Logs:Elaruth and Mikhuth's Eggs Hatch
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| RL Date: 25 October, 2009 |
| Who: At're, Cirse, D'kai, Dashaya, Genefra, Hattie, D'kai, Jiella, M'try, T'rev, Tilin, Vanissa, Elaruth, Jheilinth, Khazioth, Liath, Mikhuth, Mohraith, Nilanth, Orisoth, Peirith |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Eggs hatch! Lifemates are found! |
| Where: Hatching Sands, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 14, Month 1, Turn 21 (Interval 10) |
| Snow's been falling all day, light and drifting on the barely-there wind, pale in a pale grey sky. Now, as the afternoon fades toward evening, there begins to be the sound of... thunder? No, it's deeper than that, increasingly so, and it's just not stopping. Dragons are humming. The hatching is here. As the galleries gradually fill, here and there amongst the clutch begin to be odd, eerie sounds: knocking, shifting, once a rattle. Overhead, there are the wingbeats of dragons flying in to land upon the ledges, further obscuring what little daylight filters in through those aerial entrances. The cavern is dimly, greenly lit from the glows that cluster upon its walls. Then there's a cracking noise, and the omnipresent humming heightens. Hot, hot, hot! Atreyan enters unceremoniously, shuffles out a bow to the clutchparents, and moves with a stumbling step over to-- the side. Somewhere. Out of the way. He's totally not hiding behind that huge kid from Nabol. So Nissa's been to a hatching before - once. Never like this - never on the Sands. And it's been nearly eight turns since the only one she's ever been to where T'rev impressed Mecaith. This time it's different and it reflects on her face as she steps onto the sands with the other Candidates to face those eggs after the customary bow to sire and dam. Then she's off to find a spot, ending up beside Atreyan. Herschel's Celestial Discovery Egg abruptly quivers upon its little sandy mound, and then outright lurches, tipping the rest of the way over until it's rolling, rolling, rolling... slowing, spinning within its greenish belts of color, developing cracks between dark and light. A slow tremor sends grains of sand sliding away from the Footsteps To Infinity Egg, a single pulse of motion before it stills again. Quiescent, unassuming. Maybe it never really moved at all? Tilin comes out onto the sands almost at a run, still straightening his robe. He gives a slight yelp as his foot comes in contact with the hot Sands, but tries to cover it quickly, as he moves to bow to the dragons as well. He glances up towards the stands for just a moment, but soon his attention is on the eggs as he gets in position. Jiella is quicker out on to the sands than pretty much anyone would expect, and somehow manages to make even a simple white robe look something close to indecent. She's still got manners though - she makes her bow to both huge giant dragons perfectly, and starts edging towards Nissa. At the edge of the mound, a royal blue egg trembles, sending sand grains to shiver down along the slope, more and more of them until it's practically a rivulet eating away the structure's foundations. Other eggs move too, and whispers in the galleries increase in intensity with them, though the tiers are not nearly as populated as they might have been on a day with better weather. Even now, the storm audibly kicks up outside... unless that's just the hum of the dragons, quickening further as more eggs crack. That Vtol Motor Egg's shell gapes wide, but it's the Burnt Geometry Egg's hatchling that reaches paw to sand first, the pair of greens tangling wings for a moment before scrambling off to find their lifemates. Dashaya follows the lot of the candidates to the Sands as directed and dips into the required bow with probably more grace than the average woman's allowed, before moving over there, settling in near some of the other Blooded kids. "My hair's completely going to fizzle and frizz." Murmured to those close to her mournfully, but she settles into silence. That? No, wasn't from her. Maitrey's eyeing his knees, not the galleries, while he makes his way in, shaking his head in a way that answers something utterly internalized. What's not internalized is his helpful, "See? No puddles," cast toward Genefra before he's actually /on/ the Sands, at which point levity can take a flying leap. The bow is totally reflexive, polite but let's not pretend he's actually paying attention to anything but finding himself some place to fit into that line-- some place not by a pair of tangled-up-greens, thanks. Atreyan briefly scowls as the big guy from Nabol moves out further, and he's left staring at eggs. "Oh hey, look," he comments to Nissa, instinctively moving closer to her -- power in numbers! -- "They're hatching." That's right, go ahead and label Trey, Captain Obvious now. "No puddles!" An exclamation that carries. Genefra is the redheaded girl in a knot of other girls of similar age and obvious antsiness as they head out onto the sands. They're all whispering and giggling nervously and there are bows offered and a little bit of scrambling around trying to figure out who exactly is standing next to who. She herself is quite pale, ending up on the edge of this group but certainly part of things. None of them are particularly shy of showing their excitement, her least of all, bouncing on the balls of her feet as soon as she's standing nominally still. Poke, poke, and then a... gnawing noise? One of the cracks of Herschel's Celestial Discovery Egg widens under the demands of a blunt blue-green muzzle, the dragonet's teeth flashing as she actually bites down on the broken edge of shell to get the leverage she needs. From there, all it takes is a twist of her neck, and she's free.
There may be a wavering quality to the young teal-green dragon, but only when it comes to her wings, those soft sails that shimmer with hazy blue like light seen through warm tropical waters. All else is bright, from the curious wildness in her large, side-set eyes, to the turquoise iridescence that tips each neckridge only to slide into a green closer to gilt along her tail. Even the darker, curved bars down each cheek and lining her ribs only serve to accent her frame and the way she moves: sleek rather than skinny, sporty rather than delicate, accustomed to abrupt darts punctuated by stillness shorter than an eyeblink. >----------------------------------------------------------------------------<
The steady, measured beats that have had the Footsteps To Infinity Egg pulsing as cracks raced across its shell finally culminate into one single, violent explosion. Head, wings, tail, feet all push outward simultaneously to send shell fragments flying in all directions. The goo-smeared bronze dragonet left behind, startled by his sudden escape, over-balances to land with a whump chin-first in the sand, butt in the air and tail lashing. A brief scrabble of hind legs sets him to rights again, studied casualness in the flip of his wings as he settles them against his back. Right. Nobody saw that.
Thick, oily black smoke has left its residue upon the burnished bronze hide that stretches taut over this young dragon's egg-starved bones. The sharply angled wedge of his head is splashed with a mask of twilight crimson, slick and dark across the curve of his muzzle with spattered droplets arching over the harsh lines of his eyeridges, an eerie luminescence lending an intensity of focus to his faceted gaze. Sliding down the long line of his throat, pooling around the base of each neckridge, liquid crimson highlights smear across his deep chest before trickling down his forelegs to coat obsidian talons. Strong across his back and shoulders, the metallic glint of his hide is all but lost beneath the green-tinged stain of swamp mud that clings to his underbelly and spreads across his haunches. The length of his tail is dulled, lightly flecked with the rusty shade of drying blood until the spaded tip, where the edges are limned with a brassy sheen reminiscent of a sharpened spearhead. Set into the solid musculature of his shoulders, his wings are broad and touched with the ruddy hue of reflected firelight. The tracery of ichor-filled veins within his 'sails create an illusion of tarnished patterning, like a shield's embossed crest. >----------------------------------------------------------------------------<
There may be like a billion people up in the galleries watching, but Maitrey's look matches none of them when he leans forward to find Atreyan with an incredibly bland look. They're hatching, says the Gar-candidate, and "No, really?" answers the harper-candidate. Hands through hair, shoving it back off his forehead, he exhales stiffly and works on maintaining his dignity. While sweating. And showing his knees. To the whole world. With some little uncertainty, "It's going quick." Jiella's figured out how to state the obvious too! Though Vanissa might look up into the galleries, that is most definitely /not/ something she's going to do right now. She's already not looking altogether well, very pale, her narrow eyes following the dragons spilling out of the eggs as much as she can. And not die of the heat or anything. Furry Red Monster Egg shivers, setting all its crimson fur a-rustling as the motion tips the egg in the sand. From this new angle, the splash of dark colour across the front seems to be a rakish grin, but otherwise the egg falls still again save for intermittent twitches. As the dragons start to hatch, Genefra's friends set into squeals of various glee and anxiety and in at least one case, outright fright, the frightened one getting a lot of soothing from her peers. Genefra's one of the comforters, leaning in to murmur kindnesses, but after that her looks toward the new arrivals take on a certain wariness, like she has only just realized that this could be frightening. Tilin watches the first of the baby dragons appear from their eggs, fidgetting nervously but with a bit of an excited grin on his face all the same. "They're all coming so fast..." He doesn't seem to be saying this to anybody in particular, or even noticed that his aunt just said the same thing, just looking from one dragon to the next. He gives the newly impressed rider a grin, but soon his attention is back to the dragons still searching. Simmering like a watched pot, the Evaporation Egg shivers, the tiny bubbles indistinct with the sands' heat. A crack forms at one end and flecks of shell start to dissolve from the whole, but this isn't nearly good enough for whatever's inside. With a sudden jerk it churns free of its cradle of sand and, without Elaruth's watchful eye upon it, tumbles down a slope toward the others. Atreyan shuffles a step closer to Nissa. Shuffle. "Hey. Ch--" His eyes settle on the blue-green dragonet and he points. "Look how pretty she is! Athletic. Like a runner. Messenger. You kn-- shells and stones, he looks like he could take something on," then said warily about the burnished-bronze who hits the sands right after his sister. G'dri starts forward as that first little green Impresses right before the dignitaries' tier, to collect her and her boy and hustle them gently but firmly off the sands. Having freed herself from her egg, the Ne Plus Ultra Marine Green hatchling spits out bits of shell with an unhappy ptui! and if they should land on her largest brother... is anyone going to expect a newborn hatchling to care about that? Besides, he looks stained already! With success, her eyes whirl that much more brightly, delightedly, and not just due to blinking away bits of egg membrane. Avoiding other pieces of shell and keeping to relatively clear sand, she starts for the candidates, and even blinks closely at a few girls and the occasional boy along the way... as though she might possibly consider them, as if she didn't know with absolute certainty who she wants already. Once she finds her. Bloodstained Assault Bronze, having gotten all six limbs sorted -- seven if we count that tail! -- takes a moment to try to scrape off some of the sand clinging to his chin, pawing at his muzzle. But wait! He can worry about looking good later. There's something he must do, a mission that needs completing. Bright eyes shading with a tinge of wary yellow, the new-hatched dragonet powers forward suddenly and just as abruptly skids to a halt behind an as-yet unhatched, red-shelled egg. From that 'cover' he surveys the nearest arch of candidates. His objective is around here, somewhere. Vanissa takes a step back as the first wave of hatchlings begin their scramble towards them. Did she manage to step on Atreyan's toes yet? "Shells!" Literally. Crackling and flaking and flying everywhere. Was it this fast when T'rev stood? This is a dream, right? It must be a dream. But pinching herself does not one bit of good. "somebody please wake me up." Did she -really- say that? Rolling, rolling, rolling, and kapow! The Evaporation Egg rolls right into the Is It Watching Me? Egg before splitting asunder in a shower of shards. Left upside down is a pug-faced, stocky brown who looks like he'll be a real bruiser when he grows up. One wing lies trapped beneath him and the little guy kicks his legs a few times, finally flips himself upright and gives himself a good shake all over to get put back together. Dust yourself off kid! The offending wing is lifted, eyed speculatively, stretched out, folded, stretched again and finally re-furled onto his back before he unsteadily swaggers across the sands. He /meant/ to do that.
A bruiser of a brown, he's got a hearty, self-assured and heavy-footed swagger. With rugged, ruddy brick as his main color, this dragonet presents an image of dense-packed solidity, even egg-thin. Big, bulky bones round his frame, the bunched muscles of his neck and shoulders glazed by the sun's rays as they reach the zenith of the summer solstice. His dark hide glimmers with the wetness of hatching, but as he moves from the shadows into the light, flecks of copper and mica shine through the toasted grittiness of sun-browned stone. Prominent eyeridges and a snub muzzle, both splattered with faded asphalt, give him a pug-faced compactness. Long lines of blended light and fire sweep from a broad forehead down the length of his body, coiling into pools of molten stone where haunches and sturdy wings join his body. Broad wingsails cast a reddish glow when light shines through their translucent spans, a fine mottling reminiscent of crumbling sandstone disrupting their smooth sweeps. From the foundation of massive haunches springs a tail wide through its length that flattens a little at the end. From that blunt tip all the way up his spine march geometric ridges, each one growing organically from the last, tallest between wings and up along the base of his neck, gradually decreasing into the slope of a modest roof just behind his skull. >----------------------------------------------------------------------------<
"Maybe not," Atreyan overrules himself. "He looks sort of scrawny from this angle, now," commented regarding Bloodstained Assault. His eyes flicker over to the green. He reaches down and grabs Nissa's hand, silently. He's not telling if she won't. "We can't wake up. We're not dreaming-- oh, look, a brown!" Furry Red Monster Egg gives an enthusiastic jerk, sending grains of sand rolling away in all directions as the egg pitches a short distance. Cracks pucker around swatches of maroon, and as the egg comes to a reluctant stop, one blue hindfoot punches through the shell. All at once, electric blue wingsails flash as the clumsy dragonet tumbles free, rights himself, and sets unsteadily but eagerly out into the great big world.
A study in contrasts, this bantam blue is rich with vibrant hues and boasts a certain idiosyncratic charm despite an unwieldy physique. Washing up his compact form in jeweled tones, a lustrous indigo coats his robust shoulders, reaching down to the slope of his portly chest and from there upswept to mingle with the electrified azure wash of the underside of his wingsails. The narrowed, sharpened beak of his snout dips hard under glistening sapphire-tipped eyeridges, arching wide and leaving animated, alert and enormously round eyes to dominate the abruptly sharp features of his face. Poking up through bold lemon speckling across his forehead, twiglike headknobs jut out and back, leading into equally spindly neckridges in an ungainly series of pointed wedges down a thin, clumsily long neck. Positively quivering with a wired intensity, his muscle is taut under slick lapis hide, lending the suggestion of constant motion even when he is at rest. For all his stout little body, his wings seem impossibly stunted as though they could not even bear the weight of his plumped bulk; the droopy length of his pinions, however, hints at growth with maturity if only to match the gangling length of his hind legs, birdlike in their stilted movement. Jutting out from between slender haunches, his tail is thickset and stubby, as readily useful for balance as boisterous, potentially destructive, gestures. >----------------------------------------------------------------------------<
When the Ne Plus Ultra Marine Green hatchling's zigzag path takes her past her parents, she doesn't so much ignore them as dart unconcernedly between them as though they were a pair of hulking coral reefs, at one point pausing for an instant beneath one oversized wing before moving onward. More girls! She must have more girls! And then, finally, she locates the one she's always wanted. Her long look finds a tall candidate, and she heads as directly as she can manage towards her, regardless of the bruiser of a brother who's started to get in her way. Whether it takes snapping at him to move, or walking right over him, she's going to get that girl who's already her very own. "I- think so?" Jiella's not sure - not even really sure what she's answering at this point. If Dashaya's going to edge closer and link arms for comfort, who is she to deny the other girl that? Pretty much staring at this point - and maybe trembling just a little - the blonde does have to note, optimistically, "No one's been hurt yet?" G'dri returns from escorting that first pair out to where the Weyrlingmaster waits at the collection point, in time to spot the new blue pair. He heads that way, while leaving the other pair to his friend and fellow. Tilin nods quickly to what Dashaya says about the bronze, and he says, "Yeah... but proud too." Fidgetting more, he looks to the brown and the blue next as they come out, grinning at the latter. "He looks like hyper." Ready to move if there's any need still, of course, his eyes continue to go from one baby dragon to the next, watching every one hopefully. Bloodstained Assault Bronze jumps backward as his cover decides to start moving. Hey, get back here! Belly low he chases after the egg as it pitches over, only to leap sideways (and almost topple over) as that foot comes poking out. Cautiously he noses forward again, but when egg turns into brother the bronze blinks once and then bounds away. Sorry man, he's got a different target to acquire, as he heads with purpose, from point of cover to point of cover, over to the other side of the white-clad ring. Where, where, where.... Maitrey's hands open helplessly, and while Dashaya's rattling off colors, all he can say is, "How are you even keeping track of this?" Something blue, something green, something bronze, something brown, no sooner has he spotted one than there's another globby monster staggering around with danger-talons and nasty egg-funk. They may not exactly be the bastions of safety and beacons of calmness, but he'll just shuffle on over toward Genefra and her little crew over there; looking for someone as dumbfounded as he is, he's a lot likelier to come across them in a cluster of teenage girls, yeah? Atreyan will probably be the one to change this whole 'still no blood' motif, but who really cares? He doesn't. Just stays all a-clung to Vanissa. Hold me. No, really. "Interesting blue," he drawls regarding Explorer. "Looks like he's a whole pile of trouble." No blood is helpful. Genefra hasn't managed to calm down, but at least she's still remaining on the side of 'excitement' rather than 'afraid'. "There's so many of them. And they're so big. Only they're so small. Can they be both?" One of her friends is elbowing her pretty quickly, cutting short what might have been a longer exploration of this question. "What?" quieter, hissed to the companion. More bouncing. And then there's Maitrey, and she's doing a little more smiling. "Hi!" Maybe not dumbfounded. Not exactly looking at home here, though. Dumb implies 'quiet', after all. The Ne Plus Ultra Marine Green hatchling stops short, one long step short of the tawny-haired girl from Nerat. She gives the tips of her wings a dainty flick and looks at the girl, just looks at her, as though there were a line drawn in the sand between them. A heartbeat later, the hatchling arches her neck in all its iridescent and egg-sticky glory, flicks her wings again so a few last bits of shell fall off, and croons in a deep, muffled voice... without moving any closer at all. Vanissa actually glances down at her hand as Atreyan grabs it and smirks. Right here on the sands, yes. She opens her mouth to say something smart but all that comes out is a squeak. Back to the sands. Does she really -have- to look out there? "Jiella, did you see the teeth on that one that bit-" But her attention is caught by a near-roving green and she's instinctively stepping back once more. Nia, focused and on-the-job, really, is there to escort the greenpair toward the barracks, chattering away words of encouragement and admiration for the girl and the hatchling. So exciting! Solstice in the Canyons Brown catches sight of the twitches from the Waterbound Flock egg and staggers that way, his path a drunkard's sway. Determined as he is to reach that whiteness, the Candidates keep distracting him - a shift of weight here, a gasp there. Finally he nudges the Flawed Glory Egg as poor second best before turning his attention fully to the white robed. Waterbound Flock Egg stirs, a sudden motion as if flinching away from a touch. It stills again then and remains so, even as its companions decide that they have other ideas. Eventually, it twitches once more and then sets to making tiny little motions, no cracks to be seen, no drama here. Yet. "Because I'm paying attention!" Dashaya grumbles at Maitrey and latches onto Jiella's arm like a courtier going into a ball, or with her favorite sister of all time or something. It's not really as elegant as she might like, but.. Whoa, someone comes in way too close for her comfort there. And she's unlatching to move over to one of the Trey boys. Latch. Look, you're safe! Atreyan falls back a step. Then another. Then he's stumbling to a side. "Oh, crap." Yeah, that would be him gaining a Dash and losing a Nissa. "Crap, crap, crap." Nevermind him. Just having a mental breakdown over here. Carry on. The faintest of twitches stirs the Flirting with Darkness egg, some hint of movement to come perhaps, though it otherwise stands still as a monolith, the orange petals down its sides gleaming faintly in the light of the many glows set up for the hatching. Big eyes blinking, Explorer Extraordinaire Blue cranes his long, floppy neck after his bronze brother's commando stealth. The blue even trots a few eager paces behind him, but his ill-fitting paws are so bumbling underfoot that he has to spend a moment sorting them out. Once that's all done with, he plops haunches to the sand and scratches vigorously at a sticky, icky, egg-gooey headknob. Oooh, but wait -- what's that? At the corner of his wide-eyed gaze, he catches sight of something oh-so-fascinating and all the sudden the blue's springing off to investigate. Waterbound Flock Egg has been sitting gently rocking back and forth for some time now, shivering, almost, without drawing too much attention to itself. That all changes when it suddenly tips forward and it's mere moments after the tip of its shell has hit the Sands and shattered that its aqua-splashed green occupant spills out, all wrapped-up. She doesn't roll far and soon finds her feet, checks she's all in order. Paws, tail, wings: right. And she's off, just like that.
All smooth curves and neatly compact frame, this bold young green moves with a fluid grace that makes each step seem deliberate and thought through. Large eyes rimmed with peridot lend her an air of innocence, her ridges like ripples, deceptively soft with their hints of sea foam. Beginning at the tip of her nose, a splash of rich aquamarine slips down across her jaw, twirls down her elegant neck and washes across both flanks, where it filters through moss and bright vale on its journey to the very end of her tail. Slim shoulders promise delicate wings, her wingsails brushed with the shimmer of sunlight shining through rushing water. Well turned-out, subtly sturdy limbs are wrapped in faint fern patterns that grow bolder and more distinct as they lead to granite claws, and lack sharp joints or angles save at the very tip. >----------------------------------------------------------------------------< Tilin's eyes go back to the bronze a moment, and he grins again a little more. "Sneaky too." He looks back to the others then as the one gree gets so close to some of the others, taking a slight step back as well to give them room. In the wake of all those shards, there's a stronger crackling sound as most of the rest of the clutch rattles against the bits of shell... followed by a different sort of crack. No, not the joke made by the apprentice smith all knock-kneed in his white robe, because that fizzled. Instead, it's lightning, out in the bowl. Cirse glances up to the ledges where Peirith overlooks the event, then touches T'rev's arm to get his attention for a moment's whisper, before another Impression claims attention: a lanky blue that had just hatched from the Flawed Glory Egg, looking into the eyes of a dark-tanned Southern boy. Maitrey's echo of, "Hi," lacks the same exuberance, but he's trying. "I'm just going to stand here," he informs, like that wasn't patently obvious. "So you can just go right on back to..." One hand pantomimes the age-old motion for 'gab gab gab,' the other tugs through his hair. Dashaya glowers up at Atreyan, more our of habit than with anything else. "Language! Do I have to whack you with a stick to get you to mind your manners? Even under pressure!" Wait, she shakes herself out of that and blinks and turns her eyes back on the dragons that flit to and fro. "Crap, crap, triple bloody crap, woman," Atreyan glowers down at Dash. "Sharding shelling fall flame and fire'd crap." Someone's adrenaline is running a little high, if you can't tell. Vanissa is becoming increasingly uneasy, if one were to judge by her set face and shifting. She slips her hand out of Atreyan's when that green stops in front of her. Her hand clenches her robe causing folds to fan out from between whitened fingers. It's with an inarticulate cry that she releases her death-grip on the material heedless of the sweat-damp splotches and creases left there as she turns and to flee towards the exit to the sands, muttering breathlessly to herself, "This was a mistake!" But then something stops her and she turns back. "Liath?" A shaky breath is drawn and her simple answer exhaled, "My world." He's navigated the battlefield and marked all the decoys but now, finally, the Bloodstained Assault Bronze Hatchling is in position, ready to execute his final flanking maneuver. With his target identified, he stalks deliberately forward across the final stretch of sand separating him from his objective. With bright eyes and his face tilted upward, he comes to a precise halt beside a tall, gray-eyed young man of proud bearing. Rearing up on his haunches, he lifts a forepaw to hook his talons into the hem of that white robe. Mine. More certain now, the Solstice in the Canyons Brown is taking his time among the shards, enjoying the exercise after so long in cramped quarters. He flares his wings at a young girl and she jumps back; he pushes past her, knocking her down, to stare long enough at a blue-eyed girl from Peyton that her friends begin to clap. But she's not right either, and a Nissa's cry swings first his head, then the rest of him about, to go investigate that section of Sands. Jiella is a little bemused at the sudden loss of Dashaya, the turn to trace the girl's path allowing her to catch Atreyan's sudden loss of composure - with a blink, she just goes back to trying to keep track of the dragons, just enough so non of them go making her any less pretty. Because that? Would be a tragedy. With another blink, she turns at Vanissa's exclamation, expression conflicted as she murmurs, "Congratulations." Explorer Extraordinaire Blue's big discovery was only the laces of some candidate's sandals, and while the boy stands stock-still, the stout blue hunkers down to gnaw experimentally on the leather ties. Ptew! Spitting them out and shaking his head, the dragonet leaps away from the surprised lad, hurtling between two surprised white-robed figures to pounce at a lump of sand. Peeking down between his paws, the blue reveals a forgotten bit of string and with excited little sounds he digs around. In all his haste, he loses the treasure in the sand, leaving him looking forlorn. But only for a minute, because, hey, wow! What's that over there? T'rev starts forward as his sister starts to flee, pauses as she turns back, breathes out a sigh of relief and then lets out quiet whoop as she names the little green. G'dri turns his head at Vanissa's cry, starting forward in concern as he sees her run. He quicksteps it over that way, "Vanissa..." Grinning. "Congratulations. Bring her, and come with me." Two watery eggs on opposite sides of the clutch, silvery Beware the Loch Egg and scaled-seeming Where's My Aquarium? Egg, simultaneously release a blue and a green to totter away from their shells. One mirror-image look up at Elaruth later, and they're off to find their new lifemates with unusual calmness. Meanwhile, though these eggs don't take nearly as long to hatch as they did to lay, Fort isn't taking chances with entertaining its guests, particularly with the weather worsening as it is. Ale's being served to the main tiers, while the dignitaries also have the choice of good red wine to help everyone relax and enjoy the ride. It's just the remaining candidates who'll have to wait.... Dashaya scowls at Atreyan like he's grown another head for all his cursing and makes a face at him, growling at him heatedly, which might be more fire from her that anyone has seen in a while. "I hate you, Atreyan. Go away." But Vanissa's words so close to her whip her head around that way, and a questing hand reaches to snag Jiella, if she's still about to draw her in close. Mine! At're worries less about insulting Dashaya with expletives and more concerned about this-- "Khazioth," Atreya-- no, At're-- puts a hand out to steady himself, against the bronze muzzle in front of him. "Uh. It's. Uh. It's-- uh-- it's--" He's not repeating himself. A hard shake of the head, enough to rattle his brains, and Trey carefully moves to unhook the claw from his hem and lead Khazioth towards "--it's over here," -- the food. "I'm not--" Echo of Maitrey's gab-gab-gab motion and Genefra's face reflects utter horror. "Am I?" Of course she is and she certainly knows that, the horror has to be more for the discovery of this fact by someone else. "I'm not trying to. It's just I'm very excited. This is so, so, so, so I can't even think of what it is that Nissa?" That sentence started out somewhere else entirely, but her attention has caught that declaration of a name among others. "I feel like I'm just going to explode. Or like my legs might just fall off. Have you ever felt like that?" The smooth, blackness and enticing flame-hued halo of the Flirting with Darkness egg shivers, sending sand grains skittering away from its sides, like a volcano about to erupt. All goes still again for a moment but there's a faint, tap-tap-tapping sound and suddenly, the weakness is found and the shell splits with a mighty /crack/ to release its mellow-hued brown occupant.
Mellow, burnished leather, like the finely-worked cover of a rare book, sweeps smoothly across this solidly-built dragonet's body. The lines of his musculature flow together fluidly, though over an angular, blocky frame that speaks of power and strength rather than sinuous agility. Rounded headknobs gleam with honeyed undertones beneath a wash of dark sienna that curls down along his neck and over shoulders, flecked here and there with minute signs of wear, limned in persimmon. Expressive eyes sit high in his head, overarched by deep brow-ridges, conveying a sense of intense scrutiny even when his gaze is only casual. A little gangling in youth, long limbs adopt a sturdy, immovable stance when he is still, but go all 'elbows and knees' when he's in motion. Wide wings, brushed along the edges with inkiness, fade out into the pallor of an ancient scroll, edges curling slightly as if with age. Across his chest and belly, the regularity of a darker stippling effect creates an impression of abstract characters dancing across a page. Repeated at the join of shoulders these markings sidle along his sides and down to the very tip of his long tail. >----------------------------------------------------------------------------<
Merry Mischief Maker Green takes brisk, skipping steps that seem to pull her along on an invisible path marked out just for her. Confident, she moves with a subtle grace marred only by the occasional unsteadiness of the newly-hatched. She pauses on her journey to observe the choices being made around her, curious, studying sibling and their chosen in turn. Oh! Hers is here somewhere. Yes, she should keep going. So, that's what she does, pace picked up again. Nia is watching but since G'dri has Vanissa taken care of, she's heading toward Fort's newest bronzerider. And, oh boy, she's /smiling/. Since At're's already moving, she gestures and glances back over the sands before escorting him, "This way, handsome. Congratulations!" Flame of Truth Brown stumbles a little as his egg lets him go and he gives himself a little shake, knocking free some residual yolky stuff that slides off his shoulders onto the sands with a solid glopping sound. Promptly, this captures the young brown's attention and he hunkers down to sniff at the pile of stuff, rapidly 'frying' on the hot sands. Of course he gives it a cautious taste, makes the draconic equivalent of an 'ew' face and turns away to stare wide-eyed it seems at all the hubbub and motion. For a moment he tucks his head under one wing, overwhelmed. At're offers a brilliant smile up to Nia. "Th-- thank you, beautiful," he has enough of his mind left to stutter out, leading his lifemate-- his lifemate!-- out towards the barracks, perhaps stumbling here or there, keeping one eye at all times on Khazioth. Tilin looks to Nissa, and grins again, "Congratulations!" His attention back to the dragons again, and he watches for a moment, and then his attention is turned to Atreyan at his Impression, but before he can call out another congratulations, a couple of the baby dragons start charging around, and he focuses there, in case he has to dodge at the last minute. Jiella's content to let Dashaya catch her hand if she needs to - especially given this whole thing is beginning to freak her out a little bit. It's going quick, all right - and people are suddenly yelling dragon names and having new names, and the blonde's not /stupid/ but it's hard for her to keep up right now. Anyone would be confused. Breathless, she asks Dash, "Who's /left/?" Vanissa turns to look at G'dri and it's as if she doesn't know the man. Her wide-eyed dazed look barely registers that she's listening. It's a nudge from behind that gets her moving in his wake through the chaos with Liath scrabbling behind, a still-sticky head shoved up under her arm and hastening on her way. Merry Mischief Maker Green halts and sits down, head tilted to one side and eyes closed as though listening intently. Perhaps she hasn't threaded through to the right spot after all. No matter. Eyes open and she gets to her feet, neatly avoids the legs that are suddenly right in front of her like they've been there all along, neck stretched out to let her peer round them at one of her siblings before the rest of her body follows. She stops again, gaze following her brother, and reaches out towards him. Hello, hello, but then she's off on her travels again. The path is clear. Finally, blood! Even if it's only a scratch, just that overexuberant green that leaves her new young rider laughing even while extricating her claws from the white robe's sleeve, it's still enough for visitors to be able to gossip about to their friends. Certainly there's more of a buzz in the galleries, and Cirse has surreptitiously extricated the miniature writing-board she'd brought and started taking notes, right there in front of everyone. T'rev gives her a brief look, a slight smile and keeps up the game face along with the genial patter, examining wineskin seals, answering questions, pointing out candidates and telling their stories. M'try might normally seek more for comforting than accusing, but the first words that come out of his mouth are, "You are." Gab-gab-gabbing. And Genefra asked a question, he knows she did, but his hands over his ears and the slow hesitance to the words mark them as being totally distracted; "I... think... I have... yes." It's a few seconds before he uncovers his ears, a stunned step backward recovered by the time there's a brown muzzle invading his personal space. "Apparently, I have somewhere to be," he informs the redhead when the daze is just clear enough that a big-bright-smile breaks through on the other side. "With Mohraith." M'try's head is going to explode any second now, probably. Flame of Truth Brown doesn't hide out under his own wing for long. A few deep breaths set him to rights and he takes off to explore, nosing first at a cracked shell nearby, then those two still unhatched eggs right there, leaning his head against one as it trembles and shakes. He dance-steps back a couple of paces though as a bit of shell flakes off and goes to bump noses with his green sister, hello! But hey, there's candidates over there and though there's plenty of things to examine on the way, he starts an interested march around the circle of remaining young men and women to check each of them over closely. Explorer Extraordinaire Blue romps through a sand pile, scattering grains in all directions, to nose at the remains of an egg now long hatched. Finding a piece of shell of particular interest, he paws and tugs at the shard, picking it up and tossing it into the air and bouncing along after. In his excitement, the young blue trips over his own unwieldy feet and is sent stumbling and staggering forward right into a knot of candidates. So diverted, his whirling gaze turns up to a young, auburn haired girl with cream skin and all of the sudden, Explorer Extraordinaire Blue finds himself an accomplice to all his grand adventures. Dashaya goes wide-eyed when Trey does in fact, go away, and it's with a lifemate. "Hey, I didn't mean go away like -that-." Not really sounding more than bemused, she settles right up beside her new-found friend. Hi, friend! "Trey, Maitrey. Nissa. All gone. I have no idea, besides you and me." There's still only the one bronze, but finally the last two hatchlings are breaking free of their shells. A warm-colored paw emerges from the Cheer Up Emo Egg and scrambles for footing, while the Is It Watching Me? Egg hatches with more alacrity... but instead it's a cheerful brown whose hide errs more towards gold than bronze, and a vibrant speckled green with thin, strong-looking wings. Cirse's pen picks up speed, the more so as one candidate suddenly scrapes his hands against his robe and turns tail as the young green looks at him too closely, the boy scrambling towards the tiers to try and take refuge with his family. Rivellan laughs. Cirse doesn't move to stop the boy, not even giving him a perplexed look and a shake of the head like T'rev does, those cool dark eyes instead returning their focus to the hatchlings as they find different choices after all: the hatchlings, and Hattie. Right. There's a brown. And Maitrey. And the brown has a name. Maitrey knows his name. M'try? Genefra herself is the one to set to shrieking this time, clapping her hands. "Oh, oh, oh--" Shifting foot to foot, as he's all distracted, and suddenly now she's the distracted one. That other dragonet is definitely not brown. And he definitely doesn't belong to someone else. And then her legs do fall off, or she falls off of them, or somehow they've just gone all gooey jam and she's on her knees with arms flung round this blue. "I am! Oh, I am. I have been. And rumbly, you're supposed to be rumbly, they're supposed to have stuff for rumbly and do you know I--" There's something else that she's traditionally supposed to do here, isn't there? "Nilanth, his name is Nilanth!" Merry Mischief Maker Green Hatchling loops around one of her straggling brothers, winds past a few stray fragments of shell and tries to squeeze between two candidates standing arm in arm. She wiggles a little and they hastily step aside, leaving her free to present herself at the feet of a raven-haired girl with amber eyes, her tail snaking out to wrap gently around one ankle Nia lingers near the barracks after At're's on his way but she really isn't watching him. She's paying attention to the rest of the sands, guiding the attention of new weyrlings barracks-wards as she starts making her way toward M'try and Genefra. "This way, darlings. Oh, they're both /so/ handsome. Lets get them fed and happy." The eggs have all hatched. The circle of candidates is smaller now, patchy with vacancies, from Impression and that singular departure. The dragons' humming is quieter now, though still it shakes the cavern. The sunlight is long gone, with only the glows' dimness left, and at the entrance to the cavern there are drifts of snow that have begun to build up where the sands' heat is not enough. Some of the audience is beginning to pack up their things in hopes of getting to the feast before the line gets too long. There are still dragonets as yet unpaired, though, still futures to be changed. Tilin grins to his fellow Harper at the Impression there, and then Genefra, but then his attention is back on the little dragons again, the ones still searching. He rocks a little on the balls of his feet as he watches, looking maybe even more nervous now that the eggs have all hatched. He's looked at every remaining egg, every bit of fallen shell in his path, bumped noses with a few of his clutchsibs and said hello and paraded along the circle of candidates with keen interest for each one. Now though, the Flame of Truth Brown Hatchling zeroes in on a tall blonde with brown eyes and marches up to her with his eyes focused intently on hers. He's found the One. Hey, that works out all right! M'try doesn't even have to totally abandoned Genefra, though the likelihood that he's /aware/ that she's coming with him is... slim. "'This way, darling,' she says," he echoes with a waver in his voice that's sure never been there before. At least, not since puberty did its thing. A glance finds its way toward the galleries, just a quick one, and his steps shadow closer to Mohraith's on the trek that'll get them away from all those eyes. Where he can sigh relief, yay! Mohraith trundles after M'try, bumping at his heels. He tries, now and again, to nudge his head under the ex-Harper's hand, but he has to stop to do so and then lollop a few steps to catch up. T'rev leans over to listen to another question asked by Holder Gar, nods a few times, his answer not audible above the hubbub in the stands. He looks up though as a gasp goes through the crowd and squints at the activity on the sands. M'try may waver, Genefra warbles like a young bird at springtime. "Coooooming!" She has to make a few tries at standing up again, though, it's trickier than it looks, plus lots of robe-straightening as she does. "Come along, Nilanth," the same voice one would use with a small child. All beaming, she starts in the direction that the assistant weyrlingmaster indicates, going just slow enough that her new friend can keep up. Careening cheerfully behind Genefra, Nilanth is content and comes along with all due biddability -- only here, or there, he weaves out of the way to snuffle through the sand, or passingly whuff at a candidate left behind. Dashaya starts to say sometihng, her eyes watching those brown and blues that still walk about, until the blue impresses, and she's cheering for Genefra, until there's a tail curling around her ankle. Instead of shrieking, she jumps but is suddenly staring into the nose of a green dragon. It's some struggle to speak, even more to breath for a minute. She heaves a deep sigh and straightens her back with remembered pride, only to drop and wrap her arm around the green's neck. "Jhei.. Jheilinth. Her name's Jheilinth! Oh, yes, we'll see everything." Silence reigns in amongst the dignitaries and while Lord Visrain is looking /so/ very pleased all of a sudden, Holder Gar and Holder Fort Sea are ... not. The boy who ran away up into the tiers is being consoled, has a jacket on, borrowed from someone and he and some family members are making their way outside carefully, eyeing the weather with apprehension. It's getting /nasty/ out there. Nia is pleased. Very pleased. But she's always pleased so that might not mean much. Her path is starting again toward Dashaya and her shiny new lifemate. "That's a beautiful name, sweetie," she says, sincere as anything and a beaming smile. "Lets go get her fed before you get to seeing to much, though, huh?" The squalling of young dragonets can still be heard from over the side there where the weyrlingmasters are getting the newly impressed ready to face the howling winds outside for the short walk over to the barracks. Helpful guide ropes have been set up at least, but the storm is promising to be a doozy and to white out the entire Weyr within the half hour. Some of the visitors miiight be stuck here for a while. People are disappearing - well, people are pairing up and being ushered off the sands - and while they are, Jiella is beginning to look less nervous and more touched with a sense of forboding. She will not look up at the stands, and she will not look over at Dashaya and Genefra and everyone else that she knows that's shouting out a name joyfully. There's a certain sense of resignation that's come over the tall blonde after a time - and she's about given into it until-- "You don't know /anything/." Reflexive, hissed between her teeth before she softens and considers; "Orisoth. All right. We'll see." Up in the dignitaries' tiers, Rivellan slams to his feet, shouting. Wine spills, the glass cracks against stone, and then he outright throws the thing towards the sands. There will be more than egg shards to be cleaned up, after this. Cirse doesn't duck, though the remaining wine stitches a red splash across the fine white of her blouse, and it may never come out. "Flint," she says, then gives Rivellan a long look and D'kai a meaningful glance, and leaves T'rev and his wingleader to the soothing and placating and hopefully not yelling. She has her own soothing and sort of placating and hopefully reassuring to do, gathering up the remaining candidates to try and help them manage their disappointment, along with Hattie if the younger weyrwoman is up for it. They can stay, she tells them. They'll have more to say later, she says. There's food to be had, and they'll be... all right. Dashaya blinks a few times before she glances back to Nia and beams, dusting herself off and heading that way. Really. To the food they want. Until she catches the sound of Jiella's voice and perks up. "Congratulations, Jie. Hurry!" And to dine! T'rev's eyes go to Jiella, wide though there's a little ... pleased grin on his face at least, though masked from the holders in the tiers. When he turns back to angry Rivellan, it's with a pleasantly neutral mask on his face. "Sirs, it's gettin' to be a howl out there, why don't we head on across to the caverns, where we can discuss this over drinks, food, someplace quiet." Smoothing over as best he can. Jheilinth stays right by Dashaya's side, close as can be, though that isn't to say that she doesn't peer up and around and round legs in a manner that might make walking a bit of a challenge. Quick, then! Orisoth nuzzles lightly into Jiella's side, looking up at her with absolute adoration and confidence. Then he's looking around, nose scenting for his siblings, for food. /That way/. And his tail curls a little around Jiella. Come with me? Tilin bites his lower lip as things get quieter and quieter, looking around at the few remaining dragons. Worry is starting now, that he'll be left here alone. Still, when his aunt Impresses, he manages to give her a small grin, "Congratulations!" Hearing his grandfather's outraged shout he looks up towards him, then back to the shell-strewn sand. Nia gives the last girl, Jiella, a few moments of space while Dashaya is taken care of but then she's heading that way. Her smile is still all cheerful. "This way," she says, making to escort the pair to the barracks. Oblivious to both the fuss in the stands and around her, Jiella is not really sure what's going on beyond this whole tail-around-her and food-now thing; dazed, she blinks between Orisoth and Nia, nodding a little. "Right." This was not precisely what was planned. Now that the eggs are hatched and there's a much calmer Elaruth to be seen, Hattie dares to step from her queen's side and it's Tilin that she finds in the group of Candidates, gaze darting between the boy and Rivellan. She shakes her head and nods towards the entrance to the Sands. "Come on," she calls, to him and likely to the rest too. "We'll get you kitted-out for the weather, then you can change and there's still a feast to be had, you know." Maybe not much consolation, but she's trying. Lower, to Tilin alone, "Don't worry. Let them deal with it. Give them time." Tilin nods as he glances back up to Hattie, moving to follow after her. His disappointment is obvious, walking slowly after her. He does relax a little at Hattie's quiet last words, nodding a bit again, showing his grandfather's reaction to Jiella's Impression is indeed bothering him some too. "I hope so." Rivellan ... is not having any of this placating business and gets right up in T'rev's face, his own red and his finger stabbing at the young Weyrleader's chest. T'rev tries again, staying calm, though there's telltale signs of tension in his frame. Ultimately it's Visrain's cane coming down hard that makes Rivellan jump and look towards his father-in-law. "I say the girl did a /damn/ fine job and we should get the hell out of here before we get stuck here for a long time. Come on boy. Let's go. Move it!" THere's a relieved look cast from T'rev towards Boll's Lord and then the little crew of Weyrleader and blood moves out into the white to scurry for the caverns before the storm /really/ blocks everyone into their respective caverns for the rest of the night. |
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