Chaotic Sultan Blue Azathoth
The base of this blue's hide cannot easily be distinguished for the brilliant array of tones and patterns. Deep cerulean has the closest dominance, wrapping about his spindly body. Here and there it is split by streaks of turquoise and patches of midnight that reach down like camouflage from where they cloak his spine. Up the underside of his neck the turquoise increases, paling to a plain of icy aqua over his jowls. Here it meets the draping tones of midnight and navy which reach out over rounded head eye ridges in sharp contrast with his pointed snout and head knobs. The midnight travels down over his wing joints where the sails fade back into cerulean and dapple out over turquoise. The edges are laced with a rich sea-green teal, the same color that melds with a chaotic splatter and streaking of violet over top of his turquoise limbs. Here and there on the edges of his wings and the midnight contour of his spine and wing joints dapples of glowing cyan spray like luminous faerie lights, drawing some composition to his irregular patterning.
Ref
Painfully Shifting Abyss Egg
At first glance, this egg is somewhat plain. It's round form is average sized, smooth shelled and partially buried in sand. It's a very dark egg, it's patterns only visible on a second and third look. Dark black-brown shades seem to pull you in, revealing very subtle variation in shade. Tendrils of dark blue, dark gray, and dark purple pull you in, threatening to swallow you whole. It emanates a dark feeling, sickly sweet and poisonous.
Hatching Messages
It's time. Silent on the eggs besides the occasional shudder, Painfully Shifting Abyss Egg increases it's intensity, shuddering and shaking quickly enough to increase the faint spiderweb cracks already present on it's shell. It seems to implode on itself, the egg crumbling away to reveal a blue dragonet. Without the support of the shell, he sprawls forward onto the sands, eyes already glinting a dangerous red-yellow. He wastes little time in pushing himself to his feet, ignoring the sand on his form as he looks at the candidates.
Impression Message
Chaotic Sultan Blue Hatchling's shifting eyes change from red, to blue, to purple, to blue, and then to red again, as he sniffs one boy and dismisses him. No, that one won't do at all. Next in line? That girl? No, she doesn't /taste/ right. Ah, but there! Chocolate skin and dark hair attract the little blue, and he slinks, slithers, and half-falls strait towards Nyarla, tripping on himself in his haste to reach the girl. You. You will do perfectly.
Suddenly, a rush in your head, almost sickening in it's intensity. It carries with it a dark, chaotic emptiness. Tendrils of self-assured confusion wrap around your mind, contradicting themselves and you even as they claim you as theirs. Claimed. You. Ah, yes. Delicious, you'll do. «Nyaaaaaaarla~» They hiss, the mindvoice similar to the sharp whine of a flute. «Nyarla, Nyarla, Nyaaaarla. I am. I am Aaazathoth? And. I think. Yes. It is time, perhaps. Feed me.» The words do not so much as end as trail off into a disturbing screech-whine of shifting color, defying any sort of sensory logic as they decide what they are and then change their minds almost immediately.
Personality
Madness. Chaos. Everything of that nature. He fits the bill, and he loves it. He doesn't care about the consequences, and his sights are not far reaching; it's the here and now, baby, that's all he needs and wants.
There's something distinctly hideous about him, and you find it addictive. Everything's a swirling, chaotic, contradiction mass. Things about him directly contrast other things, what he wants and yearns for at the same time will be two completely opposite things, and it's up to you to put them together somehow to make it work. He knows exactly what he wants, but at the same time he doesn't, and he has NO idea how to get it. You have to make sense of this, you have to bring things to fruition for him.
Though he has potential to be manipulative, he quickly gets lost in the abyss of his mind that he can't really convey or convince anybody of anything. That's why he chose you, his faithful messenger. You will be his eyes and his mouth, you will get him what he wants. And he loves you for it, he really, really does. You're probably the only thing he loves.
Life to him is a party, and not the good kind. It's that part of the party where you've had too much to drink and the world is starting to spin in that not good way. To him, that sickening feeling is the most enjoyable thing in the world. Nothing is right here, and it SHOULDN'T be. Nothing is ordered, ordinary, and it SHOULDN'T be. Everything should be ENTROPY, MADNESS, pure and primal FEELING and DESIRE and WANT and FULFILLMENT. Greed is ideal. Take what you want. There are no sins here. There is no higher meaning. The Id's stabbed the superego and swept the ego up for the ride. Why should it be any other way? After all, Entropy powers the world.
What he wants, he needs. What he wants, he gets. Most of the time. The future isn't what he thinks of, and the past is long dead and gone. It's up to you to get it, and occasionally temper his will. You can have the foresight he lacks, you can see what he wants most, past that most immediate urge, and you, with your silvertongue and your manipulative mind, know how to get it. You know when the RIGHTNOWRIGHTNOW want is going to hurt his or your goals down the line.
Azathoth should've been born a bronze, and if he had, he'd try to be king of the weyr. His present status as blue isn't going to dissuade him from trying. He won't go after golds- no, that's a waste of time. When he says king, he means control. That's what he wants. He thinks. Maybe. He has a natural sense of power and grace to him. The natural king, the chaotic sultan. You? You're a messenger, an aide, an advisor. You're his right hand man. But that doesn't mean you aren't in charge either. Your relationship with Azathoth will be a symbiotic game of manipulation- at times, you will bend him around your will, and you'll do it the same way you do it with everyone else- you make THEM want what you want. And rest assured, he will do the same for you, and you'll love each other for it. You may play at being his second, but you are his equal and you both know it.
Incredibly sadistic, the part of Azathoth that desperately wants to destroy, to hurt, and to maim will come out in his hunting. He will first wind the entire herd up, getting them to stampede and fear, because it's his belief that if they're scared, they taste better. Then he will isolate the one with the most fear, and that's the one he will kill. He will kill it slowly, rending here and there with his teeth as he passes overhead in large sweeps, disemboweling it slowly. He'll wait for it to succumb to death on it's own time, and only then will he eat it- he won't hasten it's suffering at all. The part of him that inspires this behavior is always there, though it's most active in hunting- outside of that, what motivates him is greed and a want of chaos and madness, not much in the way of sadism.
Flights are something he enjoys and will participate in with zeal. What better way to celebrate life and pleasure then with a flight? He will throw himself into a flight wholeheartedly, flying fancy in attempt to impress the girls. Large for a blue, he throws the agility that he does have strait into fancy flying.
Strangely, Azathoth's eyecolors are constantly shifting to all parts of the draconic spectrum, and seem to have very little to do with his mood. Alternatively, his mood is shifting as wildly as his eye color, which may actually make sense, given who he is. If invited, he has very little qualms about touching the mind of another human— it's them who will regret it.
Mindvoice
Mildly sickening and incredibly intense, Azathoth's mindvoice is too much for some to handle. It usually can't quite decide what it wants to be. It usually strikes confusion into the soul of those who it touches, brushing across whoever Azathoth is communicating with with dark, cold tendrils of emptiness. It can at times be almost painful. It is always cold; an empty, bonechilling sort of cold reminiscent of the cold of space. It's usually accompanied by the thin, shrill whine of a monotonous flute, and a disorienting mental rush.
Inspiration
Lovecraft!
Information Provided at Hatching
Verbatim
Originally a MU dragon, revived on forums! all info and credits here: Mu Azathoth
