April 2007 Hatching
April 21, 2007
Hassaleah's gold Mhiyath by P'aolo's bronze Ersieth
Impressees: Ro and gold Rhadamanth, R'ziel and bronze Eirith, Uka and brown Niyheth, Khi and green Gemketh, Cy'ni and green Tezumath
The thrumming of dragons is an unmistakable sound. The Weyr positively vibrates with it, and shortly after it begins, the Weyrwoman sweeps into the Candidate Barracks clapping her hands. "You guys know the drill! Robes on, look presentable, as quickly as you can. If you're not ready, too bad... this is the real thing, and those eggs will be hatching any minute. Hustle!" Hassaleah then pulls the curtain away from the tunnel to the Sands and stands at its entrance.
No! They always pick the worst times! Sprawled on her cot with her legs all stretched and her book in her hands, Damaris goes from being lazy to being a complete basketcase in seconds as soon as the humming starts. Rolling her eyes, though, might make her look more uninterested. She tries it out. "Ugh!" Sure it's unladylike to make noises, but nobody here's gonna say anything. Up she goes, on her feet, and the change into her robe is a fast, practiced one. Boots off, sandals on, she's ready.
Azriel and Ukaryn hurry to get their robes on as the call of Candidacy's end comes so suddenly. The entire barracks are a flurry of discarded work clothes, naked flesh, and flashes of white. Shoes are exchanged for sandals and finally both line up at the door awaiting further instructions with some nervous shifting and fidgeting. Azriel looks over to Ukaryn and Cynrik, the two good friends he made in this special time so many before him have enjoyed. He knows that soon they'll either part ways for a while, or be 'stuck' with one another for as long as they are Weyrlings. The latter makes a faint smile pull at the corners of his lips, but then blue eyes flick to those in charge with utter attention.
Ro has just finished removing her apron after completing another few hours of infirmary duty, and is quickly throwing her robe over her head. Tying sandals onto her feet, she quickly pulls her hair back from her face with a simple, white tie and hastily smoothes down her robe. Suddenly, the nerves hit her all at once, and she swallows, hard. No turning back now.
Khiila is stretched out on her cot, relaxing. The growing thrum through the weyr walls takes a moment and her brain fires about the same time as the weyrwoman enters. Oh dear, eggs, hatching!! Despite the rush of adrenaline she groans as she sits up, muscles sore from double shifts of snow shoveling, well, at least that will be at an end. She shrugs out of her clothes and into her robe, giving it a check over to make sure it's as it should be. Feet slip into sandals and then she moves into the waiting group, offering smiles to her fellows as things get underway. She's as ready as she'll ever be.
Cynrik has his robe on in record time, only to realize that when he does that his feet have disappeared. The blonde runs around frantically - half of the time, anyway, as the rest is him trying not to trip over his robe and land on his face - before he manages to find a spare, long scrap of white cloth. Hauling his robe up, he belts it neatly, only to make himself look a bit poofy at the top and tight from the stomach down. Planting his hands against his face, he attempts to rake his hands through his hair to comb it and winds up getting his fingers stuck. Ultimately giving up, he wanders over to Azriel, wailing lightly for help. At least he got his sandals on without event, and he is somewhat in line.
As everyone begins to line up, Hassaleah runs through the rules they've been given a hundred time before. "Don't touch the hatchlings unless you've Impressed, and believe me, you'll know when that happens. Stay out of the way otherwise. Try not to overexert yourself; it's hot out there and sometimes we're there for a long time. Bow to Mhiyath and Ersieth, then form a semicircle around the eggs. But you guys know all this, right?" She manages to smile a bit, though there's a little bit of tension on her face. "Good luck to you all out there. Just follow this tunnel through to the end and you're there."
Nodding both, Ukaryn and Azriel prepare to follow those that have come to take them to the Hatching Cavern, the instructions followed to the letter. Azzy even helps Ukaryn tie her long hair back before a shaking breath is made on his part. He appears to be extremely nervous about this whole thing, but luckily not close to getting ill. Is he trembling? Perhaps a bit, but then again, he wouldn't be the only one fearful of the unknown right now. Lives would be changed this day, and he can't help but glance over the sea of familiar faces. Who would step off the sands with their lifemate, and who would be left behind? Turning to Cynrik, he tries not to laugh as he finds the boy with his fingers stuck, pursing his lips together. "Shard, Cyn..." he tsks, and shaking his head with a light chuckle lifts his hands to gently separate flesh from tress. He's tender and careful, making the process probably slower than the Weyrwoman would like, but it saves poor Cynrik some pain in the end. "There," he says as he finishes. "Now get behind me, I think we're going soon." This last part is whispered, as not to annoy the already flustered Goldrider.
You walk down a tunnel and step out onto the sands.
A hidden force inside the cement-like covering of the Artist's Heart Egg begins to stir, causing it to wobble to and fro. The sand starts to slide away from the base of the egg before the force behind the 'wall' starts to calm down. It's not time yet.
The candidates file onto the sands in a single line walking up toward the middle of the outspread clutch. The line breaks as it reaches the eggs, with the candidates alternating going left or right until they have formed a rough semi-circle double line about the clutch. For a moment they are a sea of uniformity in their clean white robes as they execute a coordinated bow toward Golden Mhiyath and Bronze Ersieth and their riders beyond the mottled eggs. Then, then it breaks into the expected semi-controlled chaos as they wait in various moods from bundles of nerves to cool characters. Feet shift on the hot sands, some gravitating closer to their neighbors while others remain solo amid the lines, all awaiting their fate.
Ro steps out onto the sands among the other candidates, sandwiched somewhere between a young lad from Fort and -- oh, look, Damaris. Too preoccupied with the event at hand to really worry about it, she offers her a brief, rusty smile that's probably meant to be encouraging, but comes out looking somewhat shaky. At least the sentiment is there. That's something, isn't it? As she straightens from her bows to Mhiyath and Ersieth, she edges toward her place in the forming semicircle, and forces herself to breathe deeply. The movement of one of the eggs draws a quick, harried glance, and the woman bites her lip.
Ukaryn follows the rest of the candidates out onto the sands, doing her best to try and not look so nervous or possibly overwhelmed by the imminent hatching. A polite nod is given to the sire and dam of the clutch after her bow before she quietly picks out a spot on the sands to stand - and wait.
P'aolo stands near Ersieth, wringing his hands a little. The nervousness gives way to a grin as the candidates enter though, and shortly he's leaning against his dragon.
There are so many people here! Azriel ducks his head and lowers his chin as he steps out onto the sands with his fellow candidates. All those eyes on him and the others, between that and the heat he can already feel seeping through his sandals, has causes his cheeks to darken slightly with color. After the Candidates have made their bows to the Dam and Sire, Azriel starts to wander off towards a place he'd probably picked out in advance given his beeline for it. He's very careful with the way his feet traverse the ground, as if he were afraid he'd trip over them and make a spectacle of himself dragging poor Cynrik along for the ride.
The Monument to Martyrs Egg shivers noticeably but doesn't yet falter. Rather, it shortly returns to treacherous stillness.
D'ana looks almost as nervous as the candidates, if not more so than some of them, where he stands near the side of the Sands, waiting for those who Impress, to usher them off.
Hassaleah emerges from behind the line of Candidates, stepping over to join the Weyrleader as the line forms a circle. "Here we go," she murmurs, more to herself than anything else. Mhiyath, meanwhile, huddles very near the eggs, regarding the Candidates warily and humming welcome for all she's worth, so loud that her throat vibrates visibly. "They all look so young, I swear. Children, nearly. I think I'm getting old."
Damaris notices Ro too, her black eyes narrowing when she sends a slanted glance her way. Ugh. But it's the hatching and there might just be a little part of her that isn't cold and serpenty just now. She edges a little closer to the healer-candidate, her hands scrunched around the white material all around her.
Suddenly there's a tremble and Cathedral of Fools Egg jumps before it just tips over without further ceremony. Rolling down off the mound that's been its home since it was laid, the egg continues wiggling across the sands until it bumps against the side of one of its siblings. It twitches then, jerking from side to side before once more it stills with no other signs of movement.
Fissures begin to appear upon the side of the Cathedral of Fools Egg that's currently facing upwards, crackling with a groan like distempered glass. At it's apex, bits of shell have started to drop away as the occupant inside struggles to escape its ovulated prison. There is one last rest before a desperate push makes the egg explode in a shower of calcified shards, spilling its contents slick and sticky against the sands of its birth.
Khiila shivers despite the heat, the excitement of the moment coursing through her. She gives a quick glance towards the galleries while the eggs are still wobbling and then catches the eye of a few of her fellows. The motion of a second egg is not entirely missed as the younger lad next to her gives a nudge and she just grins in reply, as if to say, Yup, they do that.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~< Preeminently Enigmatic Bronze Hatchling >~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
An inspiring palette of colors, this durable hatchling's hide is a striking fusion of deep auburn, tinny gold, and the murky olive of a tree just before it turns in autumn. They streak about on his soft, smooth hide, with more entropy than method. Faultlessly formed headknobs lay atop a strongly chiseled head, and rest upon a slender and drawn out neck. Neck ridges of insipid copper are fashioned impeccably, yet still appear to fold one over the other in multiple intervals. Small tendrils of color shoot straightly from his nose, adorning the tops and sides of his ridges in a coloration more befitting a gold than a bronze, while others pour painstakingly away from his neckridges into small ripples against the sun-dabbled pools across his flanks. Wide and spangled, within his wingsails are trapped prismatic sparks of ember and sienna, even a bit of rust for it all.
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Cynrik is rather caught up in the entire situation, his mouth a perpetual zero shape as he is hauled along after Azriel, literally being walked by his arm at one point, feet only barely paying attention to the need for mobility. Rather than freezing at sight of all the people or even the dragons, Cynrik's bow is followed by a cheery wave that is then turned on the tiers of people. He tugs his collar away from his neck and sticks his tongue out, panting lightly, "Nngh. It's so hot out here." Two seconds and he's already sweating.
Rejuvenated from a few minutes' rest, the Floral Patterns of the Soul Egg is stirred to life once again. At first it merely rocks in place, a slow wobble that gains momentum as it goes. Finally, the egg rocks free of its hollow, settling on its side and revealing a webbing of cracks along what was once the bottom of the egg. Periodic shudders of movement continue, but they grow sporadic as the minutes pass, while the cracks spread over the shell.
High above, Rachel and Z'dan watch from the ledges with their lifemates, their only son one of the candidates. A passing glance in that direction, and Azriel spots them. Pursing his lips together, it's only when his mother waves that he relaxes some. He was so tense the muscles between his broadening shoulders are starting to knot. As the first eggs start to make more of a noticeable effort at hatching, his attention wavers and lowers to the event at hand. A nervous fidget of hand to one sleeve of his robe, and the blue eyed lad takes a few steps backward as the egg nearest him starts to rock. The arrival of the first hatchling draws his attention a moment before he nods and frowns at Cynrik. "Yeah." Nervous still? You betcha!
Ukaryn fidgets a little with the sides of her robe, glancing from eggs, to the candidates, up towards the stands and back again. For once, the younger candidate is more or less quiet, not too keen to start up conversation beyond the occasional murmured comment here and there. Too much is on her mind, it would seem, and her attention is already divided up so much.
Ro visibly jumps a little when the first egg breaks open, and she manages a small, controlled exhalation. Bronze. Good luck, right, according to those teaching ballads? As Damaris edges closer to her, she glances over at her again, briefly, and then takes a tiny step closer to her, as well. "I guess it doesn't get easier, does it?" she asks after a moment, voice quavering a bit. Her feet shift in the sand, uncomfortable.
The Island of Floating Gardens Egg doesn't so much wobble as it gives a single, awkward hop. That's enough for now.
Damaris twitches. She doesn't jump, she doesn't yelp, there's just a single and subtle jerk of every part of her when the egg hatches. And it'll be that way for each one following. "No," she answers tightly, when she reminds herself Ro asked her something. "It really doesn't."
Still partially buried in the hot sands, the Arena of Glory Egg has quietly awaited its own moment in the sun. Now, it shakes and shudders, pushing aside the sand that covers it and revealing the dark patterning on the underside of the shell. A single crack starts there and runs upwards, skimming through the sky blue until it has nearly split the egg in two, but the halves do not part just yet. Calm again, it bides its time.
Khiila glances from egg to egg as they all seem so suddenly full of energy. Memory arises int he times not long ago when she and the other candidates were lucky enough to come out and the eggs remained unmoving, if not entirely unquiet. Now, now seems to be the time for action and she swallows as the first emerges. A handsome healthy bronze, one to keep an eye on but she'll not need to worry about. Feet shift as she watches and waits.
Preeminently Enigmatic Bronze Hatchling rights himself quickly, holding his wings aloft and shaking sand and bits of eggshell off of them. Such niceties can only be endured for a few moments, however... the gnawing hunger in his belly is evident from the speed of his whirling eyes, and he sets off onto the Sands to try to track down what will sate it. Those eyes regard the Candidates carefully, nosing at one before quickly turning away. No, a girl is not the thing. What he needs is... something, but he seems unsure of exactly what. He carefully backs off from the knot of young women he had approached, then continues onwards.
The arrival of the first hatchling had caught Azriel by surprise, it had barely even registered. A candidate nearest him lets out a soft gasp and his eyes follow their stare until they befall the reason for the sound. From the look on his face, this was the first time he'd been close to a dragon this young, and from what he's been taught he can't be caught daydreaming. Being mauled would not be the highlight of his day. He follows the flow of traffic as it were, stepping away from the bronze, even as his eyes move over color and shape. Even if he didn't leave the sands this day with his lifemate, surely this moment in time would be one to remember.
Ukaryn can't evade the effects of the burning sands under her feet and soon begins to shuffle them, trying to ease the slightly distracting discomfort. Her attention remains split, however, eyes still darting to catch a glimpse of a group of candidates there or the movements of an egg here or perhaps even a hatchling. The younger candidate has fallen silent again, simply too absorbed into the event to even notice.
Cynrik is startled by the sudden bronze on the Sands, gripping Azriel's hand tightly and shuffling slightly behind the older boy. Go go Human Shield. He eventually winds up standing right behind him, just peering around Azriel's shoulder at the dragonet, his poofy golden hair falling low across his eyebrows. There is no commentary from the usually opinionated youth, simply a pursing of lips and a keen, hazel-eyed scrutiny.
Ro's jaw tightens visibly as the bronze begins approaching the groups of candidates, and sweaty palms clutch tightly at the material billowing around her, particularly as he noses at one of them. Being on the other side of that railing is like watching a completely different type of event. "It didn't look quite this - frightening - from the galleries, " she gets out after a moment, presumably to Damaris. "Nerve-wracking, yes. But not quite -- like this."
Damaris quells the eyeroll. "Being a spectator is often different from being in the pit." Duh, Ro. But still, she would, like, move or something if she was annoyed, right? Or maybe her stress has her so riveted she couldn't if she really, really wanted to.
With a blink, Azriel peers over at the boy who's now using him as a human shield, his nervousness for the moment forgotten. "Cyn, come on. How is anyone going to find you if your hiding behind me?" he asks, shaking his head head. He gives the lad's hand a squeeze back and then extricates him from his position, relocating him to stand at his side once more. "What if that bronze there is for you huh?"
Khiila giggles as the bronze approaches a group of girls only to back away just as quickly. The lad next to her casts an inquiring look but Khiila just lifts a hand to stifle her giggles and both watch the progression of the first hatchling. The lad moreso than Khi who glances as well to the remaining rocking eggs to see which might next reveal their secrets.
Preeminently Enigmatic Bronze Hatchling continues around the circle, taking slow and deliberate steps. He will permit himself no awkwardness, no plaintive cry, no matter how desperate he might be. Everything must be done just so. A young man Searched from Tillek is inspected, pale as can be with the bronze's muzzle mere inches from his chest, but ultimately the 'something' just isn't there. Faster, now, as he gains better control of his limbs, he sweeps down the line to continue his search.
The cracks on the surface of the Floral Patterns of the Soul Egg broaden and split, sections of the shell pushed away like so many petals and strewn on the sands. Regal Forest Pathway Green Hatchling is left in its place, stretching her delicate wings to dry.
From the flowered egg emerges a green with hide like sunlight on spring leaves. Though she is certainly small, she moves like she deserves to be noticed, with as much grace as any Lady Holder could ever muster. Chartreuse circles her head knobs like a crown, gleaming as the light reflects from the residual egg-dampness as she steps away from the shells of her egg and takes a meandering walk towards the Candidates. She takes her time, but the whole while she has eyes for no one but the young and handsome Alberis. "Daolath," Al'ris shouts when at last she reaches him. "Her name is Daolath!"
A rustle of leaves, the Introspection Breeds Isolation Egg shakes just enough to catch a few eyes before it stills. Or does it?
Lacking a thunderous boom to preempt this split in the gray cement, a crack runs over the head of the egg and runs down the sides of it in hardly notable silence. More sand spills from the sides of the Artist's Heart Egg as the cracking stops and the egg falls still once more.
Ro, of course, knows that. But the stress and nerves seem to have dampened whatever part of her brain was knowledgeable of this sort of thing. So she's reduced to giving a mere nod in reply, gray eyes flicking quickly about the sands. Candidates, eggs, draconic parents, bronze hatchling. With everything seeming to be moving around her, she's not sure where to let her roving gaze rest. And then a green's hatched and impressed - Daolath - and the healer's left momentarily speechless.
Cynrik gives Azriel a sulky expression for refusing to act as his shield, only curling his still free hand around his friend's forearm as he says, "He coulda found me, if he wanted..." Not like Azriel is a seventeen foot stone wall, after all. He licks his lips to dampen them as they dry out in the heat, plucking at his robe once more as it does its very best to stick to him in as many uncomfortable places as robely possible. He is startled by the sudden emergence and Impression of that particular green, attempting to sneak a little behind Azriel once more.
D'ana is distracted by the wandering bronze, but pulls himself back to his duties quickly as the shouts of congratulations reach his ears. Crossing the sands, he escorts Daolath and Al'ris to the side of the Sands and food.
Damaris falls silent too, to watch and to wait. Eventually she becomes mindful of her fidgeting - hands! - and folds her arms snugly. That'll do it. When the green impresses there's nothing changed in the blandness of her expression, but upon seeing Ro's reaction she smirks, making the tension in her mouth disappear. "Get used to that. It'll happen again." Understatement.
Movement returns to the Monument to Martyrs Egg in the form of subtle rocking. It doesn't still again however, as the shell's bright reds and yellows becoming criss-crossing with fractures.
Khiila's roaming gaze doesn't miss the emergence of the next and she sighs. What a lovely green, quite momentarily distracted from whatever the bronze is doing. It seems she knows what she wants, unlike the hatchling still searching and Khiila just nods to the first impression of the day. Her own congratulations will wait for later, when they might be heard and not lost amid the roar from the galleries which drift across the hatching grounds.
Green? He watches as the first pair march off the sands, "Wow, that was fast." Azriel points out with a hop from one foot to the other. Thick soles or no, the heat of the sands was certainly going through and it felt like his feet were browning, well more than they already were. He stands stalk still a moment, pulling Cynrik back out from behind him with a sullen/comedic expression. "Cynrik, come on....out from behind me. You're making me feel like you just want me to get mauled first. I'm not quick on my feet, you know that." Sigh.
Crack! Boom! The wall that surrounds the Artist's Heart Egg finally falls and reveals the hatchling that hides within.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~< The Iron Lady Green Hatchling >~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
All that being put into a shell at birth did was shield her brilliance from the world. Starting at the top of her muzzle, a rather exquisite forest shade makes up the cool verdant shadows of her base tone. A cascade of emerald droplets starts at the back of her head, speckling down her ridges all the way to the tip of her elegant tail. Her eyes and head knobs are the only minor blemish on this striking dragon, as they are misshapen ever so slightly to give this dragon a scowl of a kindly sort. At her chest, begins a rough mesh of a lime green and a yellowish hue that flows all the way under her stomach to coat the underside of her tail. Her wings, a swirling mix of cloudy jade, and her baser forest are edged by a balmier sage wing spars. The sage color blends into emerald spots the closer to the neck ridges, and across her shoulders in a most subtle fashion. No departure from the main hue is recognizable down her sleek limbs. Demurely arched talons are a polished black.
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Cynrik blinks up at Azriel, tapping a finger against his mouth before he says, "That's right, isn't it?" He promptly steps in front of Azriel instead, though it hardly makes much difference, considering their different heights and things. He keeps a hold of his friend's hand, glancing up at him, "I'll help, in case one tries to barrel by, kay?" He smiles brightly - ha ha, argue with that! - only to turn his nervous gaze back on the eggs and hatching. Gulp. Uh. Maybe this was a bad idea? Hm. No, the blonde stands strong, intent on protecting his clumsy friend from possible maulings.
Ro's hands clench spontaneously at her robe again, clutching at and releasing the material at what seem to be completely random intervals. She's aware of her fidgeting, but unlike Damaris, seems in no need to stop it from happening. "I know, " she replies, after a moment. "But it's still an amazing thing to witness." And then there's a second green emerging onto the sands, and the woman manages a small, appreciative smile. "She's got a lovely color." And of course, she isn't biased. Nope.
Preeminently Enigmatic Bronze Hatchling stops, finally, in front of a pale boy. Something is hidden, here. Something isn't right. With all due care that can possibly be expected of a young dragon, he nudges the wrong thing out of the way, to reveal the dark one behind. There it is! His whirling eyes look up to meet those of his chosen one, and the match is made.
The Iron Lady Green Hatchling shakes her wings free of goo, giving a quiet snort at the state she finds herself in. This won't do at all. But how to remedy the situation? The candidates are obviously her solution, but as she wanders closer the question 'which one' becomes rather important.
Damaris, ever helpful, replies, "Absolutely fantastic," dryly. The green that got Ro's attention snatches at hers as well; she smiles. A little. "She is. The girls always are." And she definitely /is/ biased. But, "Though there's something to be said for a nice bronze."
The blue skies of the Iron Behemoth Egg seem to be rolling into a torrential storm of movement as they appear to collide with the green earth. The sand starts to spill out from the base of it as it starts to shake and stir.
It's the feeling of proximity that draws Azriel's attention from the commotion of eggs and hatchings all around him, this causing his chin to drop in the effort of looking down. When his eyes meet a pair of multi-faceted there, his own widen, unconsciously dropping to his knees before the hatchling seated before him. "R'ziel? N-n-no, my name's...what?" he starts, stuttering in his bewilderment, left gawking and dumbfounded. Though there is a blink after a moment, and a smile suddenly threatens to split his face in two, rapping his arms around the bronze's neck for a joyful embrace. "I see. Well, we should get you something to eat then, huh?" A pause, and the boy pushes himself to his feet, "Eirith! His name is Eirith!" he shouts upwards with his hands cupped around his mouth for amplification of sound, entirely for the benefit of his now beaming, pride-filled parents.
Khiila shifts on her feet, eyes glancing back and forth in a developing routine. She's been here before and nerves begin to settle in the familiarity of the moment. As another breaks shell her attention is drawn, and held a long moment on the newest green. Only a quick glance back to where the bronze is prowling to ensure she's not in the way and a curious look to azriel and cynrik only to find herself looking at that joyous scene, one apt to be repeated a few more times this day. Yay! Two marks for her, but reality returns and gaze shifts back to the green's wanderings.
Ukaryn eventually relaxes, not entirely - but just enough, to stop fidgeting, at least, but the all too commonly known shuffling of her feet continues. As more eggs rock and hatch, she gives those few who may have already found their match a wide grin. Then her attention is once again caught by something else of interest and her grin falters to be replaced by a somewhat awed expression.
Finally the Monument to Martyrs Egg releases its contents on to the sand, a large section of the comb over portion of the shell still rotating on the sand nearby.
Dark bronze is marred by glistening copper watermarks at regular intervals over the surface of his hide. The build of this particular hatchling is hardly that of a sleek water creature though. He's blocky, perhaps even portly in proportion when contrasted with his siblings and his chubby cheeked head and piggy eyes have a smushed quality. As if he'd gotten too fat for his egg and this is the consequence. He wastes little time in choosing a lifemate though, thick limbs surprisingly quick for the unstable girth they support. The chosen in this particular case is an awkward, brooding hold-bred boy of 20 by the name of Wajed. As the bronze headbutts him in the chest, knocking Wajed to the sand, he calls out, "Haisith! I-I'm your W'jed!" Pausing to cling to the hatchling for a moment before being led off the sands.
Ro cranes her neck to peer farther down the line as the bronze finally stops in front of someone. "Oh my goodness - Damaris, he chose Azriel!" Surprise and joy battle over dominance in her expression as she reaches out to briefly squeeze her fellow candidate's hand in a rare, exuberant display of joy. And then, a moment later, she seems to realize that she reached for the other woman's hand, and quickly releases it, hastily averting her attention to something else - like the second bronze that just hatched. "He's not all that bad-looking, either." Yay, small talk!
Cynrik blinks down at the bronze and starts to back up and try to take Azriel with him when the bronze is so kindly about pushing him out of the way. Startled, he turns to watch as Azriel drops to his knees, withdrawing his hand and massaging it in a fidgeting manner. His mouth falls open, he blinks rapidly, and then he takes a few steps back, smiling brightly again, "Congratulations, Az! ...Raz... Rz... um." Hm. He tosses his sweaty bangs from his eyes and shuffles another couple feet away, startled by the sudden headbutting of Wajed and ultimately just skittering backwards a few more feet. Erk.
The pair of bronzes have D'ana hurrying back onto the sands, first to W'jed, and then to R'ziel. "Th-this way. THere's food this way."
It's all a daze really, but R'ziel manages a huge smile for Cynrik before putting an hand behind Eirith's head to guide him towards the side and off the sands themselves.
Damaris's eyebrows spring near to her hairline and she snaps a look down at her hand. Their hands. She should maybe let go or something. She doesn't. Ro does. Oh. "Ah. Yes. Go him." Whatever his name is now. The comment on the bronze is left with no reply from her. She's staring.
The Iron Lady Green Hatchling strolls closer, her newly free limbs giving her a rubbery gait. She seems to be getting sturdier the longer she's out however. Luckily for the candidates she now approaches. Starting at one end of the line, she sniffs at anyone within range. Though by far and larger her recation seems to be dissmissal. No, not this one..
The second attempt to hatch by the Island of Floating Gardens Egg fares a bit better than the first. This time cracks can be seen lacing across the surface.
Cynrik is happy for his friends, that much is certain, but now that his best friend is gone off with his new lifemate, Cynrik can't help but look a bit lonely. He continues to rub at his empty hand for a few seconds before he takes to chewing on his lower lip and toying with the front of his robe, tugging it straight over the rope belt and stepping from one foot to the other to try and avoid getting his feet burnt up. His headstrong confidence seems to have dried up a little and he is left quite nervous.
Khiila offers a quick squeeze on the shoulder of the lad next to her as the second bronze emerges and impresses quickly. "Now, now there's plenty more left." an assurance more easily given than received. She exhales again to focus herself as well watching the green moving selectively along the line of candidates and wondering at whether she will pass inspection or not, as well the remaining eggs which keep twitching ever so temptingly.
The Iron Lady Green Hatchling finally sees something that earns more than a sniff. It's a flash of hazel that's been following her movements. A whirl of excitment colors her eyes as she marches up to her chosen in as precise a manner as she can muster. Pass inspection? In a most exemplory way it seems.
Third time's the charm. With a mighty heave, the Island of Floating Gardens Egg disintegrates, revealing the newly freed hatchling.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~< Fallen Tlatoani Green Hatchling >~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A wiry specimen, this particular green dragon is of decidedly slight build. Her muscles are ropy - strong without giving her much meat. Her head is long and narrow, her nostrils flaring a bit too much to really be complementary while still balancing her large eyes. Sunny, yellow-green hide darkens to pine at her spars and tail tip, her limbs bearing a more median shade of leafy green. The wing sails however, have the translucent green cast of colored glass, complete with yellow-green 'bubbles' along her trailing edges. Head knobs and ridges shine with a touch of captured starlight, a pale honey glisten. She has a confidence to her bearing that resonates formidability.
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The crack encircling the Arena of Glory Egg suddenly widens as the egg shudders, and other cracks begin to appear on the surface. The bright colors become a mosaic of tiny pieces still barely clinging together, but the occupant is now quite insistent on arriving. The egg staggers back and forth, careening wildly but not yet breaking open.
Ukaryn briefly lifts an arm up to wipe away the sweat on her forehead, her feet still moving in an almost rhythmic shuffling fashion as she tries to avoid noticing how hot the sands seem to be. More grinning is directed to any of the newly Impressed pairs, as well as curious and intrigued glances to those still remaining - candidates, eggs and hatchlings alike. Her murmured and mumbled comments begin again, most likely drowned out by the louder noises down on the sands.
Ro jerks repeatedly upwards as each new hatchling emerges, gaze flicking from one to another as they scope out their lifemates on the sands. Finally forced to pay some attention to her feet, she lifts them carefully, one at a time, while still attempting to stay in place and not quite look as though she's caught in an awkward march. Her eyebrows lift a little at the newest green, and she tilts her head briefly to the side. "Interesting."
The Carved Stone and City Lights Egg sits alone on its perch of sand, separated from the other eggs, still through their twitches and cracks. From its hill it waits, serene and quiet, no movement yet--or was there? A shiver of unrest flutters over the surface, a quaking soon stilled that leaves the egg canted just slightly, its sparklingly lit towers turned at oblique angles.
Fallen Tlatoani Green Hatchling is quite patient about this whole hatching business--in fact, she seems content at first to sit in the remains of her egg for the rest of the day, preening away as though intensely concerned that everything be just right. When she has removed the last bit of shell and stickiness, she sits up very straight and trumpets her triumph, a sound louder than one would expect of such a little thing. And then... she sits some more, keeping an eye on the Candidates but making no move whatsoever to approach any of them right away. This is not, perhaps, quite yet the proper time.
Khiila holds her breath as the green approaches and gives her that judging look. Most surprisingly she finds herself looking into the most fabulous of eyes that have ever existed in that way of the newly impressed and Khi giggles "Gemketh! Yes, of course. this way..." and then the pair moves away from the other candidates, oblivious to the remaining proceedings.
D'ana shuffles back into the group to meet Khiila. "Con-Congratulations miss. I'm sure she's hungry, come on this way..."
A crack runs down the tip of the Iron Behemoth Egg and almost reaches the base as tendrils run across the shady sky and the forested earth. Sand so carefully cupped about the base surges out from the bottom of the egg, causing it to tip back and show the crack splitting up from below.
The Isolation Breeds Introspection Egg ripples across the base, bits cracking off the shell and dabs of wetness sliding down the outside. Not long now.
Cynrik goes back to plucking at and fidgeting with his robe, both to avoid his own nervousness as well as to try and relieve some of the heat trying to burrow its way into his body. He sticks his tongue out again in a mild pant as well as an expression of disgust. Ugh. "Hoooot," he mutters, even if he's ultimately just talking to himself. Glancing over at the other candidates, he edges a bit further away from the eggs in order to keep a good eye on everything that's going on while he inches towards his fellow white robes.
Fallen Tlatoani Green Hatchling finally elects to embark on her journey, taking a few swift steps away from the egg before pausing again. There are so many of those white-robed people, after all--which of them is the right one? She gives the nearest ones a once-over, but alas it is not to be so easy. Continuing at a more moderate pace, she starts to trek outwards. Each Candidate on the way does get noticed, of course, and checked out, but none of them are satisfactory. Onwards she goes, for if she has to check every Candidate... this might take awhile.
Ro swipes at her brow with a wrist, turning her head slightly to peer down the line again. As she catches sight of Khiila's Impression, she can't help but to grin a little bit. "Well done, " she murmurs under her breath, attention resuming its roving scan.
When the Arena of Glory Egg finally stops moving, it sits in silence for a long moment, long enough to question whether its intentions are in fact to hatch at all. Then bits of the shell along the upper curve start to fall away, and the Servant's Rebellion Brown Hatchling breaks through at long last.
Freed from the long imprisonment within the egg, this tanned and well-muscled brown wastes precious moments crushing the last remains of the shell into dust before venturing out towards the white-robed clusters of adolescents. He pauses here and there, lifting his chiseled muzzle upwards to regard the cheering and shouting masses above in the galleries. It takes some time, but at last his attention is diverted by a wiry boy from a small southern Hold. The match is made and the young man who will now be known as Ch'ey reassures, "Yes, yes, of course I know you're Sparth!"
Ukaryn glances between the few candidates left and the few remaining eggs, attention darting from one to the other in an ever constant curious and nervous, perhaps hopeful, manner. With nothing more to do then to shuffle her feet on the uncomfortable heated sands and to watch, she begins to fidget once again - this time her one hand reaches up to curl her fingers around a few loose strands of her hair. Again, congratulatory grins are sent towards any newly Impressed pair before her expression returns to one of curious observation.
Shifting again, a tracing of cracks appears on the upper curve of the Carved Stone and City Lights Egg, lightning bolts shooting down to illuminate the evening's darkness. These cracks gradually widen, the membrane beneath forming streaks of light that break the stone foundations. Movement can be clearly seen beneath the pale lamina, but it remains intact, holding the occupant hostage within.
Damaris is being the level-headed person she was bred to be, just now. Just nevermind that her body language if not her hands themselves is implying some serious clinging. Twitch. Twitch. And every now and again she'll make a face, annoyed by her own jumpiness. "Hm?" Ro said something. Oh. "Oh yes. Woo."
Cynrik has been so distracted by being left all on his lonesome and the following sneaky ninja attempts to seek out people once more that it takes him a few seconds to even realize that the group of candidates is getting thinned out. Pausing, he blinks those big eyes of his curiously, ruffling the hair off the back of his neck and turning from one side to the other to see who has been taken off, including Ch'ey and Sparth.
Finally, The Isolation Breeds Introspection Egg is ready to break away totally. Limbs burst from where the shell didn't break quickly enough and in short work, a hatchling graces the sands.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~< Espiritu de la Selva Brown Hatchling >~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dark brown-black, nearly the color of molasses, covers this heavy built dragon. This is not a creature built for speed nor agility, but for power. His limbs are thick, appearing shorter than they actually are. This deception something he intensifies with the low crouch that he effects. Broad feet are tipped with toffee talons, that same warm hue dappling his wide haunches before forming more expansive blotches down his muscular tail. His spars keep the same bracken brown as the majority of his form but the sails themselves are an explosion of subtle beauty in corn silk, tourmaline, ivory and mauve grains, the sort of chaos that could bring to mind anything or nothing. His head is solidly angular, his head knobs pointing backwards more so than normal, though it makes for a sense of flow down his equally wind swept looking neck ridges. A thick smear of butter rum engulfs his right eye, caked down his muzzle to end just under his chin.
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Fallen Tlatoani Green Hatchling seems on the verge of giving up--again and again she noses at one of the robes only to turn away in disgust, and the selection is indeed thinner now than it once was. Off alone, however, there is one more, one last place to look, so she continues out to him, checks his robe, sniffs his feet, eyes the blond curls and at last comes to a decision with eyes whirling happily. At last, here is the one who will captivate her.
Ukaryn watches the green's progress quietly, gaze riveted on the movement of hatchings and Impressions. Damp hands unconsciously drift to her robe to press against the cloth, a smile gracing her visage as the green Impresses. And then it's back to taking in everything that's around her, feet shuffling back and forth in an attempt to be rid of the infernal heat.
Espiritu de la Selva Brown Hatchling stumbles away from the egg he just recently ejected himself from. The stumbling however, has him facing his parents rather than the candidates. Hurried? Not at all. He gazes up the walls of the cavern, slowly getting higher until.. Ouch. The neck does -not- bend that way. Giving a mild head shake he looks over his shoulder at the candidates that remain, head tilted in a mildly amused way.
Cynrik is in the midst of attempting to extricate his sticky curls from inside the collar of his robe when he sees a flicker of green from nearby. Startled, he turns his head only to stare openly at the hatchling that is taking a sniffing to him. He blinks twice, distinctively, only to give a sudden cry of laughter and toss his arms around her neck, all but flopping onto the gooey greenling as he exclaims, "Tezumath! Yes! We'll do lots of - oh, right, augh. Ew." He straightens just as quickly as he fell down, resting a hand on his stomach and screwing up his features while he keeps a loosely curled hand on the green's neck where it meets her shoulders, trying to suss out where it is he needs to go.
Ro blinks at the latest brown to emerge, exchanging an almost amused glance with Damaris. "That one looks a bit distracted." And the corners of her mouth twitch vaguely upwards, widening into something that resembles more of a smile as the green Impresses - and to Cynrik, at that! "Looks like the twain'll be happy, " she comments, caught somewhere between wryness and amusement.
As another green Impresses, D'ana heads to Cynrik, waving his hand in the direction that the others have moved. "Congratulations.. Th-This way. She's lovely."
Espiritu de la Selva Brown Hatchling slowly turns to face the candidates in a more proper fashion. There aren't too many left, but this is as it should be. Who wants to wade through so many choices when you're so hungry? He knows who he's fated to meet and as such, wanders closer, course clearly set on female company.
The skies start to shake and stir as small cracks feather across the Iron Behemoth Egg. With an attention grabbing *Snap*, the spire explodes into pieces and a cobalt blue hatchling rolls out onto the sand, the rough specks sticking to his hide as the egg goo slides off of him.
A flowing waterfall of ice blue cascades down this dragon's narrow back, melding into a darker cobalt that collects at the base of his tail, a deep under coat to his hide. Large eyes are surrounded by an ocean's torrent of aqua marine that spirals down his neck onto his chest and all the way down to the underside of his tail. His wings are kissed with different hues of blue, made all the more visible as he stumbles across the sands. He collides head on into a boy from Igen. After he brushes his brown hair out of his eyes, his eyes widen at the blue marvel now at his feet. "Well Ohveuth was it?" laughs Skelis, now known as S'el. A creel comes from the blue as the weyrling puts a hand on his stomach and winces very slightly. "Come on, Ohveuth, let's get you some food."
At last, a gleaming talon tears through the thin membrane that barely holds the cracked shell of the Carved Stone and City Lights Egg together. Then another emerges beside it, and the two together slice an opening large enough for a muzzle to emerge. The Shining Force of Justice Gold Hatchling is soon free of the confines of her shell, and busies herself for a moment clearing away the debris.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~< Shining Force of Justice Gold Hatchling >~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The sun's own rays blaze in shading at once commanding and impossibly delicate across the hide of this solidly-built queen. A veil of white gold wraps around her, draping in swirls of blinding pale against flaxen shoulders, caught up then over the slender spars to form immense and translucent sails. In the shadow beneath them, true auric hue is found, sirocco wind blowing fine sand down chest and over the vast expanse of belly's curve. On the leeward side the color pales again, lightening as it travels down the thick tail 'til the tip is bare sandstone, stark and smooth. Each limb appears thus carved, lean sinew chiseled from ancient stone with no cushion of softness in which to retreat, and they hold her in ever-watchful pose, eyes large and luminous ever seeing and talons sharp and merciless ever waiting.
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Espiritu de la Selva Brown Hatchling is just about through taking his time as the last of his siblings hatch. Surely he's close enough now? The brown gives a murmur, a whisper, hint of a hum as his chosen falls into his cross hairs, approaching a dark haired girl that has a rather interest scent about her. Drinks?
Damaris glances sideways at Ro, slides a look at the newly hatched queen and sets her jaw. Oh dear. She hasn't been very generous with her congratulations thus far and she surely isn't about to start doling them out now. Her attention is fixed.
Ukaryn seems to be caught up in the excitement of the hatching so much that at first, she doesn't take notice of what's happening until a certain moment when her attention is pulled away and instead focuses on the brown hatchling in front of her. The younger candidate's eyes widen and suddenly become misty with tears that she holds back. "Niyheth?" A lopsided grin stretches its way across her lips and soon she's kneeling down on the sands, hands reaching out to touch him, Ukaryn looking both overwhelmingly happy and bewildered at the same time. Now known as Uka, her mouth works silently, nothing being voiced as her attempts to speak momentarily fail. "Well, very good. Okay. Food, need some food." Eventually, she regains herself enough to give a brief glance to the Weyrlingmaster and slowly stands to lead her and her new lifemate from the sands.
Ro, speechless after witnessing the first Impression, is struck dumb again - first, by Ukaryn's Impression, and then again, when there's suddenly a young queen in the midst of what was formerly an egg. Swallowing convulsively, her left hand suddenly seeks Damaris' right, and the fumbling grasp is suddenly pleading. Um. Help?
And again D'ana's out across the Sands. "U-Uka?" He offers to the girl he Searched. "If you and Niy-Niyheth would come this way.." And he heads back to the side of the Sands.
Nodding to D'ana, Uka directs her lifemate across the sands among the shells and remaining eggs, her head floating on cloud nineteen hundred.
Shining Force of Justice Gold Hatchling stretches her pale wings out, one by one, tests their movement. Then she takes a step, forward, then back again. Right. A cautious turn... good. All of that attended to, she heads out towards the few remaining girls in their robes and sandals, but stops some yards short of the largest group of those remaining. The look she shoots at them is neither kind nor gentle, and several look away rather than meeting her gaze. Dismissing them with a toss of her head, the dragonet continues on.
Damaris blinks. There's that hand again. This time she doesn't look down at it but at Ro, a searching look. Then, upon making a decision, her fingers tighten. It'll be okay. "Breathe," she, well, breathes.
Ro grimaces a little at the clear dismissal of several of the other girls, and the healer's brow furrows, relaxing slightly when Damaris' fingers tighten around her hand. Maybe - not quite utter enemies, after all? Taking the other woman's advice, she inhales deeply, and then exhales with a 'whoosh', gray eyes riveted to the dragonet's movements.
Shining Force of Justice Gold Hatchling pays no attention at all to the young men she passes she knows what she needs, there is no confusion here, only searching. Another girl, a tiny little redhead, elicits an outright derisive snort, and as the gold turns away there are tears visible on the girl's cheeks. She breathes easier once away from the scrutiny, but there is no such rest for the hatchling, for there must be one of this group who will live up to her expectations.
Hassaleah raises a hand to rest it on Mhiyath's shoulder, a gentle caress. "Just about it. They're all very beautiful," she reassures her dragon. "You've done very well indeed. Remember when you were out there like that, hmm?" A faint smile settles on the Weyrwoman's lips, full of memories as they await this one last Impression. Glancing over at P'aolo, she notes, "It's a credit to Ersieth too, of course. I think this is the strongest-looking clutch we've had in Turns, if I dare say so myself."
Damaris, nodding approval, keeps her eyes on the other candidate and not on the hatchling. Kinda like how you're /not/ supposed to. "Good." And such encouragements keep coming. Apparently she'll be coaching Ro through this, now.
Ro's eyes narrow just a trifle, expression wavering between determination to stay upright, and sympathy for the small redhead who was just turned aside. "She just -- she just dismisses them like they aren't even worth her time, " she manages to get out, after a bit, gaze moving away from the young dragon and onto Damaris, meeting her eyes. Dismissing them like a master turning away a child desperate to apprentice to his Hall, indeed.
P'aolo nods slowly, "I thought they all looked plenty fine even before they hatched." But you can't mask the pride of such a result, can you? PJ can't in any case. But he never was much of a liar.
Shining Force of Justice Gold Hatchling seems to consider such displays of nerves quite beneath her. After all, what's so scary about a four-and-a-half-meter-long dragon? It's not like she has claws or sharp teeth... well, perhaps she does have claws and sharp teeth, but anxiety is uncalled for. So is looking away, most obviously. Only this one, this once she will be charitable, she will walk right up to the young woman with the frizzy hair and the gray eyes, nudge her with a pallid muzzle until those eyes meet her own. This one, evidently, is the object of her seeking.
Ro struggles to keep her gaze on Damaris as the queen continues down the sands - and heads straight for them. The healer's grip tightens around the other's hand like a vise, especially when something nudges her. The woman's gaze shifts slightly, just enough to lift toward that muzzle - and then her vision is filled with pale hide and whirling eyes. The blood seems to momentarily drain from her face, and her jaw works, mouth opening and closing as she mouths a few syllables. It takes a moment for her to give voice to them, but she finally does, uttering a simple, "Rhadamanth." A shaky hand reaches upward to the young dragon, and dazed, she remains there for the next few minutes.
D'ana keeps a safe distance from the gold as he approaches the newest Impressee. "Th-This way, miss. If you w-will." And back towards the side. Back and forth.
Ro is drawn from her reverie by D'ana's beckoning, and after a long moment, she releases Damaris' hand, lifting her eyes to catch her lifemate's gaze again before purposefully stepping toward the side, where the other Impressees await.
Damaris lets her fingers and the rest of her hand hang, limp, at her side while Ro leaves the sands.
P'aolo finally pushes off from Ersieth after the last hatchling impresses, "We at High Reaches would like to thank all of you for both coming to witness our hathcing and to our candidates that still stand, for letting yourselves take the risk. Your lifemate may not have been on the sands today but you're more than welcome to stand again. Don't let temporary limbo derail your dreams. Those interested should come to the living cavern for a bit of celebration."