Description
Icy winds sweep across an ocean bathed in sonorous moonlight, rendering to silver the tempestuous waves, caught like a platinum montage of trembling hues which blend into the svelte contours of this pale queen. Delineations of aureate and peach, evocative of dawn's rosy fingers, escape across the timid curves of her muzzle, where glimses of shy beauty flicker elusively, before being dashed against the sharp peaks of her neckridges, soft lemon burrowing deeper beneath a world of ice. Hovering in place beneath her belly, spun like the sea's cool mist, frosted tendrils of ivory seek sanctuary from a probing light, the daring glare of a lighthouse's beacon spun in pearlescent curls of light towards the citrine sea of her membranes, matched by a pinprick of purest gold upon the ghostly white of sharp talons.

Age is impossible to tell for certain, but her full-grown length suggests she is in the vicinity of five turns, while her size is slightly less than thirty-nine metres, wingspan about sixty-four. About palest hide, straps of undyed leather rest, careful work nonetheless lacking in visible beauty, their maker no doubt less able at the sewing arts.

Comforting Fuzzy Bear Egg
Dark swirls of coffee-stained amber tumble in a wild display of warmth, the hues tinting this shell vivid enough to earn this egg an aura of cheerfulness, but muted enough by lingering shadows that the brightness is not overbearing. The playful locks almost blend into each other, yet some patches manage to escape the soft luminosity, small deserts of a worn gray barren of colour gloomily conspicuous. A river of ruby snakes around the egg, a ribbon of brightness cutting through both gray and golden-brown cling lovingly to the circumference of the shell.

Hatching Message
Coffee seems to grow even darker as the Comforting Fuzzy Bear Egg begins to shake, dark golds veined with even darker shadows as cracks wiggle through the round shell. For a moment, the shell almost seems like it might stick together despite the cracks -- then, an extra large shake sends pieces flying, revealling the golden life within.

Pale Moonlit Angel Gold Hatchling
Ethereal moonlight bathes this dragon with shimmering silvery-gold, surrounding her with a sonorous brilliance that refines her form to a delicate platinum montage of trembling, insubstantial hues. A hint of morning light escapes from within, it's intangible life hiding along the curves of her body like a timid beast. Glimpses of shy beauty elusively flicker over her dainty muzzle before darting down her neck, glimmering lemon burrowing at the base of each neckridge as it slips towards the safety of her tail. Pale ivory fleetingly caresses the underside of her head, icy fingers smoothing; the touch of the sea mist is frosty as it tentatively creeps towards her underbelly where it settles in cool comfort. Bolder primrose gold whisks up the misty wingbones to the sweep of her wings, stroking across its length like the daring glare of a lighthouse that tips the pearly curls of the iridescent citron sea that is her membrane with a brilliant gleam that defines and brightens each demure twirl. Talons are caked with a speckling of bleached sand that sharpens their length to a bright point, a pinprick of pure gold echoed at the blushing point of her snaking tail.

Impression Message
The roar of the sands somehow changes in property, fading so that it mimics the murmurings of the waves as they brush against the score. A cool sea breeze seems to brush against your mind, insubstantial, thrilling ghostly harp strings to music. It's almost as if your mind is stretching out of the constrains of your head -- floating, drawn out of the darkness to a misty brilliance that cushions and caresses. >> Llysereth. << The word is a whispering, accompanied by a whif of sweet lavander. >> That is my name. Llysereth. And I love you. <<

Inspiration
Llysereth, the name, comes from a mixture of the Welsh for ray of light ('llygedyn'), and star ('seren'). She was inspired from the song 'The Angel of the Night' and the images that it brought with it, especially of the night at sea, moonlit and silent, veilled by an icy mist that hangs close to the water.

Personality
There's an amazing contrast between Llysereth and her dam. Ysmalath is contrary and sharp-tounged, a dragon who can only show her love through insults. Llysereth has a bottomless sense of empathy -- she cares, very much, about the people around her and would never do anything to hurt them, if she could help it. She's a great listener, but she's not very good at trying to fix problems, though she'll try very hard. In some ways, she's like Angeline from The Barbed Coil -- sweet but too innocent to see the underline causes. Still, her sweetness is endering, even if it's sometimes just not enough.

Llysereth is easily shocked -- she's completely innocent, and course language, sleeping around, and greenflights rock her to the core. She has the semi-romantic view of how Things Should Be Done, and that just isn't part of it and she's not afraid to let people know -- for their own sakes. Should they continue, she'll just get more outraged, and might even try to make matters into her own hands... uh... talons. When she rises, however, passion rules -- it's the one time when she's all emotions. Innocence and sweetness is forgotten -- all she understands is that she needs to get /away/ from all those males. She'll be a hurricane of emotion, one minute hating, the next minute filled with joy as she dives towards the shimmering Istan seas. The next morning, however, and it was something that she had to do, for the good of the Weyr. They needed eggs. She didn't enjoy it, and she's certainly not doing that again.

Llysereth is gulliable, in a way -- if something fits into her vision of the world, she'll easily believe it. For instance, you'll never convince her that greenflights are good, but any old wives tale about how sleeping with men will make women lose all their hair will be believed with a full heart. It somehow seems right that /those/ sort of things are bad for you. Look at her -- when she flies, she goes all bulgy. Once the eggs are actually laid, however, Llysereth goes into an extasy of maternal emotions. She'll brood, she'll hover, she'll make sure they're all covered with just the right amount of sand. It'll be near impossible to get her away to feed, and you'll have to talk very quickly to convince her to trust her little ones in the hands of those white-robed people.

Why
It was Lyddie's love of the sea that first drew the pale gold to her -- the thrill of wide open spaces struck a cord within Llysereth that urged her to dip down, below the gruff surface, and find -- well, lets just say that she fell in love. Llysereth knew, deep down, that this was someone that she could relate to, and adore, someone who could balance her at the same time as resonating to the same tone.

Mindvoice
Llysereth's mind is a glory of pale silver light that changes quality with her thoughts. Romance or caring brings out the gentlest flickering dance of starlight, accompanied by the scent of lavanders, her mindvoice soft and hushed, almost an echo of the sea's murmurings as the waves rush onto the beach. Shocked, her voice will lift in pitch, mind flaring like a light house, thoughts directed with that scorching strength. When she is contemplating the world, the wide open spaces, her mind is light by the moon, and mindvoice quiet -- when she does speak -- almost like whistful song of the panpipes. There are many depths to her mind, but she keeps them shrouded -- random thoughts mist her inner being, distracting and cloaking.

Growing Up
Weyrlinghood is not the most graceful of stages, and Llysereth's natural grace is somewhat lacking as she goes through the troublesome times of growing. It's just... well... she'll always be slim, but she grows faster than she can eat enough to fill, and so will resemble a boney spider, and those extra long limbs just can't help but get in the way. Water will be seen as a saviour -- at least when you trip in the water, you don't end up slapping the ground. As she grows, however, she'll have an affinity for deeper and deeper depths; with wings spread, she'll simply float, bobbing silently. Equally enjoyable will be flight -- but she's not an adrenaline junky. She'll just love flying, straight, with the wind caressing her body, for as long as she can. /Nothing/, however, is more open than /between/; her enjoyment of that moment where there's nothing to life but her thoughts and yours is almost on the dangerous side.

She'll view her clutchmates rising as rather -- well -- shocking, and their displays of lack of control as rather pitiful. I mean /really/. Look at what they're doing! It's just not decent. However, when it comes time, later, for her to go proddy, she'll be fighting a losing battle. It's just impossible to control your emotions when they're that powerful, but she'll do her best, and there'll be a surfacing voice of reason amongst the madness.

Old Descriptions:

Bathed in sonorous moonlight is she, silvery-gold hues refining her form to a platinum montage of trembling, insubstantial hues against an ethereal sea. Aureate and peach, like hints of dawn, escape across timid curves, glimpses of shy beauty elusively flickering upon her muzzle, whilst soft lemon burrows at the base of each neckridge. The wavering caress of pale ivory substantiates the underside of her head, icy fingers smoothing the touch of the sea's cool mist, creeping beneath her belly in wafting notes of pale hue. Bolder primrose stretches to whisk up misty wingbones, to the sweep of her wings where they stroke their lengths like the daring glare of a lighthouse that tips pearly curls of light into the citron sea of her membranes. A pinprick of purest gold, liquid in dazzling light, echoes a beacon of light to the muted, bleached sand of her talons, broaching silent reverie against the mist-swept landscape of her hide.

First Flight - 26/08/01

Second Flight - 28 - 11 - 01

Third Flight - Off Camera

Fourth Flight - Off Camera

Fifth Flight - Off Camera

Sixth Flight - 24 - 11 - 02

Seventh Flight - 24 - 11 - 02

All references to worlds and characters based on Anne McCaffrey's fiction are copyright © Anne McCaffrey 1967,2000, all rights reserved, and used by permission of the author. The Dragonriders of Pern(r) is registered U.S. Patent and Trademark Office, by Anne McCaffrey, used here with permission. Use or reproduction without a license is strictly prohibited. For more information, visit the Worlds of Anne McCaffrey.