the supple hide just below his eyes and along the line of his jaw. Sheer wingsails drench light in darkness, but allow the resulting haunting glow to pass through. Built upon sturdy, short spars, these wings excel in breadth rather than span, promising precision and agility in tight quarters in trade for speed. That priority is tell-tale also in slender, swift legs and broad-padded paws tipped with silvery talons.

Final Size: 24.5

Dragon Inspiration: Rocorth is based on 'peroxide punker' Billy Idol. Idol started his punk-rock career in the mid 70s, acquiring his first pair of leather trousers in 1977. His music swelled into mainstream rock in the mid to late 80s, but by 1994 he'd traveled the route of taking on a questionably good film role, putting out a critically panned album, and nearly dying of overdose. His comeback moment may be crystallized in his appearance as himself in The Wedding Singer, and in 2005 he released his first studio album in over 12 years. Throughout he has maintained a consistent punk persona - cruel, incautious, unpredictable, raging - typefied by his trademark sneer. As his interviews, self-abuse, and facial features continue to mellow with time, a little self-knowing sarcasm might be seen in that sneer, as well. Idol will be 50 on November 30, 2005.

Links: Billy Idol Pic, Billy Idol Karikatur, Billy Idol Lyrics

"I love it when someone insults me. That means that I don't have to be nice anymore." - Billy Idol

Name: Rocorth is taken a bit from the Bromley Contingent and a bit from the Coral Castle. The Bromley Contingent was the group of people (including Billy Idol) who followed the Sex Pistols on tour in the late 70s. The Contingent was named for the suburb of London from which many of the clique's members hailed. The Coral Castle is the esoteric location where Idol wrote, recorded and filmed the video for Sweet Sixteen.

Mindvoice: There's a raspy, sandy roughness to the touch of Rocorth's voice, as if the black grains upon which his egg matured have worked their way into his mind and grate against each other with his every thought. It's a feature he uses to great effect, letting the sand whisper with careless sultriness or roar in the deafening howl of a storm, depending on his mood. Red leather and rusty iron lend their scent and taste to his communications, which can be almost poetic in their starkness when he uses words - and he loves words, using them for their greatest impact or shock value. He grasps the concepts of allegory, allusion and metaphor and lords them over lesser conversationalists, which occasionally makes him seem incomprehensible. Should he /really/ wish to be understood - and it's rare that he feels that need - he falls back on imagery and direct, wordless explanation.

Internal Impression Message: There's a raspy, sandy roughness to the touch of Rocorth's voice, as if the black grains upon which his egg matured have worked their way into his mind and grate against each other with his every thought. It's a feature he uses to great effect, letting the sand whisper with careless sultriness or roar in the deafening howl of a storm, depending on his mood. Red leather and rusty iron lend their scent and taste to his communications, which can be almost poetic in their starkness when he uses words - and he loves words, using them for their greatest impact or shock value. He grasps the concepts of allegory, allusion and metaphor and lords them over lesser conversationalists, which occasionally makes him seem incomprehensible. Should he /really/ wish to be understood - and it's rare that he feels that need - he falls back on imagery and direct, wordless explanation.

External Impression Message: The Prodigal Prussian Blue stalks around the foodless candidates, angrily swirling eyes reflecting anything, everything except those offensive white-sacked beings. But in those irate facets, one particular image persists. The heavy eyeridges sail up, and suddenly the hatchling's eyes shine the clearest river's blue. His body struggles to follow the path his mind has already traveled, talons sending sand flying in his rush to reach and claim the one who is now his. A low, sweet croon breaks from his throat, kindly in contrast to his bloody behavior thus far.

Temperament

Weyrling:
From the very first day his thick, heady voice reverberates in your mind, there will be no question: Rocorth is going to be a challenge. He'd growl to hear you say that, though - or to even catch a whiff of you thinking it. He has no desire to be pigeonholed into a phrase like 'difficult but promising' or 'such a handful.' He wants to be shocking perfection, so slick a feline would fall off of him, so hard that you could punch leather with him, so smooth that glue won't stick to him.

As a young dragon, the problem is that he wants these things /so much./ In weyrling lessons you'll be hard pressed to keep a lid on him - if he gets the idea that he might be good at something, it'll be all you can do to stop him from showing off. When his daring stunts get him hurt, there'll be instructors and healers who claim it's a failure to think ahead. The truth is, Rocorth can see the possible risk - it's just that he doesn't weigh risk like some people would. He wants so very much to be the chiseled, stark study in contrast that he'll abuse himself horribly to that end. Scars make him tougher. Pain makes him meaner. Ichor and ash make him feel bad - and it feels good to feel bad.

Adult:
That doesn't mean Rocorth is utterly careless. About you, for example, he is incredibly uncool - utterly smitten at some level he'd prefer not to contemplate, he only bares his heart when it hurts the most. As a result he can come off as possessive, callow, even mean - but mostly to those who don't know him like you do. Between you there are no questions; he knows he doesn't have to show off for you or try to be more than he is, when it's just you and he. This is not to say he's a cuddle-muffin when you're alone. Not by far - Rocorth is always, even in private, on show. He is always swaggering, larger than life, a dark spot on the sun; but with you, he doesn't have to be defensive about it. Still, the first time he roars and bullies because some thoughtless jack slipped you a sideways wink, or the first time he puts himself bodily between you and a fellow weyrling because you're /his/ and /not/ to be messed with - even you might wonder at the violent strength of his devotion.

Although with time and maturity he will become more comfortable in his hide, Rocorth will always be attracted to the heady mix of danger and daring. Though he will mature, he will hardly mellow. He enjoys making life harder than it has to be - it's all about inventing new challenges against which he can test himself, forever seeking the final measure of his capacity as a being. Like any dragon, his heart's in the right place. In youth, that good heart was at constant odds with his need for speed (both physical and social) - but once he's grown he'll find a great deal of inner peace with the complex conflict of his being. It doesn't matter if other dragons and people don't get it - he never wanted to be understood, anyway.

Flight:
For some greens, Rocorth's bad, bad, bad exterior might be just the thing. Whether they're looking for the sweet candy center they imagine lurks inside him, or seeking to sharpen their claws on the hardest whetstone in the Weyr, there's bound to be some females who can't resist the allure of Mr. Wrong. And make no mistake: while he's perfectly matched to you in his strange way, for any dragon on Pern he's not any sort of lifemate material. It's not quite that he'll chase anything that shines, but it's fair to say that if he has any reason to think his chances are good he'll certainly make the most of them - and even if his chances are bad, sometimes you gamble just because the payoff is so tempting. Those girls that have the somewhat destructive predisposition toward 'his kind' are among his favorite targets - they play wild, then play willing, and he's free to strut away the next day. Perfect.

Some of the greens he wins (and some of those he doesn't win) he might remember - most, he will not. Oh, there's greens aplenty in his mind - it's just that the green of two weeks ago blends into the green of last night blends into the green he's suspecting might rise in a fortnight. They have needs; so does he. Their common fulfillment is a thing to be celebrated. Why make it more complex than that?

Wing:
Once you're assigned more permanent post in a full rider's wing, you'll find out how strong his devotion to his work can be. While as a weyrling dragon Rocorth focused on fitting into his own concept of himself, as an adult with the strange twins of freedom and responsibility in attendance he'll become a bit more flexible, more interested in experimentation. While with simpler tasks he might be distracted and rush to finish before boredom sets in, there will be those which keep him absolutely rapt with their potential for danger and reward. Hunting and drills both fall into this category. There may be moments when you wonder whether his moments of insight might cost you both your post and send you back to weyrlinghood, though - ideas which come with no more warning than << We'll be more effective if we just -- try -- THIS! >>

He will never do well in political situations, save when you can keep his influence to being the sharp-toothed blue in the courtyard, your strong-arm 'backup' waiting for a bad situation to turn worse. To keep him from festering in his almost self-abusive search for a better badness, a blacker jacket to shrug on over his slender wingshoulders and shadow himself in, he'll need constant work. For Rocorth more than most, the old Earth adage about an evil spirit creating tasks for idle hands fits snug - given too much time for introspection, he might come up with dangerous ideas indeed. A little hard work satisfies him, reassures him of his power and prowess, and drains from him some of the excess energy on which his daredevil thrill-seeking feeds.

Credits:

Egg: Jasia
Description: V'lano
Hatchling: V'lano
Puppeteer: V'lano