[Log] Eggy Murder, Pt. 1
Who: Borser (NPC), E'sere, Essdara, J'cor, Jiann, Jolasek, Katric (NPC), Kianda, Natain, Roa, R'vain, Tavaly
When: Day 12, Month 5, Turn 2, 7th Pass
Where: Northern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr; Hatching Grounds Entrance, High Reaches Weyr; Hatching Sands, High Reaches Weyr
What: A candidate meeting is interrupted when Ulyath's eggs are attacked.
Notes: Find Pt. 2 here.
Northern Bowl
The bowl floor is a broad expanse of gravel and dust, packed flat over decades of dragonweight landing on it. Kept free of vegetation, the only color variation across the vast hollow of the bowl are the dragons, in good weather often found sunning on low ledges or sprawled along the floor itself. The well-worn, charcoal-grey walls of the bowl are nearly vertical, far too steep for even the most adventurous climber to attempt. The rim of the bowl, marked by a rainbow of perching dragons at all times of the day, is topped with massive stone spires that stretch upwards into the blue vault of the sky. There are seven in all, great black fingers of stone that seem, from where you stand, to touch the clouds.
A number of tunnels breach the walls of the bowl, leading to various indoor parts of the Weyr. To the southwest, a vast tunnel entrance descends to the baths, curls of steam seeping out on colder days. On the northern face of the stone, a huge gaping maw betrays the presence of the Hatching cavern. Somewhat more modest tunnel entrances lead to the living caverns and the versatile classroom chamber to the west, and the Weyrleaders' complex to the east. In the distance to the south, the vast grey-blue of the lake stretches off to meet the southern wall of the bowl.
It's a soggy spring day, overcast and prone to drizzles. The sky is a bumpy canvas of grey and white, hiding the sun and ensuring that temperatures range towards cool rather than warm.
Contents:
Natain Jolasek Kianda
Essdara Daenomaketh
Obvious Exits:
Dragon Baths (DB) Living Cavern (LC) Classroom (C)
Hatching Cavern (HC) Weyrleaders' Complex (WC)Southern Bowl (SB)
At the appointed time, Essdara is found to be coming out of the living caverns. Her knot is pinned on her shoulder, and for once remains unhidden beneath anything else. As she makes her way towards the hatching grounds, a thin smile is offered to those of her friends that she sees.
Natain's still trying to decide what to do with the knot-- not in the 'never seen one before' way, but in the 'never worn one before' way. He bounces it on his palms like one might throw a ball absently from hand to hand, whistling tunelessly as he makes his way over appropriately, neverminding the drizzle.
The Weyrlingmaster emerges into the drizzle from the broad entrance that leads to the chambers attendant to the hatching grounds. "I can't imagine something so little as an ankle's going to hold her back," he growls to himself, shaking into his jacket as though he's had it off, probably from the heat from the sands within. And then he stops, a few steps outside the cavern complex, to realize there are candidates here. At this, not to his credit, R'vain appears a little surprised. "Well," he hrumphs, and then lifts a paw to wave through the rain a gesture-- come here, come here. "C'mon, let's have th'sense to get in out of th'rain."
Kianda drifts out of the living cavern, to take up a spot a little behind and to one side of Essdara. Despite her obvious annoyance at the drizzle, she takes a moment to study the Weyrlingmaster before glancing toward Dara inquiringly.
Jolasek is quickly making his way from the southern bowl and for once the stablehand is in a fresh change of clothes, rather then him arriving in what he's worked in all day. Knot is pinned to his one shoulder and he seems not to mind the drizzle himself. In fact, Jolasek is often found out in the rain then any other time. He gives a brief nod to the Weyrlingmaster as he notes the gesture.
Jiann hesitates before exiting the living cavern, clearly less than thrilled to put herself in the chilly rain. Solemn of expression, she dutifully makes the trek, holding her shawl close with one hand, and lifting the hem of her skirt just an inch or three with the other so that she might avoid the worst mud-splashes.
Essdara's smile warms some as she sees R'vain, offering a polite curtsey to the man before accepting his invitation intot he dryer grounds. Kianda gets ar eassuring glance and an offered hand as they move towards the sheltered area ahead.
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.
Obvious Exits:
Candidates Chamber (CC) Galleries (G) Sands (S)
Bowl (B)
Kianda isn't quite the handholding type, and pretends not to see that particular offer. But the wan smile she returns to Essdara is firm and warm. Trudging after the Weyrlingmaster, she watches him, a puzzled frown creasing her brow.
"This is the entrance t'th'hatching cavern." No kidding. Apparently R'vain has provided all of the introduction the candidates are going to get, and the tour has begun just as abruptly as that. He clomps on in through the passageway, toward a small outlet of space beneath the stairs that lead up to the galleries. "Y'probably all been up there t'see the eggs and if you haven't been you should probably try it out some time. But we're goin' t'be more concerned with this door here." The Weyrlingmaster trods heavily toward the wall beneath the stairs and thumps up a fist against a small-- very small-- wooden door set into the stone.
Natain comes here, comes here as directed, following along like a good little boy-- who very clearly does not know what this is all about, but he nods sagely at the door like it all makes perfect sense. Yep, door. He continues bouncing the knot, pausing a sec to shake some of the water off it as he enters.
Jiann might not be one to complain too often, but she still allows a very quiet sigh of relief once out of the dreary, drizzly weather. Re-settling the shawl about her shoulders, she then swipes raindrops from her face. As she looks around to her fellow candidates she offers slight nods of greeting to those whom she recognizes, but she certainly doesn't speak. Her dark eyes are not slow to turn to R'vain, and she listens attentively.
Jolasek silently follows the rest of the group as they all move into the hatching cavern. One hand reaches up to idly smooth back some of his hair that has begun to damply cling to his face. He momentarily glances at some of the other candidates nearest to him, but doesn't recognize anyone aside from Kianda---and even then he's not entirely sure. Jolasek keeps to himself and stands somewhat off to the side a little. Attention now on R'vain as 'the tour' begins, Jol smirks faintly, but he's listening.
Hatching Sands> Recently returned from one of her rare journeys to feed, Ulyath slumbers. She has a habit of doing so with wings lazily outstretched, though she cannot quite shield the whole of her clutch of thirty by doing so. Still, there is an effort there, an obvious one, to conceal some of her eggs, to offer her offspring some small privacy from the onlookers that drift into and out of the galleries every day. She sleeps heavily, her sails drooping, pinions relaxed, with her chin propped upon a foreleg so as to protect the fine hide of her muzzle from the heat of the sand. The heat otherwise suits her well; she's of a fine color and healthy build, a proud dam indeed.
Kianda, folding her arms across her damp chest as she listens, jumps a little at the thump.
Essdara's attention remains on the Weyrlingmaster, though her expression is closer to smirk than smile - she finds the abruptness entirely too amusing. As the door is thumped, she rolls her eyes just a bit - probably not enough enough to be noticed.
"'as it occured t'you that you might consider wearing that?" R'vain has a talent for snappish growls, toothy grins provided just a little while afterward to make his point even more pointed, and it's that talent he now sharpens with Natain as whetstone. "Unless y'just tagged along t'try t'sell me something." He clears his throat and raises his voice. "When th'dragons hum-- and that shouldn't be for a seven or so now, but still, better y'know now than not at all-- this door is where you'll all come. Try t'be orderly; it's a small room." His other hand fumbles in a pocket, then comes out with a key, with which he unlocks the door, then draws it open. Inside it is dimly lit by glows; crates arranged on the far wall overflow with white fabric; the air smells stale and rushes out in a roll of dry heat. "From in there I'll send you out onto th'sands. For t'day, though, I want you t'go in in groups and pull out robes unless you've had 'em already from th'Headwoman's staff."
Natain answers pleasantly, "It has, sir." And that's that. At least he stops bouncing it obnoxiously, instead just folding it along with his hands behind his back, rocking forward on to his toes to look over a few heads at the door.
Hatching Sands> Biting his lip, a young man, somewhere in his early twenties, peeks into the cavern, studying the slumbering gold there first--then, the galleries, which, for this brief span, are free of watchings. A slow grin lights up his pointed face as he more boldly steps forth onto the sands. His hands are kept hidden behind his back, disguising the decidedly clublike piece of wood he brings with him, at least from Ulyath. Katric's steps slow when he nears the fringes of the clutch, and he shoots many nervous looks to Ulyath as he stops beside one of the first eggs to study it. It's a small one, and so he moves on, choosing the larger one next to it. He loiters, he feels it, and finally, shooting one last look at Ulyath, he takes a deep breath, squinches his eyes almost shut, and brings his weapon down on the top of the shell, crushing it. For all his former life as a healer, Katric looks greenish as he looks to Ulyath's sleeping form again, using one foot to nudge at the remains of the egg until it splits entirely and its contents slosh onto the sands. Quickly, he moves on, hustling to his next target.
Kianda's eyes widen a little at the tirade, and she takes a step back before shaking herself. A neutral mask slams into place over her expression. "Coming, Dara?" The boys are pretty much ignroed.
Jolasek steps in a little closer as the Weyrlingmaster fumbles for the key to the door they're all looking at. He simply nods his head to acknowledge the fact that he is, indeed, listening. He wrinkles his nose a little when the stale smelling air rushes out, stiffling a little bit of cough as well. He begins to move forwards, but lingers just a moment to wait just outside the doors before slipping in when there's a chance to do so.
Essdara nods to Kianda, smirk unfaded. "Oh, wouldn't miss it for the world, though I've been told in no uncertain terms my robe is handled." A sarcastic snort. "Mother seems to feel wearing hers will 'bring me luck', since she Impressed her first try." And off she moves into the small room.
Blonde eyebrows creep upward as Jiann listens to R'vain, and for just a moment, a split second, she glancs to Natain. Quickly she looks back to the small door as it is opened, and she twitches her nose, lifting a hand to rub at it lest she cough or sneeze. Boots quietly shuffle as she joins those filing into the stuffy chamber.
It is...more crowded than expected. Or rather, it was as Roa steps into the corridor that will lead to the hatching galleries. Now it seems there's a cluster of people pressed into the tiny room off to the side, and around various bodies, crates piled with white can be seen. The weyrwoman stops, a tiny smile tugging at one side of her mouth. She doesn't go inside. Not a candidate. But she does stand just outside the doorway to watch the shaping of this age old ritual.
Hatching Sands> The Igen-bred queen awakens at that soft series of sickening sounds: scrush, crunch, sploosh. Her head jerks up suddenly and her wings flutter above those members of her clutch 'protected' by her sails, and she lets out a low dismayed groan - but her eyes whirl slowly as she reaches for the daylight of wakefulness from such deep, warm slumber, and only after a few moments does she have presence of mind enough to really grasp what's happening. Even then its cause eludes her and she stares, mouth agape, at the destroyed shell draining its unready life out onto the sands. Gathering realization dawns, and Ulyath inhales, deeply, perhaps something like a draconic gasp.
There is, in the room, a small archway that offers at best room for one person to walk through; it is obvious from looking that it's designed in this manner to force candidates to file out onto the sands one at a time come hatching day. Orderliness by default. Through that archway barely a glimpse of the queen, golden and huge, on the distant side of the sands may be seen.
R'vain holds back, by the doorway, looking a little bit overheated already. Low heat tolerance. Explains the flush in his face, too, or else he's nervous for the hatching already! "Go on, go on in. There ain't so many of you. Th'robes are sort of sorted," right they are, "largest ones that way." He points toward the back of the small chamber, but in no way makes any sign of offering to go on in and help.
Hatching Sands> Movement from the queen catches Katric's eye, and he picks up the pace moreso. There's no inspection of this next egg, no touch before its destruction: the once-healer simply turns to swing his club down on it too, fracturing it open. Again, those awful sounds, the squishes of egg goo and half-made dragon spilling forth around his feet. Rather than moving immediately onward, however, Katric seems frozen, staring at the waking Ulyath as much as she stares at the ruin he's made of her progeny.
"Can't hurt, considering a lack of other possible good luck tokens to carry," Kia points out, exploring the room. "Robes, robes..." She sends a look back toward R'vain, then she chuckles to herself. "Not much space in here at'all," she comments mildly. "Ah, here we go, methinks. At least I shouldn't have much trouble if they need mending."
Natain, intrigued by the noises from sand-wards with no comprehension of their cause, perches on his toes to look through the tunnel at what he can see of the distressed queen. Alas, to an outsider, one dragon looks just like another-- dismayed might as well be delighted to his eyes. "So, um, I guess it's on us if we want these to fit a little better?" he guesses, holding up one lame-looking robe toward his chest to test its size.
Hatching Sands> It was not a gasp. It was a precipitous inhalation, a preparation of breath. Ulyath's cry is loud, shrill, horrific. A scream, and it echoes loud through the caverns, well out into the bowl, deafening in its fury and rage. It is echoed for all of High Reaches' dragons to hear in a mental command fit to wake the dead. Red eyes whirl very swiftly indeed now and the queen, blinded by her hurt and horror, swings her head around madly as if she could use her muzzle to bat away the unseen attacker, a tiny form somewhere among her precious offspring.
Since she is one of the eldest and tallest candidates, Jiann keeps an eye out for those robes which are longer. Happily, this means she should encounter very little fuss and competition. Still, she's jostled and pushed simply because of the close confines, and she weathers this with a placid expression. "Alterin'? I c'n help wi--" She drops the crate she'd been sifting through with a loud clatter, eyes wide and breaking out into a sweat that has nothing to do with proximity to heated sands.
Jolasek ignores the stuffiness of the room and doesn't seem to notice Roa now standing in the doorway either. In fact, Jolasek seems to have just quietly gone about his own business and begins to lightly pick and prod at one of the piles of robes with a rather detached interest. For now, anyhow. He finally chooses one, one with some repairing needed and he smirks while chuckling dryly. "I'm guessing so---" but is cut off by that scream which sounds all the more louder from where he is. Robe is dropped as his hands cup to his ears and he immediately gives a somewhat wide eyed glance to the Weyrlingmaster.
Essdara stays out of the way of the other candidates as they approach the crates of robes; as stated, hers is handled for her. She is just moving to peek out onto the sands from this new vantage point when the scream tears across them, and through the small room. Dara pales noticibly; She's grown up here, and knows that's not a normal sound, and defiantely not a good one. Closer, then, to the arch, to look out to try to see what's going on.
Dragon> It is wordless, filled with agony and rage. A command, meant for -her- dragons, the complement of High Reaches, but audible for some distance beyond the Weyr's walls. Attend me, compels Ulyath, without words. Her clutch is attacked. Her hatchlings, unready for life, spill from their shells. Fury!
Kianda lifts an eyebrow, casting a glance toward Jiann. "Funny," she says dryly, "I was making the same offe-" And then she drops the robe in her hands, instinctively clapping her hands over her ears. Not that it helps much. Wide eyes swing toward the Sands. "What the bloody shells is /that/?" she tries to be heard over the dragon's scream.
Just as the Igenite queen's shrill cry resounds, a figure, leaning heavily on a crutch, enters the tiny cavern, eyes grown wide. Tav leans against the inner door. "Someone's attacking Ulyath's eggs." She says, breathing hard. She hobbled as fast as she could, and she's *STILL* late. Bah!
Hatching Sands> That cry does indeed wake the dead, or the nearly so: for Katric is now as pale as any corpse. Club sliding from his hands, he backs slowly away from the wreckage of the second egg, staring raptly at its mother, before he whirls and takes off. But he's not free of the clutch, the eggs scattered about, and when he finds another in his path, he stumbles into it, pulling up short as his hands fall to its surface. Blindly, he kicks at it, twice, but this shell endures the onslaught: it cracks and splinters, and from that wound oozes the pale liquid that cushions the dragon growing within, but it does not shatter. Its attacker, however, can spare no more time to finish what he has begun; Katric stumbles away from the damaged egg, fleeing for the doorway and the comparative safety of the bowl.
R'vain's eyes widen and whatever he was saying-- something about 'get your grubby hands in there already the robes don't have teeth they won't bite you'-- falls silent on his mouth, not that anyone would be able to hear him over that howl of the queen dragon, anyway. Tavaly's explanation gets to him before Ruvoth's does, apparently, because he spits out a single unrepeatable syllable and bolts into the small room. "Outta my way. Move. Move!" So the candidates have two choices, really: squish up against the walls, or be shoved out bodily onto the sands by the Weyrlingmaster, who's headed that way at speed.
The little Telgari's jaw drops, eyes widening slowly. "No..." Roa's turning and running down the corridor and towards the galleries. Behind her, following at a clipped pace, is Borser, knife, for once, held at the ready instead of being sharpened.
Natain, to Kianda's question, or what he can hear of it, "I'd guess that's someone attacking Ulyath's eggs." He relates this rather pragmatically, clearly failing to comprehend the gravity of the situation yet. At least he's got the sense to stop riffling through the robes, but not the sense to avoid pushing his way toward the tunnel along with the pressing cluster of other curious candidates-- all of whom start shoving that much more at R'vain's bellow.
Hatching Sands
Were this cavern not already warm enough to steal the breath from one's lungs, the sheer size of it would be certain to do just that. The ceiling and ledges far overhead are so distant that they're almost in shadow, and when standing in the center of the sands any faces to be seen in the galleries to the west are indistinct circles of color. The sands themselves- as hot as one might expect- are white flecked with grey. It gives them the sparkle of silver in the light of the glowbaskets dotting the walls, especially while being shifted and packed around whatever clutch is currently baking. At the far east end of the cavern, a small tunnel entrance can be made out and a pair of small doorways interrupt the smooth wall on the south side.
There are currently 30 eggs warming on the sand.
Contents:
Ulyath
Obvious Exits:
Galleries (G) Entrance (E)
Tavaly's words slash across Dara like a whip, and the anger that they engender is white hot. As R'vain approaches, he is spared pushing her out of the way by the fact that she is already moving, her pace quickening as she immidiately is looking around for the source of the trouble, to head it off and extract her own payment for such an act.
Jolasek uncovers his ears and shakes his head a little, overhearing Tavaly's statement and simply seeming glued in place. "How?" is all he can say, before the Weyrlingmaster begins moving towards the sands. The candidate does try the option of squishing up against the wall, but the pushing and shoving by others knocks him out of place and soon he finds himself going in the opposite direction to which he wanted to go.
Ulyath does not enjoy the sudden company, and lets out another throat-wrenching, bile-curdling scream, this one pitched lower. Almost a roar. She's got a bead on the man who did this now, and swerves her neck toward him like a canine's hunting point. But she will not leave the eggs that remain, her twenty-seven undamaged and the one bruised, so just claps her jaws in a mighty smack of teeth to show her ire and emotes, grossly, absolute fury.
Tavaly crutch-walks out double time, each step of her left foot punctuated by an 'ow' clomp 'ow' clomp.. It only gets better when R'vain tromps by and manages to nick her left shoulder. HISS. She stops short of the ring of golden hide, choosing to lean against the wall for a moment. Twinge.
Ulyath does red eyes really well, but R'vain has a few turns of being red-eyed under his belt, and he's not doing a shabby job of it at all just now. He barrels out of the little single-file door that normally serves only to allow candidates onto the sand on hatching day, running full-tilt until he sees-- well, the queen doesn't bear getting near, just now. Her point is all it takes-- the Weyrlingmaster alters his course after the sightline of her snapping muzzle, his own nostrils flared, mouth set in a teeth-baring snarl.
Maybe she doesn't comprehend, maybe she is too frightened. But Jiann is certainly one of the last ones to leave the candidates' chamber, having thrown herself to the side of the tiny room, allowing others to pile out. She avoids the worst of the crush, and then stumbles on after the others, wide-eyed. Oh, she's favoring one foot, too, but that's a detail easily ignored -- by others as well as herself. Staggering to a halt as stony ground gives way to sand, she looks about almost wildly, trying to figure out what in Faranth's name is going on.
Natain stays back near the little room, holding on to his knot and his robe and generally being useless and confused. But damned if he's not right there in the thick of things. "Should we be out here?" he mouths to whichever candidate happens to be nearest him.
J'cor comes crashing in through the handy shortcut that is his Weyrwoman's bedroom, though the fact that he's entirely clothed (and not accompanied by Yevide) suggests that a shortcut was the only reason he came through that room. Sand skids as he figures out where the intruder came from and tries to head in that direction, but his boots are not well made for dashing through heavy sand and his footsteps are bogged down. Outside, Karth is blocking the bowl entrance, roaring his rage and frustration at not being able to go inside and chomp his queen's attacker - rider's orders, he stands guard.
From the galleries, Roa takes the wrong route, really, all things considered. But being up in the galleries does give her a view of everything. The panicked queen. The shattered eggs, the fleeing shadow, the candidates and weyrlingmaster stumbling into the disaster. Just as Borser catches up, the weyrwoman turns and tears back down, through the corridor, and onto the sands.
Essdara's path continues to mirror R'vain's, and while she may still be slightly slower than her norm from her injury, her norm isn't anything to be mocked. Only a fool couldn't see where Ulyath is indicating, and as her gaze locks on Katric a feral smile spreads across her face; not the man she knows herself, no, but he'll do. She pushes herself harder, angling herself a bit to try to come in on a branched path from him and possibly even get past him, block his way.
Jolasek finds himself right out on the sands when he can finally push away and scrambling up, he backtracks a little towards Natain, a little pale now. As he moves, his eyes fix on the gold Ulyath and he swallows nervously before giving the other candidate a shakey faint smile. "No, but we're here anyways." he says before going silent again. The sound of the snapping muzzle causes him to step back just a tiny bit more. He hasn't spotted the fleeing culprit yet, his attention to focused on other things.
Kianda's brain kicks in just inside the entrance to the sands, and she plows to a halt. After a second, it occurs to her to move quickly to one side as well. Turning back to Jolasek, she opens her mouth... and shuts it, spotting the great bronze outside. Nodding once in satisfaction, she turns once more, narrowed eyes sweeping over the hatching grounds in search of the perpetrator. "Depends on how much you're willing to risk, Natain. There! Circle round, will you? Try to pinc- Dara, /no/!"
Rage. With the threat apparently chased off, Ulyath swings her head around and fixes a red-eyed glare at the sudden influx of candidates. The slow smell of cooking froth rises up in a sickly steam from the sand around her two breached eggs, and through that steam comes the queen's angry breath in a thick, wet hiss. That would be, then, her opinion on the matter.
Katric freezes, stops dead, to find his escape route blocked thusly and more people filing in to watch the spectacle. Slowly, again, he starts backing away, but he's pinned, trapped between Ulyath and the onlookers. Glancing over his shoulder at the gold, he gulps, and apparently makes up his mind which way he's more likely to survive: again, he stops. R'vain is the first to him, and Katric tries out what, in another place, might be a charming smile. Here it's only gruesome and faintly greenish too, as he squeaks out--nevermind he's probably not in any position to be making requests--"Pl--Please don't let her eat me?"
Natain answers pragmatically, "Uh, not life and limb." Discretion /is/ the better part of valor, after all. He keeps his back pressed hard against the tunnel, even slips a few steps back in the direction he came, but he doesn't actually retreat any farther than the entrance. A few of the similarly un-brave candidates are clustered near him, though seems like locals are all slack-jawed out front. "She's actually going to eat him?" With morbid curiosity.
It finally dawns on Jiann that some sort of... predator... has done something. The chaos envelopes her, and with a shaking breath she forces herself to take a literal step back from it, distancing herself from fellow candidates' fright and confusion to get a better vantage point. From that new angle she has a very good view of the livid Ulyath. She swallows. Audibly. "Maybe," she rasps, and then she licks her lips. "Maybe we'uns should get back. Ain't helpin'..."
R'vain all but bowls over Ulyath's attacker. /His/ boots, heavy and thick-soled with deep tread, are not bad on sand-- but no amount of tread is going to stop him from skidding from the speed he's built up, and he puts out a heavy paw to clasp Katric's shoulder. It's a maneuver meant to steady his stop. Really. That would explain why his grip's so tight, and why the first thing he does once he's certain neither of them is quite going to fall over is to spit words, and spit, into the other man's face. "You'll be lucky if I don't eat you myself." His fist tightens even more and he gazes out across the sands as if seeking help, or trying to decide what next to do.
Tavaly now holds the crutch she'd used to get out here like a weapon, standing several feet away from R'vain and the foul little cockroach of a man. "Here!" She hollers to the Weyrlingmaster. "Beat 'im with this. Needs t'be broken in, anyway." Clomp 'ow' clomp 'ow'.
E'sere arrives after that initial rush to the sands, looking pale himself as he steps forward into the cavern, having cut through the candidates' entrance himself. The bronzerider's first expression is best termed 'aghast,' though he quickly schools it into something--less so. Striving for blankness, he takes in the broken eggs as he continues forward, coming to halt near the candidates gathered about. His eyes are on Katric and R'vain, Ulyath ignored.
Jolasek keeps himself close to the entrance now, just in case he'll need to make a quick escape off the sands depending on how things unfold. Natain's comment earns another side glance and its now that Jolasek moves a little to get a different viewing angle, only to momentarily spot a cornered Katric. Then it all clicks into place and the candidate scowls. "I think her eating him would be quicker then what might happen to those who get a hold of him..." he mutters. To Jiann, who he slightly overhears, motions with his head. "Stick to this place, if you're wanting to get out quick."
Essdara was going over many possibilities, many things Katric could try to get away - Stopping? Not one she ever considered. Unlike R'vain, her footing is not as sure, boots not as thick, and into the pair of them she lands. Katric, blessedly, takes the brunt of it as Dara's body crashes into him, though it's with incoherent rage that she attempts to make it work for him and stay on top of him.
Kianda nods once, seeing that R'vain has control of /that/ particular situation. Her gaze returns to sweeping the grounds, looking for co-conspirators of the captured saboteur. Her gaze coming to rest on the last egg attacked... "Oh Faranth! Is that one...? Someone get a dragonhealer!" Sure as shells, no way she's going to get near the eggs while Ulyath's in a rage.
J'cor arrives behind the tackle-team by only a few strides, but it's enough to let them have a go at Katric before he can. Panting - either from physical effort of running through sand or the struggle to restrain a sheer fury that blazes in his eyes and the aggressive set of his muscles - he looks down on the tangle of people, taking one small step to the side so that he can see through the tangle to get a good look at the attacker's face. "Get him up," he orders, his voice almost hissing as he pants the words.
A beating implement is offered. R'vain looks briefly dumbfounded. Not that there's not a greater foundation of dumb to display-- it's brief only because it's interruped by Essdara's sliding splat maneuver. The Weyrlingmaster roars protest as his shoulder's wrenched by Katric's weight, and only lets go of the man when it's clear the candidate's going to land clean on top of him. "Get off him. Get off, let me put a boot down on'im," sputters R'vain, apparently not thinking particularly clearly. Or else thinking very clearly. It takes J'cor's order to revise R'vain's: "Or, uh. Let me grab him."
Natain, for now, isn't doing anything useful. So let's just assume that he represents the gaping mass of candidates-- which is to say, he stands there, gawking. That is all.
Bursting through the same door as the candidates, only quite a bit later, trips Roa, skidding on the hot sands, poor Borser following behind. "Faranth, I can't..." but her head jerks in the direction of a particular voice as, up in the dragon perches above, a smaller, slimmer gold lands, red-tinged eyes glowing in the cavernous darkness above. "I'm a dragonhealer!" calls the Telgari. And now she's moving towards the voice that called her, looking around for the source of the words. And the reason they were called.
Jiann edges back toward the dim chamber from which she had entered the sands, wilting under the glare of Ulyath despite being absolutely innocent, and nodding slightly to Jolasek without looking to him. She half-stumbles, and apparently thinks nothing of it, attention temporarily caught by the sudden arrival of Roa and Borser. "Oh, shards," she whispers.