A Harper's Homecoming

After today Rylan would almost certainly have a few more stories to tell. 

The instant he set foot in the shrine fireworks started going off. Not... large ones, mind you, or even particularly loud ones. In fact, said fireworks were positively pint-sized, exploding a few inches above the Harper's head in palm-sized bursts of color. There were peonies, and chrysanthemums, diadems and crossettes and glittering horsetails, all detonating in a flash of color across the inside of the Shrine. 

And swooping among the sparks were two positively giddy firelizards who wasted no time in winging down to perch on each of Rylan's shoulders, their new bonds fairly dancing with joy.




The Metronome Heart Blue Mottle Male

There’s a little music in every heart. For some people it’s a faraway drone, slow and stately and almost unchanging. For others it’s far more present, the ever-changing accompaniment to their journey for life. For still others song is an intrinsic part of the very fabric of their soul. For those like Rylan the heart is the best metronome- and for this little blue, it’s the very same.

A bright and cheerful creature, this firelizard is filled to overflowing with enthusiasm for life. Why would he walk if he could bounce? Why would he speak if he could sing? Anything worth doing is worth doing right, after all, and he’s utterly unafraid to pour his hearts into everything he does. Alas, his madcap energy doesn’t come with an off switch. He lives life in fast forward, tearing from place to place and task to task until his body throws in the towel. Expect to find him asleep in all sorts of strange places, draped over chairs and curled up in coffee mugs. It’ll be up to Rylan to make sure he eats, too, for food will slip his mind in his rush to attend to whatever’s next on his list. Almost as if in exchange, he’ll be more than happy to assist Rylan with all the niggling little tasks that clutter up his day. If ever a firelizard could learn to brew tea and track down crumpets, it’s this little guy- and if he can’t actually help? His endless singing, humming and chirring might just provide some inspiration for Rylan’s work. After all, he’s got a metronome heart, and naught could keep him from singing.

It’d take a body the size of a dragon to hold all the love and joy in this blue’s heart. Perhaps it’s a good thing, then, that he’s on the large size of average for a firelizard of his rank. His sleek, streamlined frame is well-muscled and his soft hide fairly gleams with good health. A line of silver scales runs down his spine, fanning out across his shoulders, hips and surprisingly elegant head. They merely hint at his mixed-blood heritage: his ability to breathe frost actively clinches it. Perhaps it’s fitting that the rest of his velvety hide is perfect, unwavering Harper blue.


The Poet and the Muse Brass Mottle Female

By and large brass firelizards are regarded with a certain degree of mistrust. Oh, they’re sweet little things, devoid of the sometimes-inherent malignancy their chromatic counterparts possess in spades, but they’re not... smart. In fact, those familiar with their endless nattering tend to label them outright pests. This brass is living, singing proof that not all brasses deserve to be tarred with the same brush, lest Teragaia lose something precious in the process.

There’s a lot of wild dragon in this gal, and it shows in her scales and in the unbridled intellect glittering in her faceted eyes. She’s smart, able to string ideas and events together into a coherent timeline that goes one step further and tells a story. Her grasp of the common tongue is unmatched, and while she can’t verbally speak, that doesn’t stop her from rapid-firing mental images of the words she can’t give voice to. Should Rylan start writing them down- and for goodness’ sake, man, listen to your firelizard!- he’ll discover her knack for rhythm and rhyme. This little one is a poet with wings, and she fairly basks in the recognition her work brings her. Even when she isn’t actively filling Rylan’s mind with picture-chatter, she’s always got something to say, trilled or warbled or crooned with a musician’s careful attention to pitch and intonation. Her inability to stay silent gives most of her pranks away before they can really get going. ...which is probably a good thing, because her ability to plan falls apart when she tries to use it to further wicked ends.

A somewhat gangly creature, she’s got more wing, tail and leg than she knows what to do with. On the ground her proportions hinder her, but once she gets airborne? Dancers would envy her natural grace, and more than a few bronzes would view her endurance with eyes whirling green. Thin, flexible scales akin to a koi’s gird her underbelly and splash up onto her flanks and barrel, protecting her from her occasional un-graceful landing. They’re the opaque green of tarnished metal, gradually flaking away to reveal the deep brass of her sides and legs. A streak of bright, brilliant almost-gold runs from her muzzle all the way to her tailforks.