The Hatching (Saturday, October 30th, 2004)

Gentle waves of fine ebony hair cascade into place to cover the tops of his
ears, a few wisps of errant silk fall around eyes of an amazingly serene
crystal-clear blue, complimenting the already brilliant color. Framed within
the narrow face below his eyes are a tiny nose and delicate, smiling
pale-pink lips. His soft skin is the color of fresh, warm cream, with
slightly tanned overtones and a barely noticeable hint of color at his
cheeks. Unimpressive in height, his petite body is unmistakably lithe and
almost feminine in appearance; from his slender legs and delicate feet, to
the slight curve of hips meeting a tiny waist, and up past almost impossibly
narrow shoulders.
Simple, unadulterated white cotton, cut and sewn into the shape of the
traditional hatching day garb donned by all candidates since the dawn of
time, hangs lavishly about Zaynne's frame. The loose, sleeveless shift falls
in shallow folds from a simple slit neckline, to an unembellished hemline
just past his knees. Though carefully stitched at shoulders and sides, the
garment has no shape of its own, and has been made much too large for the
body over which is hangs; obscuring from sight any hint of the shape beneath.
Adorning his feet are a pair of dusty brown wherhide sandals; thin soles
offering very little protection from the unrelenting heat of the sands.
Zaynne is 16 Turns, 10 months, and 20 days old.
He is awake and looks alert.

--- Weather ----
It's currently mid-fall on the northern continent.

  • Afternoon at Fort Weyr, Fort Hold, Harper & Healer Halls:

Clouds' faint haze warm the skies.

Candidate Barracks
This is a large room with row after row of 'cots' for the Candidates of Fort
Weyr's Hatchings to sleep on during their stay at Fort Weyr. Depending on the
time of day and 'year' this room oscillates between an utter disaster and a
prim and properly kept room. The residents of this room are always on the
lookout for sudden headwoman or dragonrider appearances, scattering to clean
up the major messes when someone indeed manifests.
Near the curtain, against the wall, is a large bulletin board and, underneath
it, a slate with the list of current 'occupants'. There's also a 'chores'
list, and a life-sized cutout of a suitably-dressed 'example' candidate.
You see Surrender, Adagon, Raven, Baez, Ginnie, and Kythlite here.
Lidia, Cattana, Kiyhazel, Kiefer, Kalyani, Dylzan, Bullemorte, Talvarn and
Gr'ym are here.
Obvious exits:

Ebony hair hangs straight, cut short to frame a rounded, lightly tanned
face. Slim, expressive eyebrows arch over huge eyes of a startling green,
all set in a light smattering of freckles which traverse high cheekbones.
She is of average height, with a lanky, shapely build that effortlessly
emphasizes her presence, and emotions are easily read both in her face and
her body language.
A simple, close-fitting candidate robe hugs Lidia's body closely, the
fabric much higher quality than is really necessary for the occasion. It is
clear that time and effort went into this gown, each dart, seam and hem
painstakingly straight and even. Simple leather sandals tie securely around
her ankles in a criss-cross pattern, thin but sufficient to keep away the
worst of the hatching sand heat.
Lidia is 19 Turns, 10 months, and 9 days old.
She is awake and looks alert.

The first thing one might notice about this tall lass is the brown eyes that
sit within her pale face, darkening to a near black as they come closer to
the pupil. Other features of this girl consist of reddish-brown hair that
flows down to her shoulders, slender nose covered in brown blotchy freckles
and thin lips. Her limbs follow her willowy structure, almost to the point of
a bit akward looking, but the chubby baby fat that is still left balances it
out. The design of her features gives a hint of native american, though her
skin be white, maybe in the ovalish eyes, slender nose, or perhaps the build
of her body, one might not be able to tell. But somehow, its there.
Cattana wears the colors of brown and black, indicating her of Fort Weyr. But
it is also contains a white cord in within it, telling of her being a
All white encases Cattana's body as she stands, a simplistic robe coming down
to her knees from sleeveless shoulderstraps. A white belt, slender in design,
drapes around the loose cloth that clings to this lass' form, causing two
lines to linger down after its been tightly tide around her waist. The robe
itself is exactly that. Plain, with only a few odd sewing places that look
crooked, making it unique from the rest. A white cloth strap holds Cattana's
brunette hair back in a ponytail, while traditional sandles adorn her feet.
Nothing new here, just a regular ol' candidate outfit. Ketu regards you,
perched atop Cattana's shoulder.
Cattana is 21 Turns, 7 months, and 5 days old.
She is awake and looks alert.

Layers of murky brown mixed with hints of brassy auburn fall from a central
part down to her chin, framing her oval face in a messy array. Nose is simply
sloped and ends pertly above a pair of thin pink lips. Clear, expressive eyes
— one light baby blue, the other deep malachite — rest beneath shapely
eyebrows. Though slightly misproportionate and acned as the throes of
adolescence would have it, Kiyhazel is athletically built, of average height,
generally fair-skinned and plenty dexterous.
She wears a Candidate's robe, the traditional, formless sheets of white held
together with dubious stitches and a plain white rope belt. Upon her feet are
leather thongs, thin and doing a poor job of protecting her feet from
anything. Hair is held from her face with a few matte-white clips at her
Kiyhazel is 13 Turns, 10 months, and 24 days old.
She is awake and looks alert.

Extremes seem to be the theme of this man's build and features, for he stands
at roughly 7' tall. In shape, his face is quite angular, coming in sharply at
the sides to make his chin appear somewhat pointed. His face is defined by
strong cheekbones, making his face look almost hollow at times. Brown hair
falls to his shoulders, smooth and well-groomed. His green eyes are framed by
dark lashes, slightly sunken in their placement. His thick eyebrows point
towards his long, angular nose. Lips are full, almost womanly; the light rose
of them contrasts with his pale skin. He is, indeed, quite pale, looking as
though he spends little time in the sun. Though lanky and quite thin, this
man is not without muscle. His appearance is odd; though quite attractive,
something in his expression and the way he carries himself is somehow
It's boring, dull, and white, but surprisingly well-stitched: in fact,
Kiefer's candidate robe settles about his form in the way of a desert man's
clothing, only with sleeves to his wrists instead of stopping at his
shoulders. In all honesty, this Candidate's robe resembles … a large,
comfortable, semi-fashionable nightshirt.
Kiefer is 20 Turns, 4 months, and 27 days old.
He is awake and looks alert.

Straight black hair falls to her shoulderblades, pulled away from Kalyani's
face in a tight braid. Her facial shape is rather round, with full cheeks
that dimple when she smiles. Her dark eyes, framed by long lashes, are a
little larger than most. Dark eyebrows arch over her eyes, creating a slight
point at the apex rather than a smooth curve. From some angles her nose may
appear slightly pointed, but is otherwise nothing to remark upon. Her cupid's
bow lips are a dusky rose, quite dark and well-pronounced. Most unusual,
perhaps, is the hue of her skin, tan to begin with but darkened further by
time spent in the sun. Her build is more boyish than womanly, with only
slight curves and hardly any chest to speak of. Despite her slight build,
standing at just 5'2, her body is well-muscled, evidence of a lifetime of
Even with her meager sewing skills, Kalyani has put together a reasonable robe
for hatching day. The stiching that holds the two pieces of white cloth
together is sound, although messy. The belt is a simple thing; she cut a
strip of fabric long enough to fit around her waist and tied it in a knot. A
few strings hang out where it has begun to fray. She has only a pair of thin
sandals to protect her feet from the heat of the sands.
Kalyani is 18 Turns, 4 months, and 8 days old.
She is awake and looks alert.

Where long and dusty curls once rested, nothing but a trim and neat cut
remain. Brown eyes twinkle with hints of gold, hidden behind long lashes that
shade his orbs and give way to a nose that is slightly on the large side.
Pale, fairly formed lips rest in their proper place just below. Fair skin,
formally tanned and dark blankets his broad cheekbones and rounded chin. Tall
in height and broad in the shoulders, he is reasonably muscular and fit.
Sheets of white blanket Dylzan from shoulder to just below the knee. The robe
is tied with a belt of white around the waist and is fairly simple looking.
Despite its blandness on first glance, this garment is actually a long ways
from plain. A white on white embroidered pattern is done around the bottom
hem and if one stares really closely at the neckline, a dainty 'Dylzan' in
very small white design is noticeable —obviously, he didn't want anyone
stealing his hatching day duds! His feet are coated in plain brown sandals
with flimsy soles.
Dylzan is 17 Turns, 2 months, and 11 days old.
He is awake and looks alert.

Bullemorte's first and foremost feature is his rather ridiculous hair.
Naturally bleach blonde, it looks as if its been attacked by an armed
drunkard. The thick mass is cut at uneven, jagged angles, although it tends
towards the short side, and is therefore prone to sticking up in all sorts of
odd directions. Despite his strange hair, the rest of him is rather average
looking. Cheerful blue-green eyes rest above a narrow, acuminate nose. His
mouth is a little large for his face, and prone to smiling. A healthy tan
cloaks a lanky, somewhat awkward body formed of long arms and legs connected
by knobby joints. A boyish charm resides in his slouching posture and general
A somewhat tattered and beaten knot of simple brown, black, and white
encircles Morte's shoulder, signifying him as a candidate of Fort Weyr. Yeah
Bullmorte's robe is certainly meant to raise eyebrows, and the ridiculous
nature of the robe indicates that he probably did not craft the robe himself.
Frills abound, along the throat, down the seams of the sides, and along the
hem. And ooooh, the hem. It rides high, to say the least. Fluffy
gatherings of white barely make it to midthigh. The one saving grace is the
sandals, which are at least a little masculine in style. Ah well, he gets
what he deserves.
Bullemorte is 20 Turns, 9 months, and 26 days old.
He is awake and looks alert.

Long blonde hair streaked with a few random bolts of red that is generally
pulled back and clasped is the normal hairstyle of this young hunter. His
face is oval with a roguish appeal. His mouth is usually curved up at the
corners in a slight grin, as if he is always thinking of something secretly
amusing. His eyes, framed by long gold lashes with dark tips, are a bright
green at the outside of the iris, trailing to gold flecks at the edge of the
pupil, and his gaze is also one that, like his mouth, carries a hint of faint
amusement. Yet it's penetrating, as if the eyes look into the body and gaze
at the soul, instead of the flesh of the subject. He's a good six feet in
height, which serves to hide the strength of his body, yet he's not overly
muscular to the untrained eye, but well muscled, nevertheless. Lithe and
supple, his movements are sure and silent, like a cat padding through the
Talvarn has on the black, brown and white knot of a Fort Weyr candidate.
Talvarn is clad in the traditional robes of white worn by a candidate for the
hatching ceremony. It's a modest affair, plain and simple, fastened at the
waist with a white cord. His feet are bare, and for a change, his hair is
unbound and flowing freely over his shoulders and onto his back. Raven
regards you, perched atop V'arn's shoulder.
Talvarn is 22 Turns, 9 months, and 8 days old.

There's an ease in the broad set of his shoulders, the tall frame, the cool
logic of his blue eyes. He isn't muscle-bound, but strong enough; his dark
hair is worn mostly short and his silver-framed glasses mostly thick. The
fair skin on his face and hands is starting to pay for all its days under the
His knot is that of a Fort Weyr Weyrlingmaster, and they've tried to match his
ruddy bronze's color in there too, but it just won't shine — unlike the four
tiny gold discs lashed to his left wrist by a leather thong.
Gr'ym is simply dressed in a (slightly wrinkly) undyed linen tunic and khaki
trousers. His black boots are big enough to demand their own tithe.
Gr'ym is 49 Turns, 11 months, and 17 days old.
He is awake and looks alert.

Gr'ym strides in the same way he does any other day: with purpose, directness,
and a jaunty whistle that assures everyone that his son's talent did not come
from Gr'ym in any way. But today is different. "Ladies and gentlemen, boys
and girls, let's get into those robes — double-time, now."

Lidia hops nimbly off her cot, grabbing the robes down from the head of the
bed, carefully hung up to prevent wrinkling. She hops around a bit trying to
tie her sandals on, her lack of coordination the only real sign that Gr'ym's
announcement has her nervous.

Dylzan is quick to slither into his robe, soon adorned in personal embroidery.
Strapping on flimsy sandles - something he may live to regret, he trots over
to stand by Gr'ym in readiness.

Talvarn seems totally sedate. He smiles slightly and swaps out his normal
garb for his robe, then unclasps his hair and stands quietly. He's ready.

Kiefer fails in his talent of deftness, and his ability to appear graceful, by
having been near a nap when Gr'ym comes in, startles him, and then makes
/that/ statement, which is key to surprising him more, which causes Kiefer to
go rolling off of his cot in a bit of unagile startlement … landing at the
end of this run-on sentence at the foot of someone else's. "Ow. Wait.
/What/?" Blink. "By the way, I didn't just do that. Ahem. Well, now we know
why the ground's shaking with some funky noise." And he uprights himself,
pulls on his robe and snatches at a pair of really old broken sandals. Safe.

Kiyhazel tries to play it cool. Gr'ym's entrance is noted, given a brief nod,
and she does everything she can not to shake or rush while donning her robe
and sandals. No worries about modesty — once it's on, she goes to drag
Zaynne over to the line, ready or not, and await the signal for an exit.

Zaynne, who had been lazing about on his cot doing nothing in particular, sits
bolt upright as the Weyrlingmaster enters the cavern. "What?" his tone is
high and somewhat panicked. He may not quite get weyrlife, but he knows that
that one means. Grabbing his robe, he changes as though in a trance, eyes
wide and lips slightly parted. "Kiyh? where are you?"

Bullemorte is currently positioned in the near proximity of Cattana, and in
his hands is the most hideously feminine robe in the history of Pern. His
expression openly expresses anger and disgust, and the words he's uttering
back this. "What is the sharding hideous thing? This is /not/ a manly robe!
What were you thinking?" Rage rage. Enter a Gr'ym, and an immediate
reduction of any cursing or yelling. Time to get into the robe, apparently,
and so despite his complete disdain he shimmies and tugs and manages to
wiggle his way into the garment. "Ugh. Zaynne. Look what Cattana did."
And he wanders in the direction of his best boy buddy.

Cattana is laying sedately on her cot, looking up at the cieling, when Gr'ym
walks in, her earthen eyes looking up at his announcement. "Oh, already?" She
perks up, even if her movements are a little slow. She can't help but laugh
as everyone races about the barracks. Slipping easily into her robe from her
former clothes (Though, as pants always are, its a struggle). She walks over
to Bullemorte then, seeing him yell about her artwork. "What? I think you
look like a doll, dear!" SHe remarks with a pinch of his cheek, sniggering as
she walks away. "Anyways, frills are just- so you!' She adds, oddly feminine
from what is her usual style.

Gr'ym gives everyone a quick once-over, recaps the drill they've been drilling
for days now, and pronounces it all good. Or, rather, "Good enough. Everyone
follow me, please, and don't forget protocol. First-time clutchparents are
always the most, ah, delightful."

Bullemorte swats at Cattana's pinching fingers. "You're evil!"

Kalyani is in the background, hurriedly changing into her robe while chewing
on her lower lip. She mumbles things about impression under her breath,
shimmying into her white outfit and scrambling around for her sandals. She
slips these on and hurries over towards Gr'ym. Eee. Who to hang on to?

You travel out on hurried steps, through the caverns, waaaay across the bowl,
around the throngs of people — and finally, you're there. Good luck!

Hatching Sands
Breathless heat blurs the high gray contours of this gigantic cavern:
intense, inexorable, it swallows the unaware in mirages of warped vision,
sands-scorched feet, sounds that lose their origins in the echo and reecho of
vaulting stone. Dim citrine light casts low shadows even when otherwise
illuminated, the product of constellations of living, growing glows; they
even limn the staircases winding high to the galleries that, like the
dragons' ledges, center attention on this chosen home to generation after
generation of Fort queens' clutches.
The sands are currently empty of queen and clutch, the cavern's usual focus,
freeing senses to roam the vast cavern.
The single exit gapes to the southwest.
You see Llydyth, Razgulth, Rebellious Hostage Egg, But I Don't Like Rum Egg,
Scurvy Gums Egg, Wooden Leg Egg, Sunken Ship Egg, Walk the Plank Egg, Jolly
Roger Egg, Skeleton Crew Egg, Mutiny Rising Egg, and Sails to the Wind Egg
Savarna, R'sin, B'nal, Zephre, Brandi, Diocelen, Gr'ym, Lidia, Cattana, Kiefer,
Kiyhazel, Kalyani, Dylzan, Bullemorte, Talvarn and Bullemorte are here.
Obvious exits:

The sound of nervous chattering heralds the arrival of everyone's favorite
candidates. Or their only candidates, as the case may be. A flurry of white
comes into sight as the group makes its way out onto the sands. The initial
reactions of each candidate vary in range and intensity, but they're all here
for the same purpose, and this unifying directive is enough to keep them in a
loose herd as they progress tentatively forward.

Llydyth inches towards the candidates, looking them over with eyes that swirl
with a menacing redness. A low rumble echoes in her throat, and she seems to
be showing off what big teeth she has. On the bright side, Savarna is
standing in between the candidates and the clutchmum with a strained smile of

Scurvy Gums Egg shifts ever so slightly, then comes to rest, seeming to glisten
in a most unappetising manner..

Skeleton Crew Egg is more decisive. The time is coming, and soon. It shifts,
then twists on one spot. Someone inside is thinking about making a move.

Wooden Leg Egg gives a very dramatic wobble - it's sudden, and forceful, and
almost enough to topple the egg over.

Sunken Ship Egg settles deeper yet into the sands, and rocks gently there.
Rock, rock. Roooock, rock. Crick.

The candidates move further out onto the sands, stopping a fair distance from
the eggs. More or less as one, they turn towards Llydyth and Razgulth to
offer them a deep, respectful, and probably very frightened-looking
collective bow. Respects paid, the sea of white robes fans out across the
sands, forming distinct rings around whichever egg has caught a candidate's

Jolly Roger Egg dances in place like a ship on unfriendly seas.

As if on cue Lyaseth enters the sands and stalks with dignity across it to
settle next to Llydyth and she croons a deep thrum in her chest, welcoming
the hatchlings soon to come and to try and soothe the clutchmum from doing
anything too dramatic. Brandi smiles "There, we must cater to the clutchmum's
needs, it is a trying time, always on the sands and now all this noise and
fluster and activity." She reaches for one of the cool drinks that has
arrived with the drudges and passes it to Savarna "Drink." She takes another
for herself.

Rebellious Hostage Egg just sits and looks pretty.

Wooden Leg Egg shifts in the sands, seeming firmly anchored by one end. Then,
quite suddenly, there's a jumble of brown and white, of dissolving timbers
and flying sand. With a sound almost like a creak, the egg dissolves into so
many shards, allowing a chestnut-brown to take the stage, and greet his
adoring public.
Theatrical Chestnut-Brown Dragonet
Hushed, expectant darkness envelops his body with the weight of night, its
shadows sliding over velvety chestnut. Soft hue belies the solidity of the
form within; lean, muscular strength without bulk, powerful wings but finely
proportioned. This dragon appears to be more black than brown but his true
colours shine through; in the whisperings of colour that detail broad head
knobs and steady haunches, in the sheen of anticipation glazing dark talons
and in the tiger-eye that highlights the curves of his wingspars with such
dramatic flair.

Savarna takes the cool drink with obvious relief, before turning her attention
to hatching eggs, glancing over her shoulder at the pair of golds frequently.
There's a groan, and the woman lifts a hand to cover her eyes. "I forgot to
put that bet on brown hatching first, and now look."

Kiyhazel clings to Zaynne and Cattana's hands so tightly that her knuckles
have gone white, but the calm and even excited look on her face belies all of
that. Once the entering and bowing business has been complete, she edges
along with her attached persons until finding a place to stand, preferably
far away from the protective mama. She nudges at Zaynne and leans over to
whisper to him, but before she can form the words, she has to stop because
the first hatchling has shown itself. She goes all slack-jawed and resorts to
simple staring.

Gr'ym joins his band of merry meat-handlers: the dashing young A'ren, the
crusty old B'royev, and the lovely Jules, all up to their wrists in raw blood
and waiting for their charges.

Bullemorte's confident strut is somewhat reduced and impeded by his too-tight,
too-frilly robe. Its hard to look manly when enveloped in fluff, but he'll
sure try. And so, wiggling and waggling, with a cheesy smile pasted on his
face, he approaches the mound of eggs. Its a slow progression, though, since
he have to pause every few steps or so to tug the hem of his robe down.
Sigh! Although he seems to be favoring independence from the group, he does
sort of hang in Zaynne's general area.

Kiefer keeps one hand pressed against Lidia's, other hand free for the time
being — and shoots a smile at the girl after spotting the hatching of the
brown — which doesn't really entirely seem to startle him as much as it
should. Silly facade. "Beauty, isn't he. Bit of a showoff, kind of like … I
don't know, like I am. See a bit of me in that dragon, perhaps?" Innocent
grin laced with arrogance, as always.

Talvarn moves onto the sands slowly but purposefully. He looks and is
actually very relaxed. Whatever Gr'ym said to him he must have taken to
heart, because he seems positively serene. He approaches the clutch and
halts near the egg he felt such strong feelings from. His eyes close for a
moment, and then open slowly. Once again, his mind is cleared, and he's
ready. The sudden burst of the hatchling catches his attention, and he smiles
more broadly.

Zaynne edges nervously out onto the sands, feet moving in quick, mincing steps
and hand closed tightly around Kiyhazel's, possibly cutting off her
circulation. Lips move as though to say something, but no sound comes out. It
seems this poor candidate wasn't at all prepared for the hatching, despite
having been warned that it was near many times in recent days. Spotting the
first of the hatchlings doesn't do much to calm his fears, but a touch of awe
enters into his eyes as well. Kiyh is given a quick nod in agreement.

Lidia trails in behind Cattana, firmly attached to both her and Kiefer as they
reach the sands and give their bow. She laughs, listening to Kiefer chatter.
"He is," she says softly, clearly impressed by her proximity to the eggs,
the queens and the hatchling. "Though we'll have to wait to see if there's
truly some of you in him, won't we?" She smirks a little, resorting to a bit
of meanness to counter her anxiety.

Dylzan gets settled in a spot between a few candidates, trying to keep space
between him and those who have marked him off of their list at a distance.
Oh, but there are so many. His feet lift high off of the sands, though still
staying in place. "These are the hottest sands I've ever stood upon. Ever."
Yes, he's talking to himself, as most drunkards usually do. Is the maestro a
little wavy currently though is yet to be seen. His eyes attempt to take note
of everything all at once, but this is impossible. As the first hatchling
emerges, he shifts to focus on the brown, and give it some consideration.
Yes, like the brown requires Dylzan's consideration of all things.

Cattana steps onto the sands right behind Kihazel, grabbing the girl's hand as
she looks about. Sweat belies of her easy look to everything there, and so
does her silence. Stepping closer, she helps to form the semi-circle that is
needed for those here. Her eyes lock onto the mother of the clutch with those
whirling eyes, and then upon the brown hatchling. "That was- quick."

Zephre sips her juice and goes all nostalgic, glancing toward the golds nearby
as the candidates get their first look at a dragonet. "It's always different
once you're there."

Kalyani makes a beeline for Lidia, only to find that the other girl is already
attached to two people. She eyes the line, then curses under her breath.
Kiefer is the only one anywhere near Lidia with a hand free. Grudgingly, she
asks, "May I stand next to you, Kiefer?"

Sunken Ship Egg looks a little the worse for wear. In fact it looks absolutely
bedraggled as it sits and shudders and rocks.

Theatrical Chestnut-Brown Dragonet unfurls egg-goo draped wings, and rotates
slowly. Perhaps, he's eyeing the crowd of candidates arond him - or maybe
he's just showing off the tigereye highlights in the sun. He waits one long,
long moment before beginning to move with a dramatic suddeness as he races
with almost dangerous haste, given his youthful clumsiness, towards the
nearest audience of white-robed candidates.

Sunken Ship Egg audibly creaks, yielding at last to the forces that have
threatened to destroy it since its first day on the sands. Breaking apart in
slow motion, large pieces fall away to reveal a truer entity, both danger and
Helen of Troy Olive-Green Dragonet
Deep mottled greens adorn the sleek body of this dragon, every curve from
slightly-large muzzle to thin hind legs soothed by the muted sheen of aged
gold. Darker olive brushes across her jaw and chest, colours warm and layered
as they shadow legs and wingspars before caressing burnished wings. Beams of
chartreuse sunlight smooth alongher spine and pick out a touch or two of true
gold beneath its ancient covering to add a natural glow to her well-kept hide.

Kiefer just looks shocked. And mutters something completely incoherent and
pointless about slow, irresponsible people who aren't shrewd enough or
organized enough to plan ahead … and then shoots Kalyani a malicious look.
"Well I never. You, /asking/ me something so kindly? … It is a unique
situation, so I may grace you the chance." He offers her a long-fingered hand
quite melodramatically, before glancing over at the newest hatchling. "Nice
green, that'n."

Walk the Plank Egg shivers, shudders, just visibly.

Brandi giggles at Savarna "Well that's a way of looking at it… next time
perhaps you can remember to lay the bet Sav?" She smiles and sips at her
drink "A brown and a green, two beauties there Llydyth, you should be
pleased." Lyaseth continues to thrum gently, a soothing sound as she settles
down and watches with slight interest the hatching.

Kiyhazel shakes her hand at Zaynne to try and get him to release his grip a
little, but she doesn't worry about it too much. Easily spooked, once the
brown starts lurching along in search of a lifemate, she goes right back into
clinging. She nudges at Zaynne again, trying to point out her favorite egg —
but she frowns when she notices it's missing, an expression that immediately
melts in favor of another slack-jawed expression of awe at the gorgeous green
standing in its place. "Wow," are her first words.

Lidia turns around to give Kalyani a sympathetic grin, spinning around as the
crowd's response indicates a second hatchling out of the egg. She looks at
the green in awe, a slow, silly smile spreading across her face. "Greens!
There are greens!" it's an excited squeal, far sillier than Lidia usually
lets herself get. "I was scared there wouldn't be," she confides softly to
the candidates beside her, silly grinning gaze never moving from the

Talvarn sees Kalyani is linking the semi-circle and moves to her other side,
reaching her just as the brown makes him move. His eyes lock onto it,
watching it carefully. He's approaching fast, and seems very intent, yet he
himself feels nothing. Calming the excitement he's beginning to feel, the
awe takes over. The brown is really handsome.

Theatrical Chestnut-Brown Dragonet stops as suddenly as he started moving -
head jerks sidewards, and there's a brassy call as dark eyes and pale skin
catch his attention. There's a decided grace to his movements as he turns,
and begins with very, very slow paces to narrow the distance between him and
the girl. Just as he's almost close enough to touch, he looks away and
begins to turn, as if changing his mind… and then he darts forward and
firmly plants himself in front of Cattana.

Theatrical Chestnut-Brown Dragonet's whirling gaze fixes upon Cattana.

Bullemorte is looking a little dumbfounded. He just sort of stares at the
eggs as they hatch and produce gooey blobs of dragonflesh. Staaare. "Dude.
Zaynne? Are they always that slimy?" He's never been to one of these
shindigs before, so he's not entirely certain. He's beginning to do the
infamous sands dance, shifting his weight back and forth from foot to foot.
And unfortunately this constant moving means his hemline is always in danger
of inching up to a scandalous level. So between tugging and shifting and
staring, he's not presenting the prettiest picture. "Hey. Cattana, what's
that dragon… hey! I think she Impressed!" That squeal was a little girly.

Kalyani shakes her head and frowns. "How about a truce for the duration of
the hatching?" She's deperately in need of the support, see. The newly
hatched green catches her eye, and she quickly links her hand with Kiefer's.
Oh my. They're really, really hatching. "Hey, Talvarn." The brown
impresses, and her eyes widen. "Oh! Cattana!"

Walk the Plank Egg shakes out its last effort.

Walk the Plank Egg waits no longer; taking the plunge it sprays shards
everywhere. When the debris clears, a bellowing bronze pharoah sits in its
Thundering Sunrise-Bronze Dragonet
Broad-shouldered and long-limbed, this majestic dragonet's sun-drenched hide
sizzles down his spine, each angled ridge a spot of darkening umber. Pale as
a desert morning, belly and wingsails stretch taut and smooth, while cool
shadows claim the long outer edges of wingspars and the glittering curve of
talons. Massive, dark eyeridges dominate his head, and with the dark underjaw
contrast the weathered limestone castof neck and shoulders.

Helen of Troy Olive-Green Dragonet rises from the wrecked egg which released
her very slowly, her body uncurling, her neck stretching, her wings
extending. It's all about the nuance. Finally, she's ready. Chin firmly
raised, she launches herself into the midst of waiting admirers.

Skeleton Crew Egg shifts again, giving a determined wobble. Soon, soon, soon..

Kiefer is about to answer Kalyani in an actual /friendly/ remark, but that
silly brown interrupts him, like. "What's that brown doing to Cattana? …
Wait. She Impressed." Insert shock. /That/ bit he didn't expect. People
Impressing. People he knows Impressing. And now he starts shaking just a
little — tad jittery, see. "Um, congratulations, if that's what one says! At
least he's got semi-good judgement! Nice, Cattana!" It seems Kiefer's in his
'happy mode' right now. Adrenaline. Fragments.

Thundering Sunrise-Bronze Dragonet bellows with authority from moment one, as
he attempts to clear a lingering shard from his nose. So undignified. Once
that's done, he snorts and marches, talons digging deep in the sands.
Somewhere out there he'll dig up his destiny.

Zaynne is quite obviously not faring well in his current position; wide eyed
and shaking, he can barely keep his wits about him. The brown dragonet is
watched as he makes his way through the crowd and eventually stops before
Cattana, who is not that far from where he is standing himself. Being up
close and personal with one of the hatchlings intimidates him, but he doesn't
move; instead he watches as impression is made. "I—I don't know" he throws at
Bullemorte, his voice cracking as he spots two more eggs burst into
dragonets; green and bronze.

Lidia glances over toward the bronze, eyes widening a little. "Wow…this is
unbelievable." She shakes her head, not quite sure this is actually
happening. "This is the hatching, right? Not some sort of twisted evil
nightmare?" Her urgent question is directed first at Cattana - and then
comes the realization that Cattana is no longer beside her. "Oh…um…Catt!"
A stunned silence is made up for by a loud cheer in her friend's direction.

Cattana is stuck between jumping away from the brown, and looking over at the
green hatchling. Holding stead fast as she can, she finally sees the oncome
of the brown, and attempts a jump for it. A little too late. She's- shocked.
And her hand reaches forward to stroke Sidamath's muzzle. "Oh, Sidamath.."
She calls ever so lightly, before bending down and hugging around his neck.
She chuckles softly. "Ah yes, how the games shall begin…"

Gr'ym and his cronies cheer, and then they rock-scissors-paper in the midst of
Cattana's rapture to see who will go and shepherd her and the baby brown over
to the weyrling buffet. Jules wins.

Talvarn is obviously struck by the hatching. The eggs are all bursting open
now, and it's like nothing he's ever seen before, which, in point of fact, he
hasn't. He finally utters to no one in particular, "It's….it's all
happening so fast! And they're…they're magnificent!" He flicks a glance
at Morte, "I guess the goo protects them from the heat, Morte." He looks
back, searching.

Kiyhazel would clap for Cattana, but that would require freeing her hand from
Zaynne's grip. That's a little inconvenient and ill-advised with a dragon
hovering nearby, so instead she makes an effort to keep from edging away
while working with the equally odd and opposing feelings of utmost joy for
her fellow candidate. "Yay!" It's a little unusual in that it's quiet and
probably doesn't carry far; the nervous looks to the little brown explain
that much. Eyes drift out toward the green on the sands, and then cross
across a … bronze? Well. Eyebrow arches. "Hey, Zaynne, when did that

The first dragonet impresses and Dylzan shimmies towards the group of those
who love him the most. "Hey Zaynne, you doin' alright over here?" Dylzan
loves Zaynne, really. While pausing for a response Dylzan rescans the
situation and eyes Cattana impressing. A slight clap is given for the first
to impress, and then his attentions goes to the little green seeking
admiration and the newly hatched bronze. Motioning towards the two, he says
to those around him, "She looks stuck up…and so does he." Of course, Dylzan
wouldn't mind a little royalty around him…he'd treat them….well, a little
differently than they would expect.

Helen of Troy Olive-Green Dragonet examines these white-robed figures as if
they were suitors, strolling down the line. This young man looks fine,
but—too many ruffles. She peers at a girl with short brown hair, and moves
on. Now, here is a long cool drink of water. She pauses. Wait, he's holding
hands with another. Who is this other?

Kalyani takes Kiefer's lack of an answer for a yes, and grins. Talvarn's
comment causes her nose to wrinkle. "I don't think they're magnificent,
really. Sort of awkward." And rather frightening. "But I suppose they're
good-looking enough. Depends on your definition, really." Gulp. Where's that
green going, now?

Bullemorte points at the newly hatched bronze. "Now that's a man's dragon."
Turning towards Talvarn, although obviously reluctant to take his focus off
the spectacle before him, he makes an 'oh' face of comprehension. "The goo!
I see. Maybe if I just wander over there and…borrow some?" He turns to
regard the clutchparents, a good deal of skepticism overtaking his
expression, and then amends, "No, no, I think that might be a bad idea. She
could totally eat me if she wanted to." And he jabs a thumb in Llydyth's

Llydyth rumbles again, and head swings to look in Bullemorte's direction, as
if to say - yes, indeed, and since I haven't eaten for five days you're
looking mighty tasteful right now. Of course, since she doesn't say
anything, she might be thinking something different. You hope.

Thundering Sunrise-Bronze Dragonet takes his time getting out into the midst
of things - the sand is just fascinating, and there's his sire bellowing
somewhere behind him - but he finally turns his attention to the white robed
crowd. Somewhere out there is The One - his own perfect sun. Where to look?
Instinct brings him into the thick of the group.

Kiefer gulps again. "Yep, Lidia, it's real … and that is an /incredibly/ …
ah, /personable/ bronze. He seems to have some kind of Indignant Master Plan
there. Maybe he'll maul us." Kiefer smirks and laughs this tidbit off before
going back to watching the bronze for a moment. Longer than a moment — a
good deal of time before it seems that the green is moving in their

Talvarn is eyeing the green. She looks like someone moving through a market
looking at the wares.. Unable to tear his eyes off the spectacle he says to
Kalyani, "I don't know. But I'm sure amazed that I'm actually here…" He
mumbles to Morte, "She won't kill you, just maybe crunch you a little. Offer
shoes first…."

Mutiny Rising Egg gives a spectacular shiver. There's a mutiny rising soon —
but not quite yet, it seems, as the egg settles back into its nest of sand.

Helen of Troy Olive-Green Dragonet growls softly. She wants the undivided
attention of this girl with the braid and the dark eyes. So athletic. So

Zaynne's little group seems to be growing. Turning to offer a meek smile
which comes out more like a grimace
to his fellow candidate, he tries very
hard to put on the guise of being calm and collected, and fails miserably.
Pale-blue eyes stay glued to the dragonets wandering around the sands, the
bronze in particular catching his eye. So shiny, after all. "I— I'm…
fine.." No he's not. Fingers tighten around Kiyhazel's, and he shifts in an
attempt to ease the heat seeping through the soles of his sandals.

Skeleton Crew Egg positively shivers. Is that a hairline crack?

Kiyhazel is being ignored, now, and that doesn't suit her very well at all.
She watches the green saunter off somewhere else, and tears her eyes away
from the bronze at least long enough to give Zaynne another nudge. She
doesn't *say* anything this time, but in addition to her uncomfortable
foot-shuffling in response to the heat of the sands, she's now frowning and
looking around for a diversion. Finding nothing, she goes back to seeking the
eggs that're moving out, and looking them over. Skeleton Crew is the subject
of her latest scrutiny. "Hey, ZAYNNE," she says, loudly so as to get his
attention. "What do you think that one will hatch?" She doesn't even point to
show what 'that one' is. Hmph.

Ttana makes her way slowly over to where the meat is at with her newly hatched
companion, after being shocked stun-still. Yup, she's got a few tears. But
they're quickly whipped away. No weakness showing for her. Following one of
the assistants over, she gets food for Sidamath.

Kalyani makes a small squeaking noise. Green dragon, growling at her. She
backs up a little, clinging more tightly to the hands of the males on either
side of her. "I shouldn't have come out here. Dragons involve flying, and I
don't like flying." Her fears are irrationally inflated at the moment.

Dylzan chuckles, "Fine, fine. You keep trying to stay on the bronze's good
side." Dylzan watches the bronze and green some more, "All of these things
are just the same. Dragons. Goo. Me drunk in the aftermath. Hey, man, you
wanna get a drink after the hatch….oh yeah you don't drink! I still can't
believe it!" How Dylzan can manage to keep talking and pretending like this
moment doesn't matter to him is a mystery even to Dylzan himself. He's just
trying to be cool. We real cool, as the poem goes.

Helen of Troy Olive-Green Dragonet chooses this one, the one who squeaks,

Helen of Troy Olive-Green Dragonet's whirling gaze fixes upon Kalyani.

Skeleton Crew Egg seems to ripple, sea depths deepening in colour as its dark
smear seems to expand - the egg seems to bulge momentarily, before it cracks,
shedding white, bone-like shards in every direction and adding a jade-green
dragonet to the sands.
Curvesome Jade-Green Dragonet
Sumptuous malachite clings to this dragon's shapely figure, tumbling over
statuesque curves to meet with the glory of aquamarine that spreads out
across grand wingsails in a show of royal luxury. Precious jade traces the
refined lines of her head, following her rounded neck to play up the diamond
glimmer nestled among her neckridges, while rich emerald fans out across
curvaceous haunches and down a sinuous tail. Aged verdigris creeps along her
belly, trailing down to the elegant aureate of her talons, a voluptuous
vision of aristocratic style.

Talvarn manages to catch the tone of Zaynne's voice even though he's obviously
rapt at the spectacle before him. He says clearly to Zaynne, "We're all here
with you Zaynne, and you're as safe as you can be. Just relax and try to be
open to what happens…" Easy to say, but not so easy, perhaps, to do. He
notes the green has fixated on Kalyani and releases her hand, smiling, "Go to
her Kal….she needs you."

Lidia offers a small grin towards Kiefer, eyes still glued fast on the
hatchlings. A quick glance at the bronze, then another long look at the
green as the hatchling inspects various candidates. As the green makes her
choice, Lidia does her best to muster a congratulatory smile towards Kalyani,
a touch of disappointment clear in her eyes. She takes a deep breath and
lets her eyes rove, taking in each shuddering egg in turn as she tries to
guess which will hatch next. Her eyes light up at the sight of a second
green, hope rekindling. She's clearly forgotten that the dragons choose
their rider, not the other way around.

Jolly Roger Egg shudders as something lays siege from within.

Kiefer is dizzy again. He is, in fact, going to faint. "… Kalyani." Blink
again. "Kaly, your expression is looking a little less than normal. Perhaps
you should detatch the growling green-tinged creature from you and see … a
… healer …" And out he zones /again/. Ahem. "Again, good job?" He sounds
a tiny bit horrified, though. Kalyani? Why /her/?

Thundering Sunrise-Bronze Dragonet sniffs his way over to his sister - what is
she finding so interesting over here? He bellows, his voice a gravelly
rumble, as he closes that distance. The candidates he passes get merely
passing glances, so focused has he become on a point just ahead on the sands.
There's a couple of promising robes that way, and one seems to be swooning.

Curvesome Jade-Green Dragonet shakes her head rapidly, sending a few globs of
hatching fluid flying in the general direction of the candidates. She
stretches, unfurling damp wings, and twitches her tail. Now she's ready to
take the next step — her first step, in fact. Tilting her head to one side
to view the mass of white-robed figures before her, she seems to decide one
among them might make a fitting consort. With a baby bugle to her dam and
sire, she sets off to see what she can see, uncertain steps taking her

Kalyani's next squeak stops halfway in her throat. She blinks for a moment,
shaking her head to clear it of a noise that only she seems to hear. "Oh,"
she murmurs, brows furrowing a bit. "Oh my." With a cry that's halfway
between a laugh and a sob, she releases the hands of her comrades and reaches
out for the olive green in front of her. "Ten thousand, Fylipaeth," she says
adoringly, resting her hands on either side of that perfect head. "But none
will be as wonderful as yours."

Gr'ym and his assistants break out into applause again. It is now well known
that they think Kalyani is The Good One. Gr'ym has the honor of going to
usher her and little Fylipaeth to the all-you-can-chew feast of herdbeast

Zaynne is surprised enough at Kiyhazel's unexpectedly loud attempt at getting
his attention that he physically leaps a step to the side. "Whwhat?" he
asks, exasperated, managing to remove his eyes from the hatchlings for the
first time since the hatching started
and consequently missing the arrival
of yet another green. His normal patience with his foster-sister is wearing
thin in the stress of the moment, and he almost appears to be glaring at the
younger girl. He's going to regret that tomorrow, no doubt.

Lidia neatly side-steps any flying egg-goo, totally refusing to risk getting
her beautiful robe mussed unless she absolutely has to. She watches the
green curiously, observing the apparent surety in her step. "Look, Kiefer.
I think she knows where she's going already, she seems so sure of herself…"
she trails off, eyes darting from the green down her line of motion, trying
to figure out where she'll end up.

Kiefer nods again at Lidia, trying to shake the dizzy forlorn feeling from his
head. "She does. She knows. Maybe she knows it's you — if Kaly Impressed, I
bet you /anyone/ could." He shoots the newest greenrider the haughtiest of
looks — "And Fylipaeth's a nice name, for a cute dragon." Not that he
doesn't still hate Kalyani. Ahem.

Curvesome Jade-Green Dragonet has got this walking thing all sorted out.
Wings, she's still not sure about, giving them another shake to see if she
can dry them off. Coming across her first candidate, she tilts her head back
to make an inspection. It's certainly a very feminine robe. Those ruffles
aren't to be sneezed at. She edges closer, a snort sending Bullemorte's high
hem fluttering. But he's a boy! A boy! In those frills? Questions should
be asked, honestly. With an indignant trumpet she backs away rapidly,
setting sail in search of someone else. Perhaps someone shapely. Someone
with a figure. Someone who knows how to take care of her clothes. Wouldn't
want goo on them.

Talvarn moves over close to Zaynne, who has now been released from his sister.
He says quietly, "I'll stand by you, Zaynne. And by the way, you're doing
fine." He looks back at the approaching hatchlings. It's beginning to get
hectic, and he's really feeling excited. No trace of that fear now. It's
all too fascinating to him.

Brandi leans back against Lyaseth after selecting another cool drink. "All
very pretty Savarna, I think the rumours and complaints should stop now after
viewing this regal bunch." She pauses, ooops she probably shouldn't have
mentioned the rumours and complaints "But look, a bronze, some greens, how is
Llydyth viewing all this?"

Kiyhazel is not concerned about her robe. She's concerned about being ignored.
Watching the dragons walk around her is no fun, so she focuses on Zaynne. And
her ploy worked! Just not how she might've wanted it to. The exasperation and
the near-glare is enough to get a hurt look from Kiyh. Maybe the dragons are
a better lot after all. She flexes her free hand and watches the green for
the moment. No comments, no special movement… nothing, really, except a
pouty kind of look and the usual shuffling of feet.

Bullemorte shakes his head at Talvarn, his answeres belated due to the fact
that his aquamarine eyes are otherwise occupied with oggling the newest
additions to the sands. "No way am I going to take these off and let her eat
'em. My feet will burst into flames. Hey, you know, despite this robe being
uglier than anything I've ever seen, its kinda…breezy." Morte feels
pretty, oh so pretty! "Hey, so Kalyani Impressed. She's hot, so that's
cool." The curvy green dragonet is promptly regarded. "Hey uh…get off me.
Yeah that's right. Go on!" See? Frills are cool.

Thundering Sunrise-Bronze Dragonet comes up close to that swooning candidate,
quiet now as he inspects carefully, surer and surer of his one true choice.
Hellooo. Still dizzy? How about a nose in your belly to clear things up?

Dylzan sniffs sarcastically, "Well, fine, be sober. It's your choice. It's
your choice to ignore me too." Fine. It's okay. Dylzan doesn't need Zaynne.
Precise and careful fingers pick at the embroidered name near his neck.
That's right, everyone, he embroidered his name, white on white, of course.
After a moment he removes his hand from the neckline and stares down at the
hem. He did such a good job. He doesn't stare at his workmanship too long,
however. He doesn't want to draw attention. Staring out at the eggs and
dragonets, he claps for those who are impressing rather absently.

Kalyani and Fylipaeth make their way over to Gr'ym. Kaly still looks
starstruck, and smiles dizzily at Gr'ym when he directs her to the
appropriate spot. "Yes, Fylipaeth, whatever you want." Ooh, happy.

Oddly, Varn sees the whole exchange between the green and Morte and barely
manages to suppress a laugh. Odd how such things pop out when you're in an
odd situation. He points at his own rather hot feet and says, "I gave mine
up. It's not so bad really. And just think, you make a friend for life in
the process." He looks at the green. Very pretty, but not like Araganth at

Kiefer is dizzy, dizzy, quite diz—er, more like slightly upside-down. He's
fallen and he can't get up! "Hey. Watch it, hey!" Er. There's a /dragon/
nosing him. This is not normal. But as if the bronze is another candidate, he
gets eyed from the ground with an interesting 'why did you go and get my hair
all sandy it's HOT!' look as Kiefer tries — /tries/ — to pull himself up.

Zaynne's uncharacteristic glare only lasts for the briefest of moments before
he realizes what he just did. He was mean to Kiyh. Crimson rushes over his
features as he searches for something to say to her to make up for it.
"Kiyh.. I didn't— I mean.. I.." Not particularly good with words, and
feeling very bad. He turns to Dylzan for help, not even realizing that the
other boy was actually addressing him before. How's that for clueless? The
dragonets are completely ignored thanks to this new distraction. Shocking.

Thundering Sunrise-Bronze Dragonet backs off enough to let his Chosen One
stand up, then bellows hugely his welcome and approval. No mistake, this
thundering bronze is sure of his mind now!

Thundering Sunrise-Bronze Dragonet's whirling gaze fixes upon Kiefer.

Lidia hides her laughter behind her hand as the greenlet sends Bullemorte's
robe fluttering. "And a sense of humor, too…look at her, Kiefer!" She
turns around and blinks…abandoned again. "Wow…Kiefer. And Kaly." She
turns back toward the green, unable to really absorb the knowledge that two
of her candidate friends just got pulled off by dragons.

The weyrlingmaster crew is prepared for anything. When they see the bronze
with Kiefer, they nod sagely to each other and say things like, "Hold on to
your valuables."

Mutiny Rising Egg seems to glow a slightly darker red as a crack slithers
downwards from the raised-blade on its shell, angling with swift precision
towards the sands. The moment that single crack touches the sand, there's a
pause, a moment of anticipation. Then with a determined grace, the egg
collapses into five distinct parts, tumbling down into the sand and revealing
the hatchling within.
Royal Renaissance Shadowed-Bronze Dragonet
Ever-patient shadows stalk the glistening energy of crimson-stained bronze
across the lanky limbs and lithe frame of this sinuous dragon. The grainy
charcoal gathers darkest in obscurity, stealing both folds in hide and the
depth of underbelly away from the tumultuous activity of vibrant hues.
Blithely unaware, metallic russet and champagne filaments tumble in an
unpredictable race, hastening from streamlined muzzle, around blunt
neckridges to his delicate tail. Diverted by the seductive curve of
wingbones, copper abandons the pursuit in swirling embellishments flowing
across fragile wing membrane in the smooth poetry of liquid metal.

Bullemorte furrows his brow at the departing green, his quizzical tilting of
the head followed closely by a shrug of disregard. And just for the record,
Varn, nothing's 'popping out'. At least not yet. "Hey! Manly dragon went
to Kiefer." He's a lot more excited and nervous than his lackluster tone
indicates, though. Instead of coming out in his voice, its expressed through
a lot of wasted motion and poking of Zaynne and smoothing of the hair. "Oooo
bronze." More staring!

Kiefer — Ki'er, Ki'er! — blinks again. We definitely have a theme going.
"And it's already getting brighter, Khonsumaath. Already getting brighter."
Arm links around the young bronze's neck, and he uses Khonsumaath as a stand
to help him steady that dizzy feeling. And get him some food.

Gr'ym and B'royev and Jules make A'ren get Kiefer and baby Khonsumaath. They
will probably make A'ren teach the Shoveling Your First Poo lesson, too.
Perks of seniority and all.

Kalyani glances up from adoring Fylipaeth long enough to see Kiefer
impress… a bronze. Her nose wrinkles. "Shardit all. I thought I was rid
of him." So much for a truce. She does manage to muster up a quiet
congratulations, albeit grudgingly.

Curvesome Jade-Green Dragonet has got this all sorted out. What a girl needs
is a like-minded soul. Someone who understands just how important one really
is. Someone who has style. Someone with a sense of humour. Someone who'd
make a decent accessory - green eyes for a green hide? With another baby
trumpet she forges ahead, brushing past several candidates on her way to
inspect a very promising prospect. She does seem to fit the bill. She
pauses a few feet from a lanky girl with green eyes, assessing her
thoughtfully. Maybe, perhaps, possibly… let's see how she handles
pressures. She eyeballs the girl, trumpeting again.

Talvarn is once again sort of zoned out. He's aware that Kiefer managed to
take a sandnap, and that the bronze has chosen him, but he's trying to do as
Gr'ym suggested and remain clear headed. He looks at all the activity and
then the next egg erupts. What an incredible bronze! He stands quietly,
waiting. The egg he felt so much from still hasn't hatched.

Royal Renaissance Shadowed-Bronze Dragonet is not like his siblings - he
doesn't pause to collect himself, or even to rearrange his limbs, instead
already beginning to prowl. Not for him a showy entry - this bronze instead
darts behind a rise in the sands and works his way behind the candidates,
nosing the white robes at random as he makes his way past. Bullemorte gets
drops of slobber on the back of his knees; Talvarn gets a shove in the side
from clumsy wings; Dylzan gets a tug of white fabric as talons briefly catch
on his robe. It can be dangerous on the sands, and hatchlings like this are
the reason why.

Lidia stands a little straighter as the green approaches her, taking a deep
breath. She smiles a little shakily up at the dragonet, seeming to recognize
this as a test, and takes a hesitant, slow step forward, managing to look
sure of herself and anxious all at once.

M'tego was always here, yup! He looks on with great pride at the new bronze on
the sands making his choice. Razgulth bellows out, whether in warning to the
new rider or in welcome - no one will ever know.

Dylzan watches the green interact with Morte and grins, "Looks like Morte is
finally gonna get a woman, eh, Zay?" He gives it another try. This sad boy is
so desperate for attention. It's absolutely unreal. More absent claps are
given to those who are impressing. When will Dylzan care about something
going on? When a dragon tugs on his robe, "Hey, kid, watch the fabric…it
took me /hours/ to get it just right." Did he just say that? Yes, Pern, he

Curvesome Jade-Green Dragonet has made her decision, and she confirms it by
taking the few steps forward to meet her chosen. This one will do just
perfectly. Lidia.

Curvesome Jade-Green Dragonet's whirling gaze fixes upon Lidia.

Talvarn "oofs" as the bronze "shoulders" past, and flicks a glance back as he
catches himself and doesn't quite fall over. That one will bear watching.
Very cocky and sure of himself. A good quality if controled properly. It
will be interesting to see his choice.

But I Don't Like Rum Egg wobbles, but not drunkenly. Never drunkenly.

Kiyhazel is putting a dose of Zaynne's own medicine back in his court, to mix
metaphors, and is ignoring him. It's easy to do because of the sheer amount
of activity on the sands that there is, so she can even go ahead and pretend
she's not ignoring him on purpose, though it's pretty darn obvious. Were she
going to say anything to Zaynne, it would have to make way for the unexpected
arrival of a pushy, clumsy bronze hatchling. She just kind of stares at it
for a moment and tugs on Zaynne's arm. "Hey, he'd be perfect for you!
Clumsy." She says it laughingly, though a jab is implied. Lidia's impression
earns clapping from one hand on her side. Hurray for flimsy white robes!

Bullemorte swivels around abruptly to give the bronze a lethal glare. He
addreses the dragonet as if he were a bothersome candidate in the barracks.
"Dude, man, what are you doing? That's so disgusting." After informing the
dragonet, he makes attempts at wiping dragon slobber off the backs of his
knees. He begins to lean forward so as to bend down and do so, but the back
of his hem climbs up, so he stops. He tries the reverse leaning, too, but
the hem bunches up in front. Letting out a long suffering sigh, he just sort
of gives up and lets it dribble down his calves. Yum. "Hey! Lidia! That
weird green got you!" Gaze is shifted to Zaynne. "'Nother sexy greenrider.
I approve."

Jolly Roger Egg pings with an ominous report. The bleached rictus in its
shadowy grave broadens to a skeletal grin beneath the riotous onslaught of
heave-ho, accompanied by the perfidious cackle — creak, crack, pop. With a
lightning clap and a wooden snap, the egg splits and finally splinters, and
as the dust dissipates, a new darkness arises.
Queenly Olive-Green Dragonet
Mint slithers over the head, neck and chest of this small and muscular green,
overlain by the occasional bright fleck of ruby adorning her short muzzle.
Hue dims to a night-dark green, settling cloak-like to protectively enfold
her slender forelegs, powerful shoulders and voluminous wings that are large
for her small stature. Acid dissolves over hindquarters and tail but rallies
to coat lower hind legs in boot-like markings. Both hind and forelegs are
equipped with platinum talons, spears of light emerging from the depths.

Idia kneels down as her green - her green! - makes her choice, an odd mixture
of fear and excitement coloring her features as she stares at her lifemate.
"Vitaranth," she says softly, musing over the name as she says it. "I'd love
to show you the world, but please…go softer? You're loud," she finishes
with a crooked little grin, standing up again to rest a gentle hand on a jade

Gr'ym and crew send up a whoop of appreciation, and a little "Here comes
trouble!" B'royev is appointed as Idia and Vitaranth's personal shepherd.

Queenly Olive-Green Dragonet stretches, her tail flicking goo towards the
stands as she does so with a sinuous snap. Lapping at the egg-goo on her
muzzle, she rocks back, studying the line of white in the distance. Her
wings flutter, then finally settle, a sly look crossing her mint green

Zaynne looks distraught for a moment as Kiyh continues to ignore him, turning
between Dylzan, Bullemorte and his foster-sister in a state close to panic.
As such he completely misses the arrival of yet another shiny bronze. Not
that it really matters to him at the moment, his foster-sister is much more
important to him than a dragonet he won't impress anyway. Dylzan's comments
get a weak smile, but he doesn't seem to care about much else until Kiyh
speaks again. Her words alert him to the close proximity of the bronze, but
more importantly signal that she's not mad at him.. right? "Kiyh.. I'm so
sorry.." he tries, turning to look at her again.

Royal Renaissance Shadowed-Bronze Dragonet completely ignores the threesome's
reactions - after all, what would he care? He's on the hunt, and his
movements suddenly become stealth-like and his race turns to a slower stalk.
He crouches low on the sands, delicate tail almost quivering as he begins to
move from behind towards the unaware dark-haired boy with the lithe body.
Just as he's nearing, stealth-intensions are ruined in the most inappropriate
way - the dragonet sneezes loudly, splattering goo and sand towards his prey.

Scurvy Gums Egg almost ripples. There's no getting around this - it looks
disgusting. And it's getting ready to hatch.

But I Don't Like Rum Egg shimmies a bit, touched by the activity around it.

For all this time, the Sails to the Wind Egg hasn't moved. Not even a quiver.
It just sits there, in it's corner, glanced anxiously towards by Savarna in
between impressions.

Idia moves slowly, matching Vitaranth stride for stride as they follow B'royev
towards the food. A slightly stunned smile rests on her face, the occasional
puzzled headshake making it clear that Idia's still not accustomed to the
sound of another voice inside her head. They take their place beside the
other new weyrlings and Vitaranth begins to eat ravenously, Idia managing
only the occasional glance back towards the sands.

Talvarn turns to Zaynne and pats him on the shoulder, "Zaynne, man. She's
lifemated. I'm sure she's not even the least bit worried about it right now.
Clear your head, man." He jerks his head toward the eggs, "There's more to
come. Your lifemate could appear at any time. Focus on that, not petty
stuff. This could be a total life change for you, here, now, today."

Kiyhazel is getting showered with goo. Goo is bad. Goo makes things … well,
gooey. And Scurvy Gums looks to be going the way of the bronze who's
currently gifting people with … stuff. Gross. Zaynne's concerns, as usual,
are completely brushed aside in favor of her own. "Ewww! GROSS! Now I'm all
sandy and… sticky… and … gross! Zaynne, can't you do something about
that? Aren't you supposed to protect me?" Faranth. She even manages to ignore
the presence of yet another green, and more moving eggs. Tsk.

Bullemorte snorts at Zaynne. "Haha, that's way gross. Much grosser than the
slime on the back of my knees." Sudden inspiration, and the frill-clad
candidate whirls to face Talvarn. "Think this stuff will work as
heat-protecting goo?" Eyes wide with this genius concept, he begins to
bounce energetically on the balls of his feet. Apparently, this is meant to
drive the goo down towards the soles of his feet. SUCH an idiot.

The weyrlingmaster crew limits its anxious glances — when they can be spared
— to that Scurvy Gums egg. "It probably will end up a fat, ugly bronze,"
Br'oyev asserts, just to mess with Gr'ym and A'ren.

"Fine. Don't apologize." Dylzan shrugs as the bronze ignores his comment and
then gets a horrid look on his face as the goo begins to fly, "Well that's
just /disgusting/! I"m glad I don't have to be lifemate to /him/." Jeez. At
least cover your mouth and nose with a wing, or something. Nothing worse than
draconic flu.

Queenly Olive-Green Dragonet is ignored. Pity. She shall have to remedy
that, yes? With a snap that echoes across the sands, she opens the broad
expanse of her wings and begins to creep across the distance between egg
mound and candidates. Amok. Amok. Amok.

Talvarn looks at Morte and once again has to suppress a laugh, "Morte…man.
You are just the feline's whiskers. Heat-protecting goo? It only lasts a
day, then it's all kinda smelly. And ya gotta wait a loooooong time for
more." He grins broadly then points at the menacing queen, "You can always
ask her to lay another clutch though."

Zaynne, his apology to Kiyhazel just out of his lips, is caught completely
unaware as the young bronze sneezes and splatters him with Egg Goo. Long,
strand-like tendrils of Egg Goo. His attention caught, he turns to face the
bronze for the first time— that last one doesn't count because he really
wasn't paying attention. "It's okay.. Kiyh.. just.. g—" trailing off as his
eyes come to a rest on the bronze, Zaynne is most definitely shocked. He
didn't expect it to be /that/ close. And though hatchlings may be much
smaller than full grown dragons, they're still huge. Fear seeps its way back
into Zaynne's pale-blue eyes as he waits to be eaten.

M'tego heard B'royev and has to grin, though Razgulth's not amused. "Hey! None
of his babies are going to be ugly, or so says him." he says to B'royev,
pointing at the bronze monster behind him.

Talvarn is suddenly and quite completely covered in the aforementioned goo.
He slowly looks at the bronze and for the first time on the sands talks to
one of the dragonets, "Guy…that is /not/ what you do when you're out
hunting. What are you thinking?" He shakes his head, "When you get a
lifemate, I'll show you how to hunt properly…"

Kiyhazel spreads the ignoringness thing around quite well, apparently. Poor
Dylzan; poor Zaynne! The amok'ing green is given a look, but she
unfortunately has more immediate concerns, like a bronze in her immediate
vicinity. Zaynne's severe flinching earns some concern and more tugging on
his arm — yeah, like that'll help. "Hey, uh, Zay? Calm down, okay? See, he's
not going to do anything…" Eyes flick to the green. *That* one might, but
it hasn't creeped within proximity yet.

Royal Renaissance Shadowed-Bronze Dragonet pauses, mid-prowl, apparently
horrified. Then there's a shake of his head, and he darts with sudden energy
and movement towards the candidate. Perhaps Zaynne was right to fear - his
head lowers at just the right angle, and the hatchling head-butts his prey
with just enough force to (perhaps) knock him over. Got him! The hunter has
captured his prey! And in more ways than one, it seems; swirling gaze looks
up at Zaynne's, demandingly. You're mine. And there's no need to fear.

Royal Renaissance Shadowed-Bronze Dragonet's whirling gaze fixes upon Zaynne.

Is that a far-off fanfare that you can hear amongst the calling of crowd and
candidates? The bray of hounds? The rustling of overgrowth and the thundering
of hooves or is it just the sound of the wind on your robe ahd the beating
of your own heart? Those questions become moot as a distant gleam begins to
grow, enveloping your mind with lingering tendrils of crimson-stained gold,
filling your nose with the sweet scent of raspberries. The pursuit is over;
you, the prey, have been caught. And now with a cultured mindvoice clothed in
gold-veined warmth, the hunter greets you with a good-natured triumph. »
I've got you, Z'ynn! You don't need to hide anymore. «
» My name is Delinsteth! «

On behalf of his crew — even that B'royev, Gr'ym tells M'tego, "We will not
take the advice of an Istan interloper." A broad sense of humor is
nevertheless plainly evident in his face and tone. "You can't be trusted."

Brandi grins at M'tego, "Course not, a bit of outside blood never hurt any
bloodlines." She says "All lovely babies, M'tego, you and Savarna should be
proud." She raises her glass to toast the two clutchparents.

Scurvy Gums Egg shivers, yellowed ivory cracking and peeling away in a sickly
mess, glistening egg-fluid pouring out through the cracks before the shell
disintegrates entirely, depositing a copper-bronze dragonet on the sands.
Intellectual Aged-Copper Bronze Dragonet
Burnished bronze enfolds this dragon's sinuous frame, rivulets of sepia
running down from aristocratic features — marred only by a slightly
too-large muzzle — and rippling over his sculpted headknobs down flattened
neckridges to pool darkly between limber wings. Aged copper sweeps out across
those wide wingsails, made parchment-pale by the spidery network of yellowed
lines that gather about elegant spars. Across his haunches, shadows lurk —
smooth umber blending into molten amber as it travels the length of his tail,
and darkening further as it reaches his underbelly. The talons that grace his
large feet are weapons, shimmering steel.

Bullemorte gives Zaynne a good, hearty thump on the back as Impression happens
right next to him. "Hey man, you Impressed!" You know, 'cause he doesn't
know already. "Congrats! I knew you could it buddy. But teach your dragon
not to be gross kay?" But then he has to pay attentino again, 'cause another
bronze has graced the scene.

Talvarn steps back as the bronze barrels into Zaynne, shaking his head and
grinning. He looks down at Zaynne and in a mischievous tone says, "I told
you so. Now stop freaking out and stand up. He's gonna be a real handful."

Queenly Olive-Green Dragonet slows as she creeps around to the rear of the
candidate line, sneaking as well as the shifting sands beneath her feet might
allow. Ignoring the queen of creepy is a dangerous thing to do. With the
ominous spread of her sails, she sends a wicked shadow across her chosen
victim. Tremble, ladies, tremble.

Dylzan recovers from the goo pretty easy, since he wasn't covered, after all.
Eyes dance out over the dragonets wandering around, and the little green who
wants attention ain't getting any from him. Sorry sister, it's not his thing.
Finally he returns attentions to the bronze just to see it impress to Zaynne.
"Oh. Great." No congratulations to his 'friend' or anything. All Dylzan can
think of is how he will be once again left on the sands without anyone to
bother. Oh, Morte…

M'tego salutes Brandi jauntily and cracks a grin at Gr'ym. "Outside blood is
good for the dragonets. See? look,another bronze!" He's smug and Razgulth is
bursting. The sire cranes his head to sniff this new bronze, the burnished
one. He approves and vocally urges him on his way.

Intellectual Aged-Copper Bronze Dragonet seems keen to part ways with his
former home, trailing hatching fluid behind him as he moves away from the
scurvy shards. Pausing at a safe distance, he surveys the candidates calmly.
This is a choice that calls for rational thought, careful analysis. He
turns his head to offer his sire a bugle, then drops to a crouch to stalk
forward, tail whipping back and forth in anticipation. Let's see who's
who… there must be some potential out here. Despite the fact that several
of his available options seem to be bouncing, yelling or thinking about

"You see?" Br'oyev says, nodding at the newest bronze. "I knew it."

Zaynne's eyes close as the dragonet's head lowers and the young bronze moves
into a rush. He knew he would one day get eaten, and at least he knows that
after he's gone people will be able to say "He was right.. wasn't he?" So you
can imagine his surprise when not only is he not eaten, but he isn't even
tasted. Instead, he is knocked over onto his back in the warm sand, a
strange, warm feeling spreading through his mind. "Delinsteth?" he repeats,
meekly, cracking an eye and peering up at the form of the bronze. "Why can I
hear you?" Standing slightly and moving to put a hand on the gooey dragonet's
hide, he looks completely confused. "And that's not my name.. I'm Zaynne."

Kiyhazel has to ignore the queen of creepy, unfortunately, because there are
things like Zaynne being Impressed by one of those bronze dragons in her
immediate presence. It is an unfortunate consequence that her shock at this
event erases awareness of anything else. "Zay… oh my Faranth." She is left
uncharacteristically speechless following that amazingly genius exposition
and drops his hand. Following his rather oblivious response to his new
lifemate, though, she prods him in the side, back to being the normal
annoying foster-sister. "You weirdo, he's yours! What's your new name?"

Gr'ym taps Jules to collect Zaynne and Delinsteth, murmuring something like,
"See? It's not Bullemorte, it's all good."

Talvarn flicks a glance at the egg he felt the most from. Still no sign or
movement. A bit of concern for the dragonet inside crosses his mind. Is it
ok? It seemed so free, and… alive when he felt its touch. He restrains an
impulse to approach it. Maybe it's afraid to hatch? Is that possible? He
glances about, unsure of himself. Maybe approaching it is not a good thing.
But what if it needs help?

Queenly Olive-Green Dragonet waits in eager anticipation of the moment of
notice, her gaze slipping, briefly, to the brother's bronze. When the
candidate in question refuses to take note, she sniffs and rocks back on her
heels, her wings flipped to settle at her sides once again. Well, then. Her
tail snakes about to entwine Kiyhazel's legs and turn the candidate to face
her. Mine?

Queenly Olive-Green Dragonet's whirling gaze fixes upon Kiyhazel.

But I Dont Like Rum Egg creases slightly along its garish garnish, then
stretches and returns to its previous shape. Impatient, the azure dragonet
within cuts himself free, and the hint of lime disappears in a shower of
Canny Mongolian Blue Dragonet
Pale azure crowns bony headknobs and flows downward to fade beneath stormy
heights of neckridges. Lithe, muscular wings are dusted in beryl brilliance
that catch available light and distort into facets of bright corruption.
Ultramarine shadows ebb in underpinnings and creases, spreading rich,
impenetrable shadow to a twist of morning sky that encircles over highlight
in squat, beefy legs and coils to spaded end in darker royal tip matching the
deadly sharp talons in color. Underbelly is unbroken ultramarine, darkening
like stormy, dangerous sky.

Bullemorte, happily oblivious, is still bouncing around, his hands now firmly
cemented to the hem of his robe in order to hold it down. Good thing he
doesn't have supersonic hearing, or he'd go yell at Gr'ym, then get
chastised, and probably be threatened wih getting kicked out of candidacy.
If they can even do that at this point in time. "Yay Kiyhazel! Sexy
greenrider number three. Things are looking better and better for this weyr!"

Still nothing from the Sails to the Wind Egg. Nothing at all. Zip. Nope.
It might as well be a statue.

Canny Mongolian Blue Dragonet steps free of his own will, clear of egg and
triumphant already, knowing he is here for glory. This is the time to act -
he bursts into action, stretching those wings and flexing his talons,
sniffing the air as his first trumpet sounds into the cavern. He is sure, he
is strong, and he knows what he wants.

Rebellious Hostage Egg shakes and shivers, almost ready to make its debut.

Dylzan kicks at the sand and regrets it. Stupid hot sand. Shifting from foot
to foot, trying to recover from the deadly hot sand that just met with his
flesh, Dylzan snarls at Zaynne, and then claps absently for Kiyh. He's easy.
He can be angry and blandly interested all at the same time. Some note is
given to a blue dragonet who has just hatched and is all a trumpet, "Shards,
that thing'll deafen us all." Dylzan nudges Morte, "I hope that one doesn't
do that -every- morning. I may stick around for awhile, and I do not want to
be woken up by sounds like that."

Talvarn sees the blue break free and is again awestruck. This guy is
handsome. As he trumpets his arrival Varn smiles, "Man, he's really
something, and he knows it, too." His eyes flick to the still unhatched egg,
and once again a pang of concern hits him. Is it just to be left there?
Does anyone check it? He glances around again, eyes returning to the blue.

Kiyh finds it very hard to ignore such pressing evidence of something more
worthy of her attention. She doesn't even try, in fact, because she's not
good at balancing when startled, and falls to her bum on the sand when her
legs are captured by the green. Her green. She finds herself simply staring
for a time, but moves to rubbing her arms reflexively against the goosebumps
that have appeared there, and then tentatively reaching forward toward —
"Dysairyth." And the magic moment is over, and pressing needs return once
again: the sand is hot. Very hot. "Ouch! Ouch," she adds quietly, looking at
Dysairyth questioningly. "Kiyh? Why not Kiyhazel?" Hand gravitates to her
stomach. "I should've eaten before this thing started… you hungry?"
Riiight. Congratulations and whatever other comments are directed to her are,
alas, relegated to the 'ignored' category.

Intellectual Aged-Copper Bronze Dragonet stalks further forward, pausing to
cast a glance at his brothers and sisters on the sidelines. If they did it,
so can he. He'll just see what takes his eye, and there is one who does, for
all the wrong reasons. There's sure to be a logical reason behind the girl's
clothing and the jumping up and down. Perhaps it's worth hearing.
Crouching, he begins to stalk, engineering a stealthy approach towards a
lanky, awkward, frilly figure, twitching tail sending up sand in his wake.

Zaynne doesn't seem to quite understand what is happening as Delinsteth herds
him over towards the sidelines, chattering non-stop in his new lifemate's
head. "No.. I'm /Zaynne/.." he insists, fighting a losing battle with the
young bronze. "And are you sure you meant me.. Bullemorte is right over
there, you know.." he turns to pick out his fellow candidate in the sands,
though is quickly redirected by a flick of the tail. Not too fast to see that
pushy green impress to /his/ Kiyh.. He hardly has time to react though,
before Delinsteth's hunger takes hold of his mind once more. He'll have to
see to Kiyh later on.

Bullemorte nods in accordance with Dylzan. "Man, I totally agree. Anything
that makes screeching or squealing noises needs to be taught a lesson."
Pause. "Unless its a girl squealing. Over me. Then that's okay." He
glances around, apparently noticing for the first time that a lot of the
other candidates have departed to feed hungry beasties. "Oh man. It's
getting lonely out here." Does he notice the bronze trying to stealth its
way towards him? Of course not. The dragon's being stealthy and Morte's
really unobservant. He's really not a girl though! Promise.

Jules inquires as to whether it would be bad form to dump the meat barrel on
Bullemorte when this is all said and done. Gr'ym hesitates, but firmly vetoes
the motion.

Talvarn shoots the pair a look, "Careful. He's a proud one, is that blue. If
he wants to trumpet, and he thinks you won't like it, he's liable to just get
louder." He studies this one carefully. The first blue to hatch. He looks

Canny Mongolian Blue Dragonet moves with clean purpose already, compensating
for his first awkwardness with swift extensions of his wings. He stretches
toward the candidates, every sense alert for the one he will claim. And that
will be only the beginning - first, a lifemate, next, the world! He somehow
knows his respect will be returned, and bypasses a couple of white robes that
don't quite measure up. He hunts, yes, but the running, trumpeting hunt of
the open plains, his mind the arrow flying ahead to its prey.

Dylzan is happy to finally have a real companion out here. Now Bullemorte, is
the kind of guy who likes to have a drink, for sure. Not like that girly-man
over there milkin his dragon…or feeding it. Whatever. "Sure, sure. Girls
and squealing. Absolutely fine. But that horrid sound." Dylzan shudders and
then rolls his eyes at Varn, "Pride isn't always a virtue, you know."

Kiyh follows A'ren willingly enough, but not without being careful to make
sure that Dysairyth is following along as well. Not that she needs the extra
attention; she's more than willing to go it alone, and seems more concerned
with getting Kiyh to the right place. The joint effort gets them there,
though, and that's all that's really important. Far be it for Kiyh to think
about anything but herself at this point.

Talvarn snorts and laughs, "Tell that to him when he gets here." His eyes
sparkle playfully, "It would serve you right if he chose you. I can hear it
now…" His voice trails off.

Intellectual Aged-Copper Bronze Dragonet creeps forward a few steps further.
Why so fascinating? A female certainly won't…. ah. With a baby bugle that
echoes Razgulth's much deeper one, he proclaims his triumph.
Congratulations, it's a boy! He can see can see some work is needed here.
But there's something about the raw material… perhaps this one could rise
to a challenge. Watch out, Fort Weyr. Bullemorte's just impressed.

Intellectual Aged-Copper Bronze Dragonet's whirling gaze fixes upon Bullemorte.

Rebellious Hostage Egg seethes with overabundant energy. Sides heaving, the
stretch of once-delicate shell raises brassy striations on the surface. Dusty
cracks scatter across the spreading hue as the egg does a little jig in place
upon the sands. It spins, it whirls, it does a little hop and then pops.
Literally. As the smoke-hued dust and debris finally clear, a large blue is
seen, stretching, on the sand.
Imposing Indigo-Blue Dragonet
An imposing figure cloaked in indigo, this blue is a composition of impressive
size and sleek magnificence. Charcoal clouds the perfection of long limbs and
longer tail, while smoky tendrils of ash and lavender coil about a warrior's
broad shoulders and hefty flanks. Large wings of un-occluded midnight,
gathered close, form elegant folds against his sides. A countenance of sunken
gaze, angled features, and a large, slightly hooked muzzle lends an air of
sober contemplation to an otherwise stalwart physique.

Idia grins, one fist flying into the air as she watches Bullemorte's
impression. Vitaranth turns her head up, muzzle darkened with scarlet blood,
to add her own high trumpet to her lifemate's much quieter cheers.

Imposing Indigo-Blue Dragonet stretches each long limb right down to his large
paws, digging divots in the sand as his canny gaze studies the distant
horizon. There is business that must be attended to here and he does not
hesitate to begin. Cautiously, he begins to take the sands, one step at a

There is no shortage of groans of despair. But Gr'ym himself comes, big toothy
grin and all, to get the cad formerly known as Bullemorte and that poor,
innocently misguided bronze of his.

Canny Mongolian Blue Dragonet will trumpet when he wills, and no one will
naysay him - he's going to conquer the world, remember. But first, that one
matter… A suitable mate, a partner in glory, and he slows his headlong run
with a puff of sand as he closes on a couple of candidates in conversation.

Bullemorte will drink Dylzan under the table any day! He is the ultimate
manly man companion for Dylzan. In a strictly platonic manner, of course.
Wait wait, something's happening. "I hear voices!" he exclaims suddenly.
"Wait, no…I hear a voice. Just one." He looks around searchingly,
excited, and then notices the bronze that has somehow made its way really
close to him without noticing. It's all he can do to surpress a girly scream.
"Dude…whoa. Istruith!"

Bullemorte is B'lor now, too. For the record.

"Fine. You leave me too. Fine." How many times has Dylzan said that today?
More eyerolling is done towards Talvarn, "Trumpeting. Bah." is all that is
mumbled, and Dylzan just decides to focus on these dragon things that aren't
going to pick him, because he is Dylzan, the candidate that dragons love to
hate. They pull on his nice robes, goo his friends and are too durn loud.
Dragons. Bah. Who needs them?

Talvarn gets a bit more somber, eyes on the blue that so purposefully
approaches, "Dylzan, man. I'm just talking to fight off nerves. I hope it
works out for you. I never figured to be chosen anyhow. It's probably just
my fate." He eyes the unhatched egg, "What about that one? Can we touch it?
Maybe it needs help."

Kiyh does! And she already has one. So, problem solved. No conflict here. She
does spare a glance for the activity on the sands, but it's rather impatient,
a sort of 'well? are you done *yet*?' kind of thing.

Imposing Indigo-Blue Dragonet picks up his pace, recognizing the dissipating
wall of living, breathing bodies for the sign that it is. So few left. So
little to choose from. He studies his blue brother with a wary eye, then
turns all of his attention to the remaining candidates. There's someone who
needs him.

Jules nudges Gr'ym and says, "Shoulda let me dump that meat bucket on him."

B'nal watches the two blues raptly. "Bronzes are great, but blues are
interesting. Those are fine ones, too."

Dylzan snorts, "Can we touch it? You think that huge giant dragon sheeming of
gold is going to let you -touch- her egg? Your brain must've been
numbweeded…" Yes, that was a kind statement, wasn't it? "Man, these last
ones are just taking their time. I could've been through at least two
celebratory skins of Benden by now…" Dylzan shifts from foot to foot,
wondering if Ilsa and Selka impressed. He doesn't remember seeing them, but
he sure hopes so. They'll be too busy with their dragons to seduce him or nag
at him to make up his cot. Oh how lovely that would be.

M'tego claps his hands over his ears as Razgulth let's out a bellow of
excitement and stands up on his haunches and spreads his wings. "Down you
fool, down! You'll scare away the rest of the candidates!"

B'lor and Istruith have made their way over to the weyrlingmasters. The fact
that most of them are trying to avoid eye contact with him doesn't phase him
in the least. He's got a wonderful new lifemate and said lifemate will spear
anyone who messes with him. Well, probably not, but…one can hope! "Hey.
I've already got gooed on. I don't need meat on me too. That might confuse
one of these guys and then they'd eat me, and you don't want that!" As if
Morte actually knows what Jules wants. Instead, the young man gleefuly
plunges his arms into the meat, all the way up to the elbows, and scoops up a
gigantic portion that is promptly offered to Istruith.

Canny Mongolian Blue Dragonet narrows his search, listening to a particular
voice, his every energy so attuned to that somber concern, attached to a body
that might make a suitable choice. Is there ambition in that body, thoughts
of the future under that red-blonde hair? Another trumpet heralds his
impending decision.

Z'ynn, having reached the sidelines quite a while ago, continues to try and
impress upon Delinsteth the proper way to say his name. No pun intended, of
course. "Zaynne, not Z'ynn. Zaynne." he repeats, all the while feeding chunks
of meat from a nearby bucket to the starving bronzen one. "Because I like my
name.. So?… I am not.." So much fun to be on the wrong side of a one way
conversation, isn't it?

Imposing Indigo-Blue Dragonet narrows down his choices and starts towards
someone who could use his services best. There will be no Benden for one
candidate more, tonight. Not for a long, long time.

Talvarn begins to wonder if his mind /is/ made of numbweed as he watches the
blues. He manages to mutter, "She won't eat you man. She's not as mean a
you think. She was nice to me…" Of course, he did give her those boots.
But that's the least of his concerns now as the blues approach. What next?
His calm is starting to evaporate as they near. Suspense is not a good thing
to inflict on him.

Canny Mongolian Blue Dragonet closes in on that voice, all this talking of
eating and shoes - there will be more important matters to talk of soon.
This canny blue rears up, wings extended, sniffing the air above Talvarn's
head one final time. Yes, this is the one. Let the conquest begin here.

Canny Mongolian Blue Dragonet's whirling gaze fixes upon Talvarn.

Ttana groans as she looks up from feeding Sidamath to see B'lor walking over
with the bronze dragonet next to him. "Oh geez.. You?" She mocks, quirking
her lip at his wonderful robe. "Maybe your bronze loved your robe! You know,
you can just thank me for that one.." she turns again to see the blue
impress, quirking her lips a bit more as she watches. "Well, looks like we're
adding one more to the pack."

Idia laughs softly, listening to Z'ynn's conversation with Delinsteth with
half an ear. A questioning trill from Vitaranth evokes a smile. "No, it's
fine, I like Idia. It fits well." She sighs softly, reaching up to rub her
forehead thoughtfully, leaving a smear of blood across her face. Her robe
is, of course, ruined. "Seriously…quieter, please. I'm not…not used to
this yet." B'lor gets a distracted smile of welcome as he and Istruith join
the new weyrling class.

B'lor is one big ball of sunshine and optimism, happiness oozing out of every
pore as he thumps Istruith on the shoulder approvingly. "That's right buddy,
gobble that stuff down." Ttana is regarded with an oversized smile and he
offers a lewd wink and a thrust of the hips for her observation. "That's
right, babe, its me. I don't know if it was the robe, or just my pure
awesomeness…" He trails off. "What do you mean, awesomeness isn't a
word." He swivels to regard his dragon, hands propped demandingly on narrow
hips. "Dude, what do you know?" He glances out at the sands. "Oh he did!
Check that out. Yeah Varn!"

This is just great. He is now here. Alone. Without even people who want to
touch an egg at a hatching. "Unbelievable." Dylzan stares absently around,
and then down at a certain blue dragon heading in his direction, "No, I don't
think you want to do that. Really, I don't."

Talvarn blinks, and looks up into the swirling eye, "Temujith….my friend. I
have fled from you all my life. But I understand now, and we'll be one." He
winds an arm around that blue neck, hugging him tight enough to crush most
people he knows, but to Temujith, it's nothing. "We'll hunt together, my
friend. You're right, we have much to do."

Imposing Indigo-Blue Dragonet pauses before a candidate with a belief in
himself about as small as he is large. With a grand obeisance, he makes his
acquaintance known to Dylzan—someone who apparently needs an awakening more
than he.

Imposing Indigo-Blue Dragonet's whirling gaze fixes upon Dylzan.

Savarna watches as Dylzan impresses, giving a clap of her hands. The joy is
short-lasting however; she takes a deep breath, before heading to the
unhatched egg and resting a hand on it. "It's…" She turns around and,
mouth in a tense line, waves M'tego, R'sin and the Weyrleaders over. Her
lifemate abandons the shells that were once her clutch, gathering behind
Savarna to look down at the very pale, very small, very still egg.

Kiyh is, surprisingly, at a loss for words. It may be because she's watching
Dysairyth with such love and awe that it leaves no room for her usual
incessant chatter. It may be that she's still trying to pay attention to what
else is giong on. The last is certainly true when she sees the flurry of
activity on the sands. She frowns, but only briefly before her attention is
snatched once more by the green by her side.

Zephre stays by the wall, watching the gathering around the still, cold egg
without joining it. She rather needs to concentrate on the joy on the other
side of the cavern for now, where nine dragonets are happily feeding on their
first meals.

R'sin grimaces, turning away from the group of weyrlings to join Savarna at
the side of the small egg. His voice is low, pitched to carry only to his
immediate group - today should be about the celebration on the other side of
the sands. "Can Llydyth or Razgulth hear anything? It hasn't shifted at

Gr'ym glances toward that still egg as well — but there are more than enough
people and dragons to tend to it; his role here is for the living and the
new. He and his assistants round up their nine young pairs, a task made
difficult by the confusion and excitement of Impression. Gr'ym is already in
the habit of repeating everything he commands at least thrice.

B'nal resolutely nods as the last blue chooses well before coming over to
stand beside Savarna and the unmoving egg.

Brandi covers her mouth slightly as she sees that in all the celebration one
egg is left. She smiles at Talvarn and then up to the stands to Z'mra to see
if she is proud, and then eyes flick back to that last small egg. "Oh
Savarna…" she says quietly.

Ttana chokes at B'lor's shaking of his hips, before she outright laughs. "You
sure it wasnt the robe? Because I can swear without it, that bronze might've
never even blinked at you!" She then watches the leader-types walk over to
the last egg, Sidamath now perched beside her in an imposing fashion. "Ooo…
Poor hatchling." Sympathy? From Catt? Miracles never cease.

Dylzan stares down at the dragonet and pauses, "What did you just call me?"
Flecks of gold stare out of the brown pools of Dylzan's eyes as he lets this
all sink in. "Hello, Saelhedith, nice to meet ya and everything…but my name
is Dylzan…" His brow furrows a bit. "Yl'za? Now my name sounds like a girl
name. I can't wait to send a firelizard back home and tell them this…."
Yl'za lays a hand on the blue and then shakes his head, "No, no. It's fine,
it's fine. I kind of like it. Yl'za. Saelhedith."

Idia looks over toward the last lonely egg for about two seconds before
Vitaranth's arrogant crows for attention pull her right back to the feeding
frenzy that is her lifemate. "I want to see what's happening," she offers in
soft protest, trying to peer around Vitaranth as she juggles feeding with
peering at the final egg, finally giving up when a head-butt from Vitaranth
pulls her attention sharply back - so sharply that the newly-named Idia
tumbles to the ground, making a face at the green.

B'lor grins expansively at Ttana. "Well, if it was the robe, then I'll make
it up to you." More over-exaggerated winking. Glancing around at the other
Impressees, he exclaims, "Sweet! We all Impressed." Eyes linger momentarily
on Z'ynn's life partner, and he departs from Istruith's side momentarily in
order to inform the younger boy, "Hey. Mine's bigger."

V'arn finally releases that blue neck, and says, "Put it down…yes, like
this. Here, you'll like this." He reaches out and skritches the top of the
now lowered head, "Ahh yes. See, told you you'd like it. And man am I..I
mean…you're /famished!/ Come on, lets get you some food. Mind not
slinging goo about…"

"But I— Z'ynn.. just.. it doesn't sound like me…" The usually passive
Zaynne seems to be quite insistent on this one point, though he does keep his
usually soft tones. Maybe he's just clinging to it as a form of denial? Hard
to tell, but he's just not giving up. "Well what if I start calling you..
Lin? Huh?" He watches as another chunk of meat disappears down the young
bronze's throat. "Oh.." Belatedly, he notices the procession of other pairs
leave the sands, Bullemorte, Dylzan.. and there's his Kiyh.

M'tego shakes his head. "Razgulth says the little one is no more." He looks at
Savarna and says bravely, "I'll take care of it."

Savarna shakes her head briefly, face pale but her voice calm. "Not for a
week or so. I had hoped… but…" She glances towards the candidates, then
clears her throat and looks at M'tego. "Thank you…" She pauses, before
continuing: "I should congratulate the Weyrlings." One last, long look at
the egg, and a pat on M'tego's arm, and she goes back to her duties.

Kiyh will have to ignore the less than happy goings on over there. She's sure
to hear about it sooner or later, so she may as well revel in the odd joy
that is Dysairyth. So she'll do just that. Z'ynn may have had more time to
get used to this than she, so she'll just have to pretend he hasn't noticed
her yet. Shepherding the wolf is her job now.

Ttana realises B'lor's meaning and huffs. "In your best dreams, dear B'lor.."
She grins sweetly. "..and my worst nightmare." And the last bits she spits
out, watching him walk away then, her attention is on all the others.
Especially on what is being said about the little egg. "That is definately
not good.." She frowns, looking over at a nearby Weyrlingmaster. "Is this
common?" Her finger juts to the egg. "I mean, does it happen alot?"

Gr'ym tries — again — to line up the weyrlings. It's always heck when they
first Impress. So full of happy nonsense in their brains, they barely hear a
word Gr'ym says.

Yl'za and his dragon waddle off to the side together, slowly but surely edging
towards food for Saelhedith. "So you're saying I can't drink /any/ Benden?
That's just plain crazy." Food is reached and the rest of their conversation
goes unheard, though some sighs from Yl'za are audible if you listen closely.

B'lor is busy flaunting his dragon's largeness in Z'ynn's face, but the
general flow of activity into some sort of line has the newfounded bronzer
making his way back towards Istruith's side. He's ready for anything now!

Vitaranth sparkles brightly, broad ribbons of emerald skipping through her

thoughts. « But we're here now, » she 'speaks softly, an undercurrent of
azure shooting through as if the colors could comfort her elders. «

Razgulth bespoke all » Greetings, and welcome to the world, my children! «

Fade to black…

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