Citalth and Morelenth's clutch hatches
Who: Everyone!
When: Afternoon, day 13, month 3, turn 1 of the 7th Pass.
Where: Living Cavern, Hatching Grounds (Galleries View)
What: High Reaches' first clutch of the Pass finally decides to hatch, leaving the Weyr with thirty-three new weyrling pairs.
It is 13:21 on day 13, month 3, turn 1 of the 7th Pass.
It is currently early spring. It's a windy day, the gusts and breezes chilly with humidity. Though the air is still filled with the promising scents of spring, the low temperatures and constant assault by capricious winds will keep many indoors.
You pass through the doorway that leads into the living cavern.
Living Cavern
Large enough to hold the majority of the Weyr's human population, this cavern can become loud enough to deafen thanks to the acoustics caused by its size. The ceiling is so far overhead that it's cast into shadow, a darkness that is broken only by the spark and glitter of a lucky beam of light striking the minerals found in the rock walls. Below, most of the floor is covered with an assortment of long tables and benches. There are some smaller tables, surrounded by chairs, but privacy appears to be a rare thing in this bustling cavern. Large hearths line the west wall, with fires burning day and night to warm the food and drink that keep the Weyr's inhabitants fueled. The serving tables are near the hearth, opposite the dais that holds the single table reserved for the Weyr leadership and honored guests.
This room may be +watched (+help watch).
Contents:
G'thon
Upper Caverns (UC) Lower Caverns (LC) Kitchen (K)
Infirmary (INF) Bowl (B)
The cavern grows quieter as the lunch bustle settles down. Kitchen crew carry dishes away and strip down the serving tables to a mere drinks-and-snacks configuration that will stretch 'til dinner. Service is sparse; the dragonhealers' prediction has held the Weyr in a stasis of prepatory anticipation, stores stocked and the kitchen overstuffed for a celebration everyone knows must come within days. Those who want rest time are having it now, while there's still a chance. G'thon, however, has had enough of resting - he has found a place by a hearth to read and write, a lap-desk fashioned of a plank over his legs, hide atop, charcoal staining fingertips poised in thoughtfulness.
Longer hours spent at study have seen Valandys tardy to meals for several days running now. Her grades have enjoyed that benefit but her stomach certainly hasn't. When the young Igenite bustles into the living cavern from the northern tunnel, she does so with quickened step and a hungry gleam in those black eyes, hurried on by the growling of an empty belly. A sparse selection matters not at all, hunger removing any pickiness she might've suffered otherwise. The servings tables near the hearths are approached, a plate filled- greens, breads and soft cheeses, as seem to be her favorites- and then a survey of available seating is conducted. She has her choice, and she chooses to pass down the line of hearths until she reaches the place occupied by the Weyrleader. Her greeting is hesitant, her smile small and warm. "Beg pardon, Weyrleader, do you mind if I take the little table there behind you?"
G'thon looks up, a flicker of pale dread washing across his face, receding when recognition of the Caucus student - or, at least, the pin which labels her so - settles into place. "Please," he breathes in faintly smiling relief, "Go ahead." His chin dips down again and he finishes off a line with the charcoal, letters spilling onto the hide in a thin spray of black dust. Then he half-rises, holding the whole of board, hide and charcoal with one long palm against his hip, and with the other hand tugs his seat a bit back and turns it so he's not entirely without opportunity to converse with someone sitting at the little table in question, should Valandys become that someone. "Late lunch?"
To be presented with such an expression is enough to give Valandys pause, and reason for concern. Her dark head is cocked to one side, her eyes conducting a less shy study of G'thon's seamed face. "I am sorry to interrupt," she eventually says, voice as quiet as her continued smile. "I thought, maybe... " But what she thought goes unsaid, as the table's been offered and there's a seat to take. She steps past him to place the plate down, a soft clink followed after when she sets the mug liberated on her way above the small meal. "Oh, yes. I had almost forgotten to eat at all," she tells him as she sinks onto the empty chair, hands performing a quick settling and smoothing of her skirts once settled. "Time here, it still seems to move differently for me."
G'thon resettles into his turned chair, replacing the lap desk across his legs. He has a hand free then to wave a dismissal at the young woman's concern, shaking his head briefly. "No, no. Not at all. I had mistaken you for someone else. - It's the daylight, I presume. Or lack of it, more accurately?"
"Someone else?" Although she takes care to give the words the brush of amusement, Valandys comes dangerously close to trying to prompt G'thon for elaboration. Of course, realizing that she's doing this prompts the young woman to shake her head at herself. The slight movement sets her beads to rattling quietly, and causes a fresh smile. "Please, forgive me. It is the daylight I think, yes. But it has been improving with the seasons' turning. I am very eager to see a mountain summer... I have been told there are few things prettier." She takes up the fork resting across the top of her plate and begins to separate the pile of greens into smaller bite-sized portions. "I apologize for not coming to see you, Weyrleader. To bring good wishes for your recovery. Ch'dais has mentioned... mentioned how much there is, needing to be done."
"Indeed," and thusly there will be no elaboration. G'thon takes up his charcoal once more and sketches out another line of text, swift crosses and loops making up the careless letters like someone taking notes in class or composing a to-do list. He doesn't spend long at it, just finishing an apparent thought before setting the whole arrangement aside in a precarious balancing act on the chair's arm. "And nothing more welcome," the Weyrleader smiles, leaning back, crossing his legs at the knee - he can just manage it, a bit gingerly about it. "Don't trouble about visiting. I've been, yes, a bit busy. Not as much as I might like - " his gaze strays, a flicker of a glance out toward the distant entrance that leads into the bowl, into the outside, into the sky. "Ch'dais has mentioned?"
Korinne enters from the bowl outside.
Korinne has arrived.
Valandys' head remains bowed over her plate, that glance seeming to go politely unnoticed. She enjoys a bite of those greens as he speaks, and once he's finished she nods just the tiniest bit while chewing and swallowing- indicating she does intend to reply, truly she does, once it's polite to do so. "There is never enough work to keep the mind entirely quiet," she observes, this time without her trademark smile. Recent memory provides a glaze to her eyes, dulling the diamond sparkle that usually inhabits that darkness. "Ever. But... we make do, yes?" An effort is made to shape her lips into something approaching a happier expression. It becomes more sincere with the repeat of that bronzerider's name. "He has explained some of the difficulties that you and yours face now," she goes on softly. "The honor you gave him." Such a diplomatic phrase.
The Weyrleader sits reposed in an armchair a few paces from a small table with two chairs near a hearth; at that table, Valandys takes lunch. "We have to," G'thon wryly agrees, voice lowspoken as his smile slides away. The discussion of Ch'dais' odd new posting makes him distant for a moment. Then he's attentive again to his companion of chance, nodding at her remark, her meticulous phrasing. "He does the Weyr an honor, actually, to lead in this fashion. It sets well upon him."
"A good man," Valandys echoes in confirmation. "He will do what he has to to support the peace." Her fork has become a restless thing, the tines pushed around the plate in a listless rearrangment of the greens. After a time, she decides to attempt the bread instead. A bit of cheese is crumbled over the slice to prepare it for a bite. "Are such honors typically granted to one as young as he?" The question tastes of curiosity but her eyes have returned to their former intense study of the Weyrleader's face, watchful for the subtle shifts in expression.
Korinne never really passed through before, so this time she's really entering from deeper within the weyr. Skirts held in one hand to keep from gathering more dust than already resides on the hem, the candidate steps lightly into the caverns, eyes darting around in a reflexive check for trouble. But Trouble seems absent today, at least from view, and with a satisfied smile, she begins to maneuver through the tables towards the hearths, seeking refreshment of some kind. So intent on soothing her hunger pangs, indeed, that she fails to note who else shares the room with her.
"Mm. I could wish for more than just commitment to duty - but I appreciate that much." G'thon's shoulders rise and fall, a singular shrug, noncommittal, and he slips his legs free of one another so he can press himself up out of the chair. Behind him, the hide and charcoal and board slide into the seat-cushion. "Such honors, if you'll pardon my saying so, are not typical at all. But for the fact that I remain, he'd have a somewhat different title - and one that would have likely gone to a man more inclined to his own ambitions. Ch'dais led well in 'fall; for what this 'honor' is, I could pick no better." A pause; his bright hazel eyes dully take note of the by-passing of a candidate in skirts, and he murmurs to her, "Good day, candidate. How's the waiting taking you?"
It begins as a low murmur, an earthen rumble which could be mistaken for wind in the high mountains or shifting in the bedrock deep below. Then, as tones mix and voices are added, the sound takes on a more urgent quality, its vibration lent to furniture, stone and eardrums alike. The dragons of High Reaches have begun to hum, to sing the announcement the Weyr has awaited: the hatching begins.
Olliren arrives through the long tunnel that comes from the lower caverns.
Olliren has arrived.
Olliren passes into the tunnel that leads to the bowl.
Olliren has left.
Legarisen arrives through the long tunnel that comes from the lower caverns.
Legarisen has arrived.
Legarisen passes into the tunnel that leads to the bowl.
Legarisen has left.
"Better commitment to duty than simply ambition, I would-" For just a second there is a subtle fire in the student's eyes. Valandys shifts in her chair, seeming uncomfortable. But her retort- defense?- is cut short when a frown casts its shadow over the girl's expression. Uneasy, she glances around. "Is that an earthshake?" Of course, the Holder lass has no experience with the songs of dragons and doesn't recognize the first notes for what it truly is.
Korinne looks startled as she's addressed, one hand going to her throat as she stares at G'thon in consternation. "Ah - it's keeping me on my toes, sir," she offers in breathless reply. "I hope it won't - " And here she cuts off as that sound that she's so waited to hear drums through the soles of her slippers, singing through her bones. "Oh my," she murmurs, turning pale. "Oh - I must go." Bobbing a quick curtsey and an apologetic smile to the man she's failed to recognize, she turns, spying Valandys and offering the other girl only a quick smile and a distracted wave as she rushes after the other Candidates filing through the room on their way to the grounds.
Korinne passes into the tunnel that leads to the bowl.
Korinne has left.
"It's the dragons," G'thon mildly observes, since Korinne didn't manage to properly address the question - and how can she be blamed? The Weyrleader watches the candidate out with a quirked brow and wry light in his shadowed eyes, then turns to Valandys and, plain as day, offers an elbow. "Care to come see it begin?"
It takes a moment for that explanation to process. "I do not... oh!" The bread is dropped and Valandys finds her feet, for once careless enough to wipe her crumb-speckled hand off on the side of her skirts. "Oh, yes!" Such a change, this sudden shift to a mood as bright as the scarves she wears. She sets her hand in the Weyrleader's offered elbows, tucks her other hand over it to secure it in place, and directs a smile borne of sunlight up at him. "This will be my first hatching. Hopefully not my last."
"Hopefully not mine either," G'thon observes with dry, solemn pleasure, and reaches across to pat her fingers briefly before leading out and onward, his gait smoother for either stubbornness or more time healing - still, that stride is short. It will carry him well enough to find the hatching grounds.
G'thon passes into the tunnel that leads to the bowl.
G'thon has left.
You pass through the tunnel that takes you to the bowl.
G'thon ventures down the short tunnel that leads into the hatching grounds.
G'thon has left.
You venture down the short tunnel that leads into the hatching grounds.
Hatching Grounds Entrance
This chamber is simply a crossroads, a place to be travelled through on the way to more glamorous settings. Immediately upon entering, one is faced with a choice: move to the right and enter either the sands or the candidates' waiting room through a set of small doors, or continue straight where a wide flight of stairs leads to the galleries overlooking the sands. Some helpful soul has made the choice easy by stenciling arrows on the plain stone walls. A white arrow urges people on to the galleries. Red arrows indicate that the pair of doors to the right are closed to the public.
Contents:
G'thon
Candidates Chamber (CC) Galleries (G) Sands (S)
Bowl (B)
G'thon passes through the arched doorway that leads onto the sands.
G'thon has left.
You climb the stairs that lead to the galleries.
Hatching Galleries
Countless rows of benches have been carved directly into the rock face of this immense cavern. The stone itself is dark grey and smooth, and warm to the touch due to its proximity to the sands. The galleries follow a curve, extending out on either side of the sands. A black-painted wooden railing that looks sturdy enough to keep the hatchlings away from the people and the people away from the hatchlings separates the two areas. Baskets of glows have been raised on intricately carved poles that line the aisles, ensuring that there is ample light to see by.
Contents:
Issa
Out (O)
From the sands, Legarisen steps out onto the sands from a small cavern off to one side.
From the sands, Legarisen has arrived.
From the sands, Milina steps out onto the sands from a small cavern off to one side.
From the sands, Milina has arrived.
From the sands, Olliren steps out onto the sands from a small cavern off to one side.
From the sands, Olliren has arrived.
From the sands, Korinne steps out onto the sands from a small cavern off to one side.
From the sands, Korinne has arrived.
From the sands, Just how vast the hatching cavern is becomes newly apparent as the candidates flow out in a sea of ritual white. They number almost twice as many as the eggs, though this amounts to a mere fraction of the population of spectators in the stands. A few of the candidates bow to the dragons, but others are frozen in place upon realizing the cause for a collective murmur that rises from the galleries: out there, two of the thirty-three have hatched, spilling forth a bronze and a blue. More eggs are cracking as those early hatchlings bolt awkwardly for the young people who wait robed in white, and the hum of the dragons on the sands, the ledges, and around the Weyr intensifies to a dull roar. It has begun.
From the sands, Veresan steps out onto the sands from a small cavern off to one side.
From the sands, Veresan has arrived.
From the sands, Legarisen turns and bows to the dam and sire before moving out of the way of the following candidates, reaching down he tugs on the robe pulling it down from where it's ridden up as he bowed. The heat from the sands radiates upwards as a bead of sweat starts to form on Legarisen's brow. Joining the other male candidates he slips into their half circle.
From the sands, Milina steps out onto the sands, her stride purposeful as she makes for the forming line of candidates before the eggs. Once close enough she bows to both dame and sire before taking her place in the growing line.
From the sands, Being as how it's the middle of the day, Sinopa is also well made up with combed and styled hair, and her usual fine garments. The younger goldrider's attention is caught by the greeting from the senior, which earns a turn of the head and a smile that borders on a beam on Sinopa's part. "Afternoon, Lexine," she greets brightly, "Anxious to see the lovely new dragons yourself, hm?" she asks, casting another glance to E'sere before her attention is diverted by some motion in the corner of her eye. Turning her head once more, she observes with her dark eyes the entrance of a plethora of candidates.
From the sands, Anaddui steps out onto the sands from a small cavern off to one side.
From the sands, Anaddui has arrived.
From the sands, "Afternoon, Sinopa--Mother," E'sere directs his greetings between the two weyrwomen, relaxed even as his gaze strays to the candidates entering, and--"Two already," he observes. "How quickly it always starts. Well, here's to our future, I suppose."
From the sands, R'vain steps out onto the sands from a small cavern off to one side.
From the sands, R'vain has arrived.
With the galleries rapidly filling with an eager crowd, those spectators that arrive even a few minutes behind will find the best seats already taken. So it is that Valandys, who arrives very late indeed, lingers near the top of the stairs overlooking both galleries and sands. The Caucus student seems content with such placement. She has a decent view, and as she steps just a little to the side, she avoids jostling by those who've entered even after she has.
From the sands, Olliren was told things would be happening fast, and he's barely halfway through the ritual bow before two dragons have already hatched. "A bronze first... a good sign," he murmurs to himself, straightening his back, but leaving himself limber enough to move if the need arises.
From the sands, "Quite," Lexine answers Sinopa with a swift smile, sharp gaze turning on the prospective weyrlings now filing onto the sands. "I can never watch enough of them to see every one of them impress," she admits regretfully, regard turning swiftly to the new dragonets. "Blue and bronze, so close together. What manner of omen that must be." Quieting, she reaches out to give E'sere's shoulder an encouraging squeeze, smile warm.
From the sands, Citalth turns her alert gaze onto the throng of candidates, tilting her head this way and that so that multi-faceted eyes get the best angles and view of the situation. Still humming lowly, the dam proudly regards the beginnings of this hatching event.
Diya climbs the stairs that lead from the entrance below.
Diya has arrived.
From the sands, Anaddui fianlly steps onto the Sands, having caught Olliren's 'good luck' gesture. Gathering her wits, she bows to the queen and her mate, trying not to shake. She slides nervously over to a small group of Candidates and holds her breath.
From the sands, G'thon's entrance is hardly so polished as Lexine's. The Weyrleader's stride, formerly so graceful and well-made, so long-legged and swift, has been shortened to an uneven stumping gait - but he manages the sands well enough, entering from the gallery-side tunnel and working his way around in reasonable time to the far side of the grounds. It's Lexine he's seeking, plainly enough; slow and steady he picks his way to her side.
From the sands, From his sprawled-out place on the sands, Morelenth regards each candidate's bow in apparent fascination, for all he snorts dismissively as they move away. His attention returns to the dragons: obviously the stars of the show, not those little specks of white they pair up with.
From the sands, One of the eggs rocks gently at first, its tempo rising so gradually that it's not even noticeable. However, the spinner's web of cracks creeping down its sides are evident enough as they gradually run the length of the shell and then widen, chunks sliding away as the shell can't hold up under the patient pressure. Finally, somehow, there rises from the fragments a slender, creeping vine green hatchling.
From the sands,
Creeping Vine Green Hatchling
She's more creeper than solid oak: strength flexible, not unyielding.
Willowy green limbs end in earth-brown talons, sharp where the rest of
her is gentle, feminine curves. Her muzzle is narrow, set with large,
intelligent eyes; but her wings are broad, draped with jungle-mist
sails. While most of her body is swathed in rich forested greens, they
are lighter and brighter, like the first young leaves of spring.
Subtle shadow-lines criss-crossing her body give depth to her
verdancy. Though she's not particularly large, her svelte frame
elongates her appearance; don't mistake litheness for delicacy. She
possesses the subtle hardiness of a vine.
Issa sits next to a pair of riders, a bluerider and a brownrider by their knots, quietly observing the beginning minutes of the Hatching, though one of her companions seems to be keeping a running tally. "Bronze, blue," he murmers. Issa herself, fairly lounges, taking up a spot next to her that could easily make another seat for someone else. But she doesn't really pay attention to all that. Her eyes swing across the sands, locating those candidates that she and her Oshisyth picked out. "Green," the brownrider cites, and Issa's expression shifts to a slight smile.
From the sands, Legarisen watched as a green makes it's appearance on the sands, nodding to himself he shows little interest in the hatchling though is smart enough to keep an eye on it in case it should decide to come charging his way. He has no desire to become a stepping stone for any hatchling that might decide he's in the way.
From the sands, "All right, ladies," R'vain murmurs-- and how his murmuring is heard over the chaos and the rumbling of the crowd up there in the stands, the oohs and aahs for those early hatchlings and the one impression already made, who can say. "Get close to me, and stay here - I'll be on and off a lot. Remember what I said." He seems almost kind in his condescending way, as if speaking to the young women constitutes teaching dear children; and there's not much of the scent of alcohol about him just now, better's the luck. "Try not to shriek or flail or wet yourselves." Then he's tromping off to assist that first blue pair toward food and rest.
From the sands, Milina looks over to the newest arrival in the candidate line and holds out a hand for Anaddui "Just relax, remember I'll be right here to help you move out of the way should a hatchling charge us." the older girl offers with a small smile. The hatching of green turns her eyes to the young dragon "Look there's a pretty green, sturdy and all that."
From the sands, Anaddui gasps as an egg hatches near her. The green that emerges is so achingly beautiful, Ana is caught by the colours and forgets to be afraid for a moment. SHe grabs Milina's hand and nods to her friend. The green hardly seems dangerous. Yet.
From the sands, Korinne enters with the rest, pausing only to do her duty to dam and sire, bowing low before she joins the other women, clasping her hands before her. As the hatchlings begin to emerge in quick succession, she swallows, eyes darting briefly to Veresan before returning to the sands, keeping a careful eye on each new hatchling.
From the sands, Lexine's attention is fixed on the dragonets beginning to burst into the world, gaze flickering from one to another without focusing on any in particular. In the midst of her scan of the sands, she catches sight of the former Weyrleader, a gentle, surprisingly warm smile crinkling the corners of her eyes as she offers an arm out to him upon his arrival, only to stand as a pair, of course.
From the sands, Olliren keeps his gaze swiveling from unimpressed dragon to unimpressed dragon, ignoring a bit of sweat trickling down the side of his face, the heat on his feet.
Quiet, more lurking than the presence she tends to like to project, Diya slips in from the stairs, taking a seat just behind Issa and her companions. Low words are spared those nearest of greeting and small talk before the woman reaches out to try and tap the greenrider's shoulder. "Bronze, blue, green thus far?" Dark eyes stray to the sands taking in the green just hatched and considers. "Green."
From the sands, Veresan shuffles onto the sands late in the massive sea of white-robed boys, fixing a halt once it's obvious there's already dragons out there. Expressions of surprise, then mild sullenness - 'it figures,' perhaps - cross his face.
From the sands, The creeping vine green hatchling rests within the remains of her shell, unable to be hurried from that position. Instead, she takes a few moments to regard the other forms there with her: elder dragons and humans. Only when she's surveyed the group does she set out, one measured step at a time.
From the sands, There, off to one edge of the sands, nearly hidden by the shadow of the curve of the balconies, an egg hatches, tumbling its occupant into the softness of the heated sands. It isn't until his somersault out of the bottom half of his egg rolls him into the light that he uncurls himself into a lanky, awkward shadows and firelight brown hatchling, the light that catches his hide making him seem to flash into being out of nowhere.
From the sands,
Shadows and Firelight Brown Hatchling
A flickering vision of light and shadow, the sleek outlines of this
long and narrow brown seem to shift with a change in the light or a
lithe motion. His base color is dark, a rich shadowed brown as deep
and impenetrable as the inner bowels of the earth, giving over to
shadows at sharp talons, the blunted end of his snout, bony elbows,
and the tip of a whip-thin tail. He would be unremarkable, were it not
for the flickers of brightness that trace his outline in marked
chevrons of lighter shading, ruddy brightness giving the impression of
flickering firelight in the darkness. Along the line of his 'ridges
they fly, lighting the curves of wiry musculature from narrow
shoulders to slender hips before the color bursts into flame on the
undersides of his wingsails, flickers of russet and amber fairly
shimmering with brightness, only to disappear again into the darkness
with a folding of his wings.
From the sands, E'sere glances sideways as G'thon joins them, offering the Weyrleader a nod and a quiet 'Sir.' Then, attention is called back to the sands and Morelenth's first daughter, whom he regards a moment before moving on to the next brown. "Looks like it might be a nice color spread," he remarks idly after a moment.
Issa turns to glance up at the signalling tap, grinning when she sees her old mentor, Diya. "Yup, bronze and blue, then a green, I think another blue and a brown over at the far end now," Issa replies, squinting through the haze of white robes and the heat of the sands. "How have you been, Diya?" The question is posed somewhat distractedly, but understandably so.
From the sands, Anaddui tries not to be afraid as the green makes her move. Her grip on Milina's hand tightens as yet another egg hatches. Trying not to flinch, or flail, her bladder is obeying her also. "Milina, there's so many..." She says in wonderment.
From the sands, Sinopa takes the barest note of G'thon's arrival to the grouping of weyrwomen and bronzeriders that has begun to form out on the sands. The young goldrider is far more concerned with observing the events, craning her neck now and then in a vague imitation of her dragon's own alert observations. "Very nice spread," she murmurs in agreement. "All quick to hatch and healthy," she adds, sentences mostly unformed and brief due to her attention being elsewhere.
From the sands, Legarisen keeps one wary eye on the hatchlings as he tries to readjust his robe so that it's a little less uncomfortable and the heat from the sands doesn't roast parts that require no excess heating, out of the corner of his eye he spots the newly hatched brown. "Another one to keep an eye on.." is spoken to a candidate next to him. Legarisen moves a little off to one side still tugging at his robe.
From the sands, The creeping vine green hatchling's first move is toward the boys, gathered together on one side. She methodically starts at one end of the line, moving gradually down it as she dismisses the first few candidate to receive her scrutiny in turn.
From the sands, Milina squeezes the hands that's in her own, though her eyes rarely leave the hatchlings and the eggs "That greens heading out and look there's a brown now too." Her wariness about being out here again seems to have vanished now that things are starting to happen.
From the sands, Another shake of his wings and the shadows and firelight brown folds them closed, once again an unremarkable little brown dragon. Carefully, he lifts one foot, inspecting it thoroughly, before he tries the same manuever with the other. At the same time. The hop is less than productive, sending him onto his chin, but the exercise seems to have helped with his understanding of the whole walking trick. Once he's up on his feet again, he tries to move one foot at a time, giving another chin-banging bounce of excitement when it works.
From the sands, Olliren takes a step back and to the side to keep a better view of each one of the hatchlings, since his view is suddenly impeded by another candidate who's taller than him getting in his way. His jaw tightens at a murmured comment nearby, and he nods curtly. "You make a wonderful window," he answers to the taller candidate, who grins nervously and moves a little bit aside to give the others an easier view.
From the sands, G'thon, along the way to his end destination, happens by a stray blue hatchling who's cornered - and a moment later impressed - a young man out of Nabol. The Weyrleader pauses to discharge the duty of directing the half-panicking new pair off toward R'vain. Then he finds a place near Lexine and exhales a wearied sigh, the trip around the large cavern taking some energy out of him.
From the sands, Some eggs explode, some split neatly in half. Others, like the one home to a dark, compact little green, are slowly chipped away. It grants her a more dignified entrance into the world, or would have had she not gotten her shoulders caught the first time she bobbed head and neck out of the carefully chiseled hole. After withdrawing to chip away a little more, she shifts her weight to tip the egg over and slip sinuously out onto the sands, surveying the offerings arrayed for her, a hunter in the darkness green.
From the sands,
Hunter in the Darkness Green Hatchling
She's built for prowling, this strong and confident hatchling. The
base hue of her hide is the dark of a jungle canopy, casting shadows
along her sleek form. That deep shade works its way from the tip of
her blunt muzzle and blocky head, down a neck that verges more towards
muscular than lean. Only when it reaches her shoulders and the broad
canvas of her wings does it find itself interrupted. Streaks of
yellow-green appear, sun-bleached stripes that curve around her barrel
and spread in pools of goldrenrod along her belly. That paler
coloration continues between the jade of her spars, the 'sails stamped
with the geometric shapes of a bamboo forest. Shortened limbs and the
end of her tail reclaim the darker hues, ending in midnight-dark
talons and a tail-tip capped in velvety black.
The distraction is shared, the older woman apparently finding it difficult to veer her gaze away from the sands, but when she does so, dark eyes rest on her once protege in bemused warmth. "Auspicious beginning. I'm sure," Diya's expression sets smoothly, "Sinopa and E'sere are pleased." From her seat, another quick glance across the sands spares her the view of the arriving Weyrleaders, a slight narrowing setting off her study of Lexine in an inscrutable manner. "Well, as well as most people can be. If the timing of the hatching were just a few sevendays prior-, well, in any case, it's something to celebrate."
From the sands, Korinne's freckles stand out in stark relief against her pale cheeks, and her lips tremble slightly, but other than that, she shows no signs of the nervousness that envelops her. Shifting her feet against the heat of the sands, she unclasps her hands, then reclasps them, seeming almost to twitch as she tries to keep her eyes on each hatchling present, wary of sudden moves.
From the sands, R'vain has his hands full, even with help from the Weyrleader. Around the sands, eggs rock and split, spilling young dragons of all kinds - awkward, gangly, graceful, irate - and in due time they find their pairings, and must be led or directed toward food and rest. The Weyrlingmaster hasn't even time enough to pat down his jacket to be sure his flask's within, never mind nab a nip-- but there's an odd contentment about him, a serenity within chaos.
From the sands, Lexine slips an arm unobtrusively through G'thon's when he reaches her side, a silent offer of support. Her other hand reaches over to give his a squeeze, though her gaze remains trained on the hatchlings hunting the sands, a bemused smile quirking as one little bronze pauses in his zip around to inspect the riders gathered there before moving on.
From the sands, Anaddui ooos with delight, forgetting her fear as yet another egg explodes, dislodging another green. Is Ana being stalked yet by the Huntress? NOt yet, it seems, but she's keeping a wary eye out and does not relinquish her hand from Milina's.
From the sands, Legarisen doesn't know which way to turn now, hatchlings are emerging from eggs on each side depositing more onto the sands quicker than the last. This is going to be tricky, not getting run over by over eager hatchlings searching for their future rider.
From the sands, Milina raises a brow at the newest green, turning her head a little to one side to speak to Anaddui "That one looks a little dangerous, a huntress or something."
From the sands, The shadows and firelight brown, still quite pleased with his discovery of walking, soon finds himself getting bored with the mundane task. After all, it takes such a long time to get to all of the options on the sands, and- Shardit, he was just about to check that one out! His indignance at being beaten by a swifter blue is nearly tangible, eyes swirling red for a moment before he discovers that walking can be done in a much swifter fashion. With that revelation comes a complete change in tactics as the little brown begins to hurry past the others at a potentially breakneck speed. Must beat the rest to see all the choices!
A celebration, indeed, as a pair of holders from Nabol cheer as one of their own Impresses to a blue. Issa spares them a glance, but no more than that, shifting in her seat so that she can converse with the goldrider, without compromising her view of the sands. "Talking of G... G'thon?" she asks, her hesitation momentary as she opts for the riding name. As her gaze sweeps over the weyrleading pair, she adds, "It must be difficult. Can't imagine how he's still standing out there."
From the sands, "Oh shards look out for that brown, he's moving fast and I don't know how good at stopping he'll be" Legarisen warns the candidates on either side of him as he prepares to move to one side or the other depending on where the hatchling heads towards.
From the sands, Olliren eyeballs that brown rather warily. "On your toes," he mutters to the nearest boys as the brown starts to get a move on. He spares a glance toward the girls, but it's not a very long one, apparently intending not to become a dragon's favorite rug.
From the sands, The creeping vine green hatchling is in no hurry, her whirling eyes flicking over the nearest-by candidates in serene consideration. Patiently she waits for the right one to present itself, and then, after having examined all those young men in turn, slides away to the girls gathered off to the side. There she hunches down to peer up into the face of her chosen: Anaddui.
From the sands, Anaddui gasps at the meeting of minds and the hunger she feels. She clasps the green's head to her chest, crying with joy. "Let's get you something to eat, Aurenth." She says, looking for R'vain.
The log is continued here.
When: Afternoon, day 13, month 3, turn 1 of the 7th Pass.
Where: Living Cavern, Hatching Grounds (Galleries View)
What: High Reaches' first clutch of the Pass finally decides to hatch, leaving the Weyr with thirty-three new weyrling pairs.
It is 13:21 on day 13, month 3, turn 1 of the 7th Pass.
It is currently early spring. It's a windy day, the gusts and breezes chilly with humidity. Though the air is still filled with the promising scents of spring, the low temperatures and constant assault by capricious winds will keep many indoors.
You pass through the doorway that leads into the living cavern.
Living Cavern
Large enough to hold the majority of the Weyr's human population, this cavern can become loud enough to deafen thanks to the acoustics caused by its size. The ceiling is so far overhead that it's cast into shadow, a darkness that is broken only by the spark and glitter of a lucky beam of light striking the minerals found in the rock walls. Below, most of the floor is covered with an assortment of long tables and benches. There are some smaller tables, surrounded by chairs, but privacy appears to be a rare thing in this bustling cavern. Large hearths line the west wall, with fires burning day and night to warm the food and drink that keep the Weyr's inhabitants fueled. The serving tables are near the hearth, opposite the dais that holds the single table reserved for the Weyr leadership and honored guests.
This room may be +watched (+help watch).
Contents:
G'thon
Upper Caverns (UC) Lower Caverns (LC) Kitchen (K)
Infirmary (INF) Bowl (B)
The cavern grows quieter as the lunch bustle settles down. Kitchen crew carry dishes away and strip down the serving tables to a mere drinks-and-snacks configuration that will stretch 'til dinner. Service is sparse; the dragonhealers' prediction has held the Weyr in a stasis of prepatory anticipation, stores stocked and the kitchen overstuffed for a celebration everyone knows must come within days. Those who want rest time are having it now, while there's still a chance. G'thon, however, has had enough of resting - he has found a place by a hearth to read and write, a lap-desk fashioned of a plank over his legs, hide atop, charcoal staining fingertips poised in thoughtfulness.
Longer hours spent at study have seen Valandys tardy to meals for several days running now. Her grades have enjoyed that benefit but her stomach certainly hasn't. When the young Igenite bustles into the living cavern from the northern tunnel, she does so with quickened step and a hungry gleam in those black eyes, hurried on by the growling of an empty belly. A sparse selection matters not at all, hunger removing any pickiness she might've suffered otherwise. The servings tables near the hearths are approached, a plate filled- greens, breads and soft cheeses, as seem to be her favorites- and then a survey of available seating is conducted. She has her choice, and she chooses to pass down the line of hearths until she reaches the place occupied by the Weyrleader. Her greeting is hesitant, her smile small and warm. "Beg pardon, Weyrleader, do you mind if I take the little table there behind you?"
G'thon looks up, a flicker of pale dread washing across his face, receding when recognition of the Caucus student - or, at least, the pin which labels her so - settles into place. "Please," he breathes in faintly smiling relief, "Go ahead." His chin dips down again and he finishes off a line with the charcoal, letters spilling onto the hide in a thin spray of black dust. Then he half-rises, holding the whole of board, hide and charcoal with one long palm against his hip, and with the other hand tugs his seat a bit back and turns it so he's not entirely without opportunity to converse with someone sitting at the little table in question, should Valandys become that someone. "Late lunch?"
To be presented with such an expression is enough to give Valandys pause, and reason for concern. Her dark head is cocked to one side, her eyes conducting a less shy study of G'thon's seamed face. "I am sorry to interrupt," she eventually says, voice as quiet as her continued smile. "I thought, maybe... " But what she thought goes unsaid, as the table's been offered and there's a seat to take. She steps past him to place the plate down, a soft clink followed after when she sets the mug liberated on her way above the small meal. "Oh, yes. I had almost forgotten to eat at all," she tells him as she sinks onto the empty chair, hands performing a quick settling and smoothing of her skirts once settled. "Time here, it still seems to move differently for me."
G'thon resettles into his turned chair, replacing the lap desk across his legs. He has a hand free then to wave a dismissal at the young woman's concern, shaking his head briefly. "No, no. Not at all. I had mistaken you for someone else. - It's the daylight, I presume. Or lack of it, more accurately?"
"Someone else?" Although she takes care to give the words the brush of amusement, Valandys comes dangerously close to trying to prompt G'thon for elaboration. Of course, realizing that she's doing this prompts the young woman to shake her head at herself. The slight movement sets her beads to rattling quietly, and causes a fresh smile. "Please, forgive me. It is the daylight I think, yes. But it has been improving with the seasons' turning. I am very eager to see a mountain summer... I have been told there are few things prettier." She takes up the fork resting across the top of her plate and begins to separate the pile of greens into smaller bite-sized portions. "I apologize for not coming to see you, Weyrleader. To bring good wishes for your recovery. Ch'dais has mentioned... mentioned how much there is, needing to be done."
"Indeed," and thusly there will be no elaboration. G'thon takes up his charcoal once more and sketches out another line of text, swift crosses and loops making up the careless letters like someone taking notes in class or composing a to-do list. He doesn't spend long at it, just finishing an apparent thought before setting the whole arrangement aside in a precarious balancing act on the chair's arm. "And nothing more welcome," the Weyrleader smiles, leaning back, crossing his legs at the knee - he can just manage it, a bit gingerly about it. "Don't trouble about visiting. I've been, yes, a bit busy. Not as much as I might like - " his gaze strays, a flicker of a glance out toward the distant entrance that leads into the bowl, into the outside, into the sky. "Ch'dais has mentioned?"
Korinne enters from the bowl outside.
Korinne has arrived.
Valandys' head remains bowed over her plate, that glance seeming to go politely unnoticed. She enjoys a bite of those greens as he speaks, and once he's finished she nods just the tiniest bit while chewing and swallowing- indicating she does intend to reply, truly she does, once it's polite to do so. "There is never enough work to keep the mind entirely quiet," she observes, this time without her trademark smile. Recent memory provides a glaze to her eyes, dulling the diamond sparkle that usually inhabits that darkness. "Ever. But... we make do, yes?" An effort is made to shape her lips into something approaching a happier expression. It becomes more sincere with the repeat of that bronzerider's name. "He has explained some of the difficulties that you and yours face now," she goes on softly. "The honor you gave him." Such a diplomatic phrase.
The Weyrleader sits reposed in an armchair a few paces from a small table with two chairs near a hearth; at that table, Valandys takes lunch. "We have to," G'thon wryly agrees, voice lowspoken as his smile slides away. The discussion of Ch'dais' odd new posting makes him distant for a moment. Then he's attentive again to his companion of chance, nodding at her remark, her meticulous phrasing. "He does the Weyr an honor, actually, to lead in this fashion. It sets well upon him."
"A good man," Valandys echoes in confirmation. "He will do what he has to to support the peace." Her fork has become a restless thing, the tines pushed around the plate in a listless rearrangment of the greens. After a time, she decides to attempt the bread instead. A bit of cheese is crumbled over the slice to prepare it for a bite. "Are such honors typically granted to one as young as he?" The question tastes of curiosity but her eyes have returned to their former intense study of the Weyrleader's face, watchful for the subtle shifts in expression.
Korinne never really passed through before, so this time she's really entering from deeper within the weyr. Skirts held in one hand to keep from gathering more dust than already resides on the hem, the candidate steps lightly into the caverns, eyes darting around in a reflexive check for trouble. But Trouble seems absent today, at least from view, and with a satisfied smile, she begins to maneuver through the tables towards the hearths, seeking refreshment of some kind. So intent on soothing her hunger pangs, indeed, that she fails to note who else shares the room with her.
"Mm. I could wish for more than just commitment to duty - but I appreciate that much." G'thon's shoulders rise and fall, a singular shrug, noncommittal, and he slips his legs free of one another so he can press himself up out of the chair. Behind him, the hide and charcoal and board slide into the seat-cushion. "Such honors, if you'll pardon my saying so, are not typical at all. But for the fact that I remain, he'd have a somewhat different title - and one that would have likely gone to a man more inclined to his own ambitions. Ch'dais led well in 'fall; for what this 'honor' is, I could pick no better." A pause; his bright hazel eyes dully take note of the by-passing of a candidate in skirts, and he murmurs to her, "Good day, candidate. How's the waiting taking you?"
It begins as a low murmur, an earthen rumble which could be mistaken for wind in the high mountains or shifting in the bedrock deep below. Then, as tones mix and voices are added, the sound takes on a more urgent quality, its vibration lent to furniture, stone and eardrums alike. The dragons of High Reaches have begun to hum, to sing the announcement the Weyr has awaited: the hatching begins.
Olliren arrives through the long tunnel that comes from the lower caverns.
Olliren has arrived.
Olliren passes into the tunnel that leads to the bowl.
Olliren has left.
Legarisen arrives through the long tunnel that comes from the lower caverns.
Legarisen has arrived.
Legarisen passes into the tunnel that leads to the bowl.
Legarisen has left.
"Better commitment to duty than simply ambition, I would-" For just a second there is a subtle fire in the student's eyes. Valandys shifts in her chair, seeming uncomfortable. But her retort- defense?- is cut short when a frown casts its shadow over the girl's expression. Uneasy, she glances around. "Is that an earthshake?" Of course, the Holder lass has no experience with the songs of dragons and doesn't recognize the first notes for what it truly is.
Korinne looks startled as she's addressed, one hand going to her throat as she stares at G'thon in consternation. "Ah - it's keeping me on my toes, sir," she offers in breathless reply. "I hope it won't - " And here she cuts off as that sound that she's so waited to hear drums through the soles of her slippers, singing through her bones. "Oh my," she murmurs, turning pale. "Oh - I must go." Bobbing a quick curtsey and an apologetic smile to the man she's failed to recognize, she turns, spying Valandys and offering the other girl only a quick smile and a distracted wave as she rushes after the other Candidates filing through the room on their way to the grounds.
Korinne passes into the tunnel that leads to the bowl.
Korinne has left.
"It's the dragons," G'thon mildly observes, since Korinne didn't manage to properly address the question - and how can she be blamed? The Weyrleader watches the candidate out with a quirked brow and wry light in his shadowed eyes, then turns to Valandys and, plain as day, offers an elbow. "Care to come see it begin?"
It takes a moment for that explanation to process. "I do not... oh!" The bread is dropped and Valandys finds her feet, for once careless enough to wipe her crumb-speckled hand off on the side of her skirts. "Oh, yes!" Such a change, this sudden shift to a mood as bright as the scarves she wears. She sets her hand in the Weyrleader's offered elbows, tucks her other hand over it to secure it in place, and directs a smile borne of sunlight up at him. "This will be my first hatching. Hopefully not my last."
"Hopefully not mine either," G'thon observes with dry, solemn pleasure, and reaches across to pat her fingers briefly before leading out and onward, his gait smoother for either stubbornness or more time healing - still, that stride is short. It will carry him well enough to find the hatching grounds.
G'thon passes into the tunnel that leads to the bowl.
G'thon has left.
You pass through the tunnel that takes you to the bowl.
G'thon ventures down the short tunnel that leads into the hatching grounds.
G'thon has left.
You venture down the short tunnel that leads into the hatching grounds.
Hatching Grounds Entrance
This chamber is simply a crossroads, a place to be travelled through on the way to more glamorous settings. Immediately upon entering, one is faced with a choice: move to the right and enter either the sands or the candidates' waiting room through a set of small doors, or continue straight where a wide flight of stairs leads to the galleries overlooking the sands. Some helpful soul has made the choice easy by stenciling arrows on the plain stone walls. A white arrow urges people on to the galleries. Red arrows indicate that the pair of doors to the right are closed to the public.
Contents:
G'thon
Candidates Chamber (CC) Galleries (G) Sands (S)
Bowl (B)
G'thon passes through the arched doorway that leads onto the sands.
G'thon has left.
You climb the stairs that lead to the galleries.
Hatching Galleries
Countless rows of benches have been carved directly into the rock face of this immense cavern. The stone itself is dark grey and smooth, and warm to the touch due to its proximity to the sands. The galleries follow a curve, extending out on either side of the sands. A black-painted wooden railing that looks sturdy enough to keep the hatchlings away from the people and the people away from the hatchlings separates the two areas. Baskets of glows have been raised on intricately carved poles that line the aisles, ensuring that there is ample light to see by.
Contents:
Issa
Out (O)
From the sands, Legarisen steps out onto the sands from a small cavern off to one side.
From the sands, Legarisen has arrived.
From the sands, Milina steps out onto the sands from a small cavern off to one side.
From the sands, Milina has arrived.
From the sands, Olliren steps out onto the sands from a small cavern off to one side.
From the sands, Olliren has arrived.
From the sands, Korinne steps out onto the sands from a small cavern off to one side.
From the sands, Korinne has arrived.
From the sands, Just how vast the hatching cavern is becomes newly apparent as the candidates flow out in a sea of ritual white. They number almost twice as many as the eggs, though this amounts to a mere fraction of the population of spectators in the stands. A few of the candidates bow to the dragons, but others are frozen in place upon realizing the cause for a collective murmur that rises from the galleries: out there, two of the thirty-three have hatched, spilling forth a bronze and a blue. More eggs are cracking as those early hatchlings bolt awkwardly for the young people who wait robed in white, and the hum of the dragons on the sands, the ledges, and around the Weyr intensifies to a dull roar. It has begun.
From the sands, Veresan steps out onto the sands from a small cavern off to one side.
From the sands, Veresan has arrived.
From the sands, Legarisen turns and bows to the dam and sire before moving out of the way of the following candidates, reaching down he tugs on the robe pulling it down from where it's ridden up as he bowed. The heat from the sands radiates upwards as a bead of sweat starts to form on Legarisen's brow. Joining the other male candidates he slips into their half circle.
From the sands, Milina steps out onto the sands, her stride purposeful as she makes for the forming line of candidates before the eggs. Once close enough she bows to both dame and sire before taking her place in the growing line.
From the sands, Being as how it's the middle of the day, Sinopa is also well made up with combed and styled hair, and her usual fine garments. The younger goldrider's attention is caught by the greeting from the senior, which earns a turn of the head and a smile that borders on a beam on Sinopa's part. "Afternoon, Lexine," she greets brightly, "Anxious to see the lovely new dragons yourself, hm?" she asks, casting another glance to E'sere before her attention is diverted by some motion in the corner of her eye. Turning her head once more, she observes with her dark eyes the entrance of a plethora of candidates.
From the sands, Anaddui steps out onto the sands from a small cavern off to one side.
From the sands, Anaddui has arrived.
From the sands, "Afternoon, Sinopa--Mother," E'sere directs his greetings between the two weyrwomen, relaxed even as his gaze strays to the candidates entering, and--"Two already," he observes. "How quickly it always starts. Well, here's to our future, I suppose."
From the sands, R'vain steps out onto the sands from a small cavern off to one side.
From the sands, R'vain has arrived.
With the galleries rapidly filling with an eager crowd, those spectators that arrive even a few minutes behind will find the best seats already taken. So it is that Valandys, who arrives very late indeed, lingers near the top of the stairs overlooking both galleries and sands. The Caucus student seems content with such placement. She has a decent view, and as she steps just a little to the side, she avoids jostling by those who've entered even after she has.
From the sands, Olliren was told things would be happening fast, and he's barely halfway through the ritual bow before two dragons have already hatched. "A bronze first... a good sign," he murmurs to himself, straightening his back, but leaving himself limber enough to move if the need arises.
From the sands, "Quite," Lexine answers Sinopa with a swift smile, sharp gaze turning on the prospective weyrlings now filing onto the sands. "I can never watch enough of them to see every one of them impress," she admits regretfully, regard turning swiftly to the new dragonets. "Blue and bronze, so close together. What manner of omen that must be." Quieting, she reaches out to give E'sere's shoulder an encouraging squeeze, smile warm.
From the sands, Citalth turns her alert gaze onto the throng of candidates, tilting her head this way and that so that multi-faceted eyes get the best angles and view of the situation. Still humming lowly, the dam proudly regards the beginnings of this hatching event.
Diya climbs the stairs that lead from the entrance below.
Diya has arrived.
From the sands, Anaddui fianlly steps onto the Sands, having caught Olliren's 'good luck' gesture. Gathering her wits, she bows to the queen and her mate, trying not to shake. She slides nervously over to a small group of Candidates and holds her breath.
From the sands, G'thon's entrance is hardly so polished as Lexine's. The Weyrleader's stride, formerly so graceful and well-made, so long-legged and swift, has been shortened to an uneven stumping gait - but he manages the sands well enough, entering from the gallery-side tunnel and working his way around in reasonable time to the far side of the grounds. It's Lexine he's seeking, plainly enough; slow and steady he picks his way to her side.
From the sands, From his sprawled-out place on the sands, Morelenth regards each candidate's bow in apparent fascination, for all he snorts dismissively as they move away. His attention returns to the dragons: obviously the stars of the show, not those little specks of white they pair up with.
From the sands, One of the eggs rocks gently at first, its tempo rising so gradually that it's not even noticeable. However, the spinner's web of cracks creeping down its sides are evident enough as they gradually run the length of the shell and then widen, chunks sliding away as the shell can't hold up under the patient pressure. Finally, somehow, there rises from the fragments a slender, creeping vine green hatchling.
From the sands,
Creeping Vine Green Hatchling
She's more creeper than solid oak: strength flexible, not unyielding.
Willowy green limbs end in earth-brown talons, sharp where the rest of
her is gentle, feminine curves. Her muzzle is narrow, set with large,
intelligent eyes; but her wings are broad, draped with jungle-mist
sails. While most of her body is swathed in rich forested greens, they
are lighter and brighter, like the first young leaves of spring.
Subtle shadow-lines criss-crossing her body give depth to her
verdancy. Though she's not particularly large, her svelte frame
elongates her appearance; don't mistake litheness for delicacy. She
possesses the subtle hardiness of a vine.
Issa sits next to a pair of riders, a bluerider and a brownrider by their knots, quietly observing the beginning minutes of the Hatching, though one of her companions seems to be keeping a running tally. "Bronze, blue," he murmers. Issa herself, fairly lounges, taking up a spot next to her that could easily make another seat for someone else. But she doesn't really pay attention to all that. Her eyes swing across the sands, locating those candidates that she and her Oshisyth picked out. "Green," the brownrider cites, and Issa's expression shifts to a slight smile.
From the sands, Legarisen watched as a green makes it's appearance on the sands, nodding to himself he shows little interest in the hatchling though is smart enough to keep an eye on it in case it should decide to come charging his way. He has no desire to become a stepping stone for any hatchling that might decide he's in the way.
From the sands, "All right, ladies," R'vain murmurs-- and how his murmuring is heard over the chaos and the rumbling of the crowd up there in the stands, the oohs and aahs for those early hatchlings and the one impression already made, who can say. "Get close to me, and stay here - I'll be on and off a lot. Remember what I said." He seems almost kind in his condescending way, as if speaking to the young women constitutes teaching dear children; and there's not much of the scent of alcohol about him just now, better's the luck. "Try not to shriek or flail or wet yourselves." Then he's tromping off to assist that first blue pair toward food and rest.
From the sands, Milina looks over to the newest arrival in the candidate line and holds out a hand for Anaddui "Just relax, remember I'll be right here to help you move out of the way should a hatchling charge us." the older girl offers with a small smile. The hatching of green turns her eyes to the young dragon "Look there's a pretty green, sturdy and all that."
From the sands, Anaddui gasps as an egg hatches near her. The green that emerges is so achingly beautiful, Ana is caught by the colours and forgets to be afraid for a moment. SHe grabs Milina's hand and nods to her friend. The green hardly seems dangerous. Yet.
From the sands, Korinne enters with the rest, pausing only to do her duty to dam and sire, bowing low before she joins the other women, clasping her hands before her. As the hatchlings begin to emerge in quick succession, she swallows, eyes darting briefly to Veresan before returning to the sands, keeping a careful eye on each new hatchling.
From the sands, Lexine's attention is fixed on the dragonets beginning to burst into the world, gaze flickering from one to another without focusing on any in particular. In the midst of her scan of the sands, she catches sight of the former Weyrleader, a gentle, surprisingly warm smile crinkling the corners of her eyes as she offers an arm out to him upon his arrival, only to stand as a pair, of course.
From the sands, Olliren keeps his gaze swiveling from unimpressed dragon to unimpressed dragon, ignoring a bit of sweat trickling down the side of his face, the heat on his feet.
Quiet, more lurking than the presence she tends to like to project, Diya slips in from the stairs, taking a seat just behind Issa and her companions. Low words are spared those nearest of greeting and small talk before the woman reaches out to try and tap the greenrider's shoulder. "Bronze, blue, green thus far?" Dark eyes stray to the sands taking in the green just hatched and considers. "Green."
From the sands, Veresan shuffles onto the sands late in the massive sea of white-robed boys, fixing a halt once it's obvious there's already dragons out there. Expressions of surprise, then mild sullenness - 'it figures,' perhaps - cross his face.
From the sands, The creeping vine green hatchling rests within the remains of her shell, unable to be hurried from that position. Instead, she takes a few moments to regard the other forms there with her: elder dragons and humans. Only when she's surveyed the group does she set out, one measured step at a time.
From the sands, There, off to one edge of the sands, nearly hidden by the shadow of the curve of the balconies, an egg hatches, tumbling its occupant into the softness of the heated sands. It isn't until his somersault out of the bottom half of his egg rolls him into the light that he uncurls himself into a lanky, awkward shadows and firelight brown hatchling, the light that catches his hide making him seem to flash into being out of nowhere.
From the sands,
Shadows and Firelight Brown Hatchling
A flickering vision of light and shadow, the sleek outlines of this
long and narrow brown seem to shift with a change in the light or a
lithe motion. His base color is dark, a rich shadowed brown as deep
and impenetrable as the inner bowels of the earth, giving over to
shadows at sharp talons, the blunted end of his snout, bony elbows,
and the tip of a whip-thin tail. He would be unremarkable, were it not
for the flickers of brightness that trace his outline in marked
chevrons of lighter shading, ruddy brightness giving the impression of
flickering firelight in the darkness. Along the line of his 'ridges
they fly, lighting the curves of wiry musculature from narrow
shoulders to slender hips before the color bursts into flame on the
undersides of his wingsails, flickers of russet and amber fairly
shimmering with brightness, only to disappear again into the darkness
with a folding of his wings.
From the sands, E'sere glances sideways as G'thon joins them, offering the Weyrleader a nod and a quiet 'Sir.' Then, attention is called back to the sands and Morelenth's first daughter, whom he regards a moment before moving on to the next brown. "Looks like it might be a nice color spread," he remarks idly after a moment.
Issa turns to glance up at the signalling tap, grinning when she sees her old mentor, Diya. "Yup, bronze and blue, then a green, I think another blue and a brown over at the far end now," Issa replies, squinting through the haze of white robes and the heat of the sands. "How have you been, Diya?" The question is posed somewhat distractedly, but understandably so.
From the sands, Anaddui tries not to be afraid as the green makes her move. Her grip on Milina's hand tightens as yet another egg hatches. Trying not to flinch, or flail, her bladder is obeying her also. "Milina, there's so many..." She says in wonderment.
From the sands, Sinopa takes the barest note of G'thon's arrival to the grouping of weyrwomen and bronzeriders that has begun to form out on the sands. The young goldrider is far more concerned with observing the events, craning her neck now and then in a vague imitation of her dragon's own alert observations. "Very nice spread," she murmurs in agreement. "All quick to hatch and healthy," she adds, sentences mostly unformed and brief due to her attention being elsewhere.
From the sands, Legarisen keeps one wary eye on the hatchlings as he tries to readjust his robe so that it's a little less uncomfortable and the heat from the sands doesn't roast parts that require no excess heating, out of the corner of his eye he spots the newly hatched brown. "Another one to keep an eye on.." is spoken to a candidate next to him. Legarisen moves a little off to one side still tugging at his robe.
From the sands, The creeping vine green hatchling's first move is toward the boys, gathered together on one side. She methodically starts at one end of the line, moving gradually down it as she dismisses the first few candidate to receive her scrutiny in turn.
From the sands, Milina squeezes the hands that's in her own, though her eyes rarely leave the hatchlings and the eggs "That greens heading out and look there's a brown now too." Her wariness about being out here again seems to have vanished now that things are starting to happen.
From the sands, Another shake of his wings and the shadows and firelight brown folds them closed, once again an unremarkable little brown dragon. Carefully, he lifts one foot, inspecting it thoroughly, before he tries the same manuever with the other. At the same time. The hop is less than productive, sending him onto his chin, but the exercise seems to have helped with his understanding of the whole walking trick. Once he's up on his feet again, he tries to move one foot at a time, giving another chin-banging bounce of excitement when it works.
From the sands, Olliren takes a step back and to the side to keep a better view of each one of the hatchlings, since his view is suddenly impeded by another candidate who's taller than him getting in his way. His jaw tightens at a murmured comment nearby, and he nods curtly. "You make a wonderful window," he answers to the taller candidate, who grins nervously and moves a little bit aside to give the others an easier view.
From the sands, G'thon, along the way to his end destination, happens by a stray blue hatchling who's cornered - and a moment later impressed - a young man out of Nabol. The Weyrleader pauses to discharge the duty of directing the half-panicking new pair off toward R'vain. Then he finds a place near Lexine and exhales a wearied sigh, the trip around the large cavern taking some energy out of him.
From the sands, Some eggs explode, some split neatly in half. Others, like the one home to a dark, compact little green, are slowly chipped away. It grants her a more dignified entrance into the world, or would have had she not gotten her shoulders caught the first time she bobbed head and neck out of the carefully chiseled hole. After withdrawing to chip away a little more, she shifts her weight to tip the egg over and slip sinuously out onto the sands, surveying the offerings arrayed for her, a hunter in the darkness green.
From the sands,
Hunter in the Darkness Green Hatchling
She's built for prowling, this strong and confident hatchling. The
base hue of her hide is the dark of a jungle canopy, casting shadows
along her sleek form. That deep shade works its way from the tip of
her blunt muzzle and blocky head, down a neck that verges more towards
muscular than lean. Only when it reaches her shoulders and the broad
canvas of her wings does it find itself interrupted. Streaks of
yellow-green appear, sun-bleached stripes that curve around her barrel
and spread in pools of goldrenrod along her belly. That paler
coloration continues between the jade of her spars, the 'sails stamped
with the geometric shapes of a bamboo forest. Shortened limbs and the
end of her tail reclaim the darker hues, ending in midnight-dark
talons and a tail-tip capped in velvety black.
The distraction is shared, the older woman apparently finding it difficult to veer her gaze away from the sands, but when she does so, dark eyes rest on her once protege in bemused warmth. "Auspicious beginning. I'm sure," Diya's expression sets smoothly, "Sinopa and E'sere are pleased." From her seat, another quick glance across the sands spares her the view of the arriving Weyrleaders, a slight narrowing setting off her study of Lexine in an inscrutable manner. "Well, as well as most people can be. If the timing of the hatching were just a few sevendays prior-, well, in any case, it's something to celebrate."
From the sands, Korinne's freckles stand out in stark relief against her pale cheeks, and her lips tremble slightly, but other than that, she shows no signs of the nervousness that envelops her. Shifting her feet against the heat of the sands, she unclasps her hands, then reclasps them, seeming almost to twitch as she tries to keep her eyes on each hatchling present, wary of sudden moves.
From the sands, R'vain has his hands full, even with help from the Weyrleader. Around the sands, eggs rock and split, spilling young dragons of all kinds - awkward, gangly, graceful, irate - and in due time they find their pairings, and must be led or directed toward food and rest. The Weyrlingmaster hasn't even time enough to pat down his jacket to be sure his flask's within, never mind nab a nip-- but there's an odd contentment about him, a serenity within chaos.
From the sands, Lexine slips an arm unobtrusively through G'thon's when he reaches her side, a silent offer of support. Her other hand reaches over to give his a squeeze, though her gaze remains trained on the hatchlings hunting the sands, a bemused smile quirking as one little bronze pauses in his zip around to inspect the riders gathered there before moving on.
From the sands, Anaddui ooos with delight, forgetting her fear as yet another egg explodes, dislodging another green. Is Ana being stalked yet by the Huntress? NOt yet, it seems, but she's keeping a wary eye out and does not relinquish her hand from Milina's.
From the sands, Legarisen doesn't know which way to turn now, hatchlings are emerging from eggs on each side depositing more onto the sands quicker than the last. This is going to be tricky, not getting run over by over eager hatchlings searching for their future rider.
From the sands, Milina raises a brow at the newest green, turning her head a little to one side to speak to Anaddui "That one looks a little dangerous, a huntress or something."
From the sands, The shadows and firelight brown, still quite pleased with his discovery of walking, soon finds himself getting bored with the mundane task. After all, it takes such a long time to get to all of the options on the sands, and- Shardit, he was just about to check that one out! His indignance at being beaten by a swifter blue is nearly tangible, eyes swirling red for a moment before he discovers that walking can be done in a much swifter fashion. With that revelation comes a complete change in tactics as the little brown begins to hurry past the others at a potentially breakneck speed. Must beat the rest to see all the choices!
A celebration, indeed, as a pair of holders from Nabol cheer as one of their own Impresses to a blue. Issa spares them a glance, but no more than that, shifting in her seat so that she can converse with the goldrider, without compromising her view of the sands. "Talking of G... G'thon?" she asks, her hesitation momentary as she opts for the riding name. As her gaze sweeps over the weyrleading pair, she adds, "It must be difficult. Can't imagine how he's still standing out there."
From the sands, "Oh shards look out for that brown, he's moving fast and I don't know how good at stopping he'll be" Legarisen warns the candidates on either side of him as he prepares to move to one side or the other depending on where the hatchling heads towards.
From the sands, Olliren eyeballs that brown rather warily. "On your toes," he mutters to the nearest boys as the brown starts to get a move on. He spares a glance toward the girls, but it's not a very long one, apparently intending not to become a dragon's favorite rug.
From the sands, The creeping vine green hatchling is in no hurry, her whirling eyes flicking over the nearest-by candidates in serene consideration. Patiently she waits for the right one to present itself, and then, after having examined all those young men in turn, slides away to the girls gathered off to the side. There she hunches down to peer up into the face of her chosen: Anaddui.
From the sands, Anaddui gasps at the meeting of minds and the hunger she feels. She clasps the green's head to her chest, crying with joy. "Let's get you something to eat, Aurenth." She says, looking for R'vain.
The log is continued here.