Theme of Clutch: The Noble and the Ignoble
Dragon Name: Tuorth
Dragon Colour: Bronze
Hatchling Name: Boisterous Brassy Bronze Hatchling



For Tuorth, a prideful Bronze, I, J'cobi, couldn’t go past the idea of Henry VIII of England. He is boisterous and rough, keen to get out and do and damn the consequences. Practically bursting with pride, he will stand very little in the way of slights against him. Conversely, he is not precious in any sense of the word and is unafraid of hard work. Furthermore, he considers himself the ideal choice in any mating flight and will chase any dragon who rises. His name, Tuorth, actually comes from the word Tudor which, in turn, brings to mind the noble and undeniably manly hero Tuor from Tolkien's legendarium.

Hatchling Description

Large in size and presence for a dragon so young, the bronze hatchling bears a brassy gleam upon his hide that catches the light and gives him certain brilliance. His belly is a darker tinge, a colour not quite so glittery but still bearing the stuff of jewelry and life’s finer things. A dash of coppery green traces along his muzzle to the tips of his ridges and down along the top of his otherwise-gleaming neck to form what seems like a supercilious leer. His wings stretch to reveal a paler shade of bronze so bright that it threatens to stun the eyes when the light catches it.

Dragon Description

Large in both physicality and presence, even by bronze standards this dragon could be considered large and he carries himself thus. His hide bears a brassy gleam that catches the light, giving him certain brilliance. His belly comes to a darker tinge, not quite so glittery but nevertheless bearing still the stuff of jewellery and life’s finer things. A dash of coppery green traces along his enormous muzzle to the tips of his ridges, tracing then down along the tops of his otherwise-gleaming neck to form what seems like a supercilious leer. His wings unfurl to reveal a paler shade of bronze so bright that it threatens to sun the eyes when the light catches it. His muscles are knotted and thick about his barrel chest, wide and strong in his demeanour.


Tuorth has, and always will have, total confidence in his own abilities and utter self-assurance in his superiority as a leader, mate and warrior. Even at birth his interest in proving his prowess can be almost overwhelming, leading him to rely (though he would not call it reliance) on you to ground him and focus him on the world beyond his own personal one. All the same, he expects support when it comes time to show others how it’s done and why he’s the best there is.

When he’s born, Tuorth will be unaware of his own size and strength. He is boisterous, bursting overly with energy to the point where he may do some damage. Having not yet fully surpassed his awkwardness, he may knock things (and people) down with abundance and cause a devil of a stir and a mess.

As self-important as he is, he understands your importance and you are given leave from his imperious nature and pride. Like a king would look favourably upon his most trusted advisor, you are given leave to chastise him when he goes too far and, more to the point, he’ll listen to you. He is extremely proud, however, and his psychic presence can provide a powerful boost to your self-confidence that may sometimes border on the unbearable.

His memory can be painfully short at times, even for a dragon. He is quick to forget favours and is often baffled by your propensity to feel bad, sad or glad about things for more than an hour or two. Life is for the living and there are always new challenges to overcome, disinclining him to linger on past events. That is, unless something or someone makes him mad.

For a dragon with such a phenomenally short memory, Tuorth holds a grudge like no under. If someone does him a favour then he's likely to forget it as soon as he's shown his gratitude, but if he feels slighted he could remember it for a painfully long time. His grudges are strong, too, prompting you to feel as he does from time to time. His pride is a precious and important thing and he cannot stand to have it hurt in any fashion.

As much as he loves a challenge, Tuorth also loves to eat. If left to his own devices, he may even eat too excessively and too often. He could be the terror of a nearby Hold if given leave to be, enjoying the sport of hunting and picking off livestock that hasn’t been specifically delivered to the Weyr for him to eat. You’ll need to keep him in check, making sure that he stays active and does not eat too much as he can be very prone to thicktail.

As far as Tuorth is concerned, he is the ideal male dragon and as such every female who happens to rise is just asking for him to catch her. He is very keyed in to such things and you will often find him anticipating a mating flight with a very cheeky attitude. He would, of course, prefer to catch a gold but if he fails he’ll try his level best to mate with a green instead. He’ll never accept that he was bested in the chase for the Queen, however, instead deluding himself (and doing his best to convince you) that everything happened exactly how he meant it to be.

In fighting Thread, Tuorth is the epitome of a proud and noble warrior – a boisterous knight sometimes biting off more than he can chew. His conviction in his own superiority may lead him to get himself in trouble if left unchecked, but his understanding of your importance to the process will give him the inclination to follow your instructions to the letter. He is skilled at pushing back the perils of Threadfall, however, and he often flies where the Thread is thickest with the reasoning that he can handle it. And often he can.

Of course, when it's all over he'll take the lion's share of the credit.

Mind Voice

When fighting Thread, his mind voice is an authoritative and demanding baritone, rich with laughter but heavy with an anger that always simmers just below it. His words are often mixed with the baying of canines and the sounds of a victorious hunt.

At rest, his mind voice is still full of authority and laughter but the note of anger is less obvious. Replacing the baying canines and the sounds of the hunt is the crackling of a hearth and a distant laughter like one might find in a hall where a grand feast is occurring.

Mind Scent

The mind scent that Tuorth exudes when he’s agitated, either during a mating flight or Threadfall, can be positively ghastly and may threaten to overcome you when you first experience it. The strong odour of blood and freshly slain prey pervade everything, though the distant and more promising scents of pleasant foods snake their way through it all.

When he’s calm or happy, Tuorth lets you know it with pleasant smells. Your favourite meals, especially those that involve meat, are strong and mixed in with the scent of woody smoke and fine wine. He wants you to enjoying feasting just as much as he does so he can compel you to let him do it a little more often.

Physical Voice

Overly loud are the best words to describe Tuorth’s physical voice. A few more would be overpowering, obnoxious and self-important. He loves the sound of his own voice and more than once will he wake up peacefully sleeping Weyrfolk just to enjoy his own vocalizations. It may be endearing at first, even inspiring as it leads people to believe they are well-protected by Tuorth. Over time, however, it is bound to grate.


Tuorth will grow big and he will grow fast. Even out of his egg he is large, and he will seem unsatisfied to stay that size. He will grow so swiftly that his hide will need to be oiled routinely and with great care, something he’ll remind you of often but never seem to be compelled to sit through. His impressive size, of course, matches his opinion of himself.

Eating Habits

Oh! How Tuorth loves to eat! He could be considered a glutton in many respects, but that is only when he’s given leave to be. Once he’s had enough to sustain him his attention can be drawn away from food fairly easy with the promise of new challenges. He hates the notion of eating the food that is brought to the Weyr, considering it to taste inferior to that which he has hunted down and taken for himself without anyone’s ‘permission’. He’ll eat it if he has to, but he’ll complain. If given the chance, he’ll gladly fly to a nearby Hold and pick off what livestock he can from there. His philosophy is that the best meals are the ones he takes for himself. He’ll encourage you to eat a great deal, taking great joy in the wide variety of tastes you can experience, but he’ll be the first to point out if you’re growing thick around the middle.


Egg Name: Love is Red Egg (Tuorth)
Egg Description: Bold red is the colour of this fairly large egg: a passionate, hot colour, vivid and striking. Closer inspection would, however, reveal that the colouration is not quite even, with patches of paler reds evident. The hues flow into one another, making the effect look very natural, if not what some would call 'desirable'. Thin striations in a paler red still run around the egg at a diagonal to its vertical axis, though their subtlety means that they could be overlooked.
Egg Theme: I themed this egg on natural, untreated rubies, one of the precious gemstones. Although cut rubies are obviously highly priced, good examples of untreated rubies are also sought after.
Links: http://www.shopgemstones.com/gemstoneimages/rubysmalluntreated.jpg
Submitter: Ciara

Hatching Foo

HATCHING_POSE: There is no fanfare, no warning here. The Love is Red Egg is simply whole one minute and the next is split up and down like a melon. As the two hemispheres fall each to their own side, a big, burly bronze dragon is revealed; the prize after having the red curtains drawn back. He stands for a moment, blinking into the bright sunlight and looking down his nose at the lines of assembled Candidates. First pickings. Excellent.

PUBLIC_IMPRESSION: As he makes his final pass of those assembled, the Boisterous Brassy Bronze Hatchling turns a critical eye on several of the younger boys before coming to an almost military full-stop in front of a tall young man with dirty blonde curls and a smile that melts hearts. His head cocks to one side in intense regard before he finally headbutts the Candidate. Right in the chest.

PRIVATE_IMPRESSION: There's a whirl of light and sound encompassing your mind and senses. The blare of a horn announcing the march into battle is overlayed by the baying of hounds, the squeak-jingling of reins and tack and the clank of armor. A wordless cry sounds the charge and for a moment it feels as if your very mind is a battlefield. The scent of blood and sweat fills your nose so strongly it's nauseating and then is simply gone. There's a gnawing in your gut. It starts off as a mild hunger, but quickly escalates into something much, much more. One moment, you are realizing that you forgot to eat before you came here (or didn't eat enough), the next moment you are overwhelmed by the sensation of having a gaping emptiness at your very center. « Oh, hello. » A smooth baritone echoes through your head and suddenly that hole is gone. « You are our M'zen. We? We are Tuorth. » Not like it's been healed, but like it never was in the first place. « You belong to us now. » Imperious amusement wars with pure need and the voice continues softly. « Just as we belong to you. » There's a sense of blood mingling with your own and a growth; you are no longer a lonely entity. You are the royal 'we'. « Well, come along then. You are to feed us. »

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