Gold Inasyth and Bronze Garouth's Eggs Hatch!

Xanadu Weyr - Hatching Sands
A domed ceiling stretches high above the sands, enough open air for a queen and her mate to be comfortable with their clutch. Thin slits of windows around the edges let in a little light, though more of the illumination comes from electric lamps diffused off the dome. The sands are ringed by the dark blue seats of the observation level, the first third exposed to the sweltering heat of the sands but those in the back glassed off for the comfort of those watching.
The circle itself is filled with a mix of red and white sands, deep enough to cover the largest of dragon eggs with ease. To one side, a small door is visible, hidden away behind a platform meant to provide a place for the clutch parent's lifemates to stand during the on goings.

Public Announcement from Rhodelia: Like any good story starts (or ends… or climatically concludes before SEQUELS), it was a DARK AND STORMY NIGHT!!! For a few days it's been high alert around the candidate barracks as the eggs could hatch at ANY MOMENT but right as some folks might have been daring to get to sleep, an incredibly loud thunderclap melds in with the beginning of the Weyr vibrating to draconic humming. « THE BABIES ARE COMING!!! THE BABIES ARE COMING!!! » No need for champagne, Inasyth has a flood of mental bubbles to shower everybody as she hovers excitedly around the soon to be rocking clutch, barely containing her excitement.

The intense sound of dragons humming isn't the only obvious symbol that Inasyth's eggs are on the verge of hatching. From an entrance deep within the hatching sands emerge the white-robed candidates to present themselves before dam and sire. As if in response to an already-voiced command, the members of the rather uncoordinated group all bow at different intervals to both Inasyth and Garouth before they carefully scatter to circle the eleven rocking eggs.

Perfectly Calm and Peaceful Egg IS HERE TO ROCK AND ROLL. It shimmies and shakes, twisting and rolling and defying the very definitions of its own name. It takes long — too long, perhaps — for it to find its perfect calm and peace again, but rest assured that it does. For now.

<Galleries> Ashwi settles in her seat, only moderately drenched from getting here, and awaits the arrivals of babies

Zachariah takes several deep breaths as he joins those scattering after the bow. One of the younger ones out here on the sands he's looking super nervous as he shuffles into place and stares at the moving egg.

Padjma is caught somewhere in a little knot of wide-eyed young women who stumble out together, but breaks from their number after rising from her bow to find a separate place to stand a few feet away. Alone, and yet not alone, she wraps her arms about herself with flushed cheeks, pale eyes pulled to stare at that first little shimmy and shake that shows up. She inhales — but does she exhale? (Let's hope so.)

Velorn's bow might be a little less steady than his normal overly dramatic movements, nerves finally starting to get the better of him now that they're all out on the sands under the watchful eyes of… just about all of Pern it seems like. Not to mention those rocking and rolling eggs! If he sidles a little closer to some of the other candidates, who's going to really blame him?

Zaira is among the group, walking tall and slow, her wet-seal brown hair pulled into a braided bun at the base of her neck. Her chosen spot is near the left hand side, towards the back, her silver eyes roiling in their depths, the ringing gold bar molten. She's ready for anyting!

Taste the Frozen Rainbow Egg vibrates so hard it dang near levitates off of the sands, an energetic toddler on a sugar-rush the only explanation for how it can exert such magnificent energy only to crash immediately after. Hard.

Ila'den is here. NEVER FEAR. He came equipped with his eyepatch and his skulking disapproval to turn on all the wonderful candidates while they await acceptance or rejection. SUP, BABIES. Y'ALL LOOKIN' EXTRA FINE IN THEM WHITES.

"Ila! Do you think we need to get some of them beach floaties for the baby dragons?" Rhodelia shouts over another clap of thunder (and the very proud mama hen dragon's singing).

Zachariah runs a hand through his hair with only a faint scowl as he encounters the damp curls. "Shoulda gotten this cut." is his annoyed mutter. Despite the annoyance in his tone his gaze is locked onto the eggs. In particular the Frozen rainbow one that seems to have just crashed back down to the sands. And he does look oh so cute in that white tuber sack looking outfit. IT's TRENDY!

Perfectly Calm and Peaceful Egg shudders once, violently, as if its inhabitant has slammed itself against its shell from the insides in a dastardly attempt to escape. It works — kind of. Bits of shell flake away, leaving a sizeable gap before it quiets once more.

Zaira watches the quiivering, cracking eggs, wondering: which one would hatch first? What color would the hatchling be and who would it go to? Her gaze was so intense, so focused, trying to look everywhere at once.

IT'S GONNA BE A PARTY EGG heard that it might be showtime and it didn't want to come empty handed! Sadly, it is an egg and has no hands so options are limited but it'll make do with what it can and that's itself as the shell sparkles like never before as it shimmies and shakes.

Padjma might be looking extra white pale in her white insomuch as she can, right up until she expels that held-breath in surprise somewhere between that next thunderclap (and those energetic egg movements over there). Shifty-shift, go her feet, but at least there's probably no further danger of imminent syncope-on-the-sands from this quarter.

AND IF THAT DIDN'T TERRIFY YOU, Rau's got your back. Or, well, he's not really helping the situation anyway. M'tras, by obvious and tremendous contrast, doesn't look like anything happening here on these sands from the candidates getting settled on their individual patches of sand to those eggs or Inasyth's excitement are enough to make him make an expression other than, you know, that line that's about as neutral as a face can get and still be awake. Dark eyes track movements and he's obviously at the ready like the rest of the weyrlingmaster staff here and wherever else they may be found, but EMOTIONALLY MOVED? He is not. Good thing these aren't the only two AWLMs in Xanadu~

Perfectly Calm and Peaceful Egg gives up very little fight as it shatters beneath the ministrations of a newborn bronze. He stretches wingsails slow as he takes in both those cheering from the stands and the white-robed hopefuls among him. It doesn't take long for him to find exactly what he was looking for: the boy still sporting a bandage from his very unfortunate meeting with gravity. "Nobody has ever called me O'dorn before," comes hushed, albeit strong. "But I like it. Come on, Araceth. They're waiting for us."

You're Gonna Need a Bigger Bronze Hatchling
This is a predator, and an ancient one, at that. There's little doubt as to that fact when viewing this bronze, for there is nary an inch of him out of place, not a scrap of extra space or weight. He is lean and eager, a hungry light held in narrow, wide-set eyes. His nose is short and blunt, headknobs high and narrow, each ridge of his spine bladed, fin-thin, as though he could cut through water just as easily as sky. Though often held tight against him, his wings depict the watery depths that once defined his shell, calm tides turned turbulent by the lightning and storms that fork over his shoulders and boil down their leading edge. The rest of his body is simple by comparison, a deep dorsal bronze fading to a pale ventral brass, with gill-like slashes lining his neck as his only off-setting feature.

With a triumphant cry the You're Gonna Need a Bigger Bronze Hatchling has found its lifemate at last. After a few moments the Weyrlingmaster leads the new pair off the sands.

Velorn shakes his head and smirks over at Zach— and if his smirk isn't quite as smirky as it normally is, who's going to fault him? "I like it long like that." And there it is. Blink and you'll miss it, the first egg has hatched and found his person, "Ooo… They say that a bronze being first is lucky."

Taste the Frozen Rainbow Egg practically swings back and forth, moving until it tips onto its side and rolls (and rolls and rolls), coming to a standstill only once a brilliant crevice forms in the length of its shell. SOON! SOON IT SHALL BE FREE!

Weyrbred Barton is HERE FOR THIS, Y'ALL. Bouncing on the balls of his feet at the immensely wise age of fifteen and maybe a couple of months, he's all ready to step toward that first bronze breaking shell, only to have his heart broken when it goes to O'dorn of all candidates. It's definitely that the hatchling kicked up some sand and not life's first, worst wounding making roughly rub a fist across one eye.

Zachariah jumps at the crack of thunder then hastily looks around to see if anyone saw his reaction. "I have read Bronze first is very lucky." his gaze tracks the momvments of the first born bronze. "Solid impression too. No mauling yet."movement of another egg draws his attention that way. "That one looks close." he points to the Frozen rainbow egg.

Ready or Not Egg is not. Ready, that is. The dragons are humming, the eggs are variously twitching, pulsing, shivering or otherwise showing the promise of what is coming from within. Not this egg. This egg-like sandy lump just s i t s. One could mistake it for boring. Maybe it's mysterious. Maybe it's just waiting for the lightning to strike the right place - either figuratively or literally. Maybe the catalyst hasn't come. Maybe it will win someone a whole lot of marks for turning out to be what it vaguely resembles: Best Effort prize-winner in the egg look-alike category of party decorations. It is a day to celebrate, isn't it?

Zaira notes the quick Impression and allows a brief smile to cross her tense face, one hand moving to push her bangs from her head. "Lucky indeed say the Harpers," she comments.

IT'S GONNA BE A PARTY EGG CAN'T BE CONTAINED! THERE'S JUST TOO MUCH EXCITEMENT! SURELY THAT SHELL WILL BE SHATTERING ANY MINUTE NOW… but the shimmying is a bit exhausting and while a few hairline cracks might be appearing, the dance pauses for just a moment as the little baby dragon inside must need to rest.

Taste the Frozen Rainbow Egg implodes. Or is that explodes? Fractured shell-bits go flying everywhere, littering the sand as a too-small blue makes his debut. He doesn't waste his time on orienting himself, instead moving quick on legs too new and clumsy to keep him up. But it's okay. He trips over his own enthusiasm, rolling tail over tea kettle and landing — with an audible OOMF — on that dark haired boy with the dreamy eyes. "Ha'an? That's me?" comes on a wheeze followed by another attempt to draw in air. "Yes, yes. That's all good and well, Kakorith, but I can't breathe." It's a matter of moments before the pair is pulled apart and sent on their way for check ups and food.

Race the Crash Blue Hatchling
A sugar rush given mortal form, this blue is swift and rapid, a creature built for madcap dashes into the great unknown. He's a brilliant raspberry blue at base, bubbles and chipped ice and candied dots leaving bright pocks and speckles all over his hide. Sugary sparkles flash in and out of view across his nose and wide cheeks before splashing up over his forehead, setting his entire spine alight with crystalline splendor. Syruppy drips of a bold phthalo blue pool down strong legs and to the very tips of his tail, settling around paws that look for all the world as though they should leave smudgy tracks in his wake. Streaked stripes occupy the undersides of wide wings, pale periwinkle interrupted by blueberry bands that ripple with a faint ribbon-candy sheen.

With a triumphant cry the Race the Crash Blue Hatchling has found its lifemate at last. After a few moments the Weyrlingmaster leads the new pair off the sands.

Egg on the Beach just came for the party, man. It might seem impossible for an egg to come off as drunk, but this one manages. It doesn't stay in the lines or maintain its lane, ricocheting off of everyone and everything until it rolls to a sudden stop.

Padjma spares now-O'dorn and minutes later, now-Ha'an a brief glance as they Impress, mouth opening as if she might want to offer congratulations — or maybe that's just an expression of surprise, after all. Either way, everything is happening so fast; they're both gone, and more flurries of movement elicit a firming of her jaw, another twitch in her stance.

Zachariah can't help but wince in sympathy as the latest hatchling tumbles right into his mate. Another wince follows but this one is clearly from the heat of the sands as he picks up one sandaled foot then another for a mere fraction of a moments relieve from the heat that's creeping up.

From along side the newly impressed bluerider pair, Lokialia smirks a bit as she sidles sideways out of any danger. "He should have moved faster."

IT'S GONNA BE A PARTY EGG EXPLODES IN ONE FINAL SPECTACULAR BURST OF INCANDESCENT GLORY and what's left behind is one slightly dazed hatchling, blinking as lightning flashes by and she tries to get acclimated to the chaos that is Hatching.

Lady of the Mountain Green Hatchling
Verdant contours strike a balance of symmetry, the elegant arch of neck matched by the sinuous curve of tail. Forest green hide drapes like velvet around her slender form, softening along her legs to wrap her feet in mossy boots. Another patch of moss grows tucked just beneath her pointed muzzle, matched by a darker spot above placed like a feline's nosepad. Her features are refined, carved beryl tracing the aquiline angles of cheeks and nose and the curved shadow of dark ridges above her large and eloquent eyes. Higher yet, her knobs sweep into a pair of matching peaks whose hue darkens to a purple-tinged majesty before they're capped in the pale silver of snow and ice. The ridges of her neck are similarly limned with dark green markings that follow their curves, a subtle emphasis that draws out the refinement and elegance of her form. Her wings are elegant curves, slim spars with sails whose forest shade stretches to near-translucent delicacy by their trailing edges as if - by sparing weight - they seek to increase her skill in the skies. Her sleek form tapers further into a long, slender tail whose tip is circled by a series of dark arcs patterned like a spiral.

The candidates must have been told not to make sudden movements or be half as excited as Insyth in terms of overall volume, but perhaps holdbred Jainkosta did not get that memo because as the too-small blue that turns out to be Kakorith passes her by for the dreamboat Ha'an, she squeals and takes as wide a hop back as her white tuber sack allows trying to avoid the splash of egg goo leaving a wing only to make such a face when some ends up on her boot. At least she avoided the bodily contact with the freshly hatched. Maybe she should save the WLMs the trouble and show herself off the sands now?

Zaira watches the weyring pairs with silent interest. She's had to do some dodging herself and found herself being worked more into the middle of things than she had orignally planned. Must be very careful. Greens were agile…and fast.

Lady of the Mountain Green Hatchling is slow to take those first steps, but once she does there's as much regalness to the little dragon as any freshly shelled creature can manage. Her sides expand as she takes a deep breath and almost waltzes forward, a little dancing step as she skirts around a puddle on the sands. The dryer path draws her closer to two sisters from Black Rock but apparently neither of the fisher girls are quite what she was looking for and with a little bow of her head, the green spins around, off to search for the right dance partner.

Velorn bounces, just a little, on the balls of his feet, rolling his eyes at Lokialia, "Like you'd do any better if it'd been you." The spectacular arrival of that forest green hatchling has him straightening and turning his attention back to the remaining clutch, though the squeemish Jainkosta gets a snort of amusement. Nope. Not gonna say anything. Not to her, anyway, "Karorith? He's a handsome fellow, H- Ha'an!"

Rau is there to give Ha'an a hand with his new lifemate, speaking the confirmation of names and invitation to move toward where the meat, oils and all things good in a new-to-the-world dragon's life can be found. He's not even sorry that he's not more exciting than this even-keeled efficiency, though he may be sorry his player makes bad jokes.

Waverider Egg is pretty chill, y'all. Not much to see here, just the lackluster movement of an egg-bro revving up to do egg-bro things.

Zachariah remembers, suddenly, to peer about for a couple of his favorite eggs. Are they moving yet??! Hastily he sidles a bit to the left to try to get a better look. He ends up closer towards Velorn. "She's always thinking she can do better." he murmurs. "She can't." back to the eggs! "Do you see if that one is moving yet?" he gestures towards the Ready or not egg. He can't see if it's ready. Or not.

Ready or Not Egg might need… help? Did anyone see the moment when it slii-iii-iiiiiid from where it was seated, partially obscured by actual sand to its new lop-sided position at the base of what was its mound, where the actual egg-shape is confirmed? It's possible everyone did, if unknowingly. The unobtrusive movements that got it there must have been incremental, the kind of thing the eye only registers after enough of them have happened, the kind that often leaves a person questioning whether they saw what they saw, whether it really is different, and yet, the fact that it's not semi-buried lumpiness but actual eggly roundness now seems confirmation enough, even if it still might be among the least eye-attracting in the bunch. The angle at which the egg now sits doesn't look terribly comfortable, so perhaps that discomfort will prod the occupant into more spirited efforts to make change happen for themselves if the lightning is failing to find it in a timely fashion.

Velorn snorts, something aproximating his usual smirk pulling up one corner of his mouth, "Not everyone can be as perfect as me." By the twinkle in his eye, it's obvious that he's joking. He shakes his head, looking over in the direction of the egg in question, "Not that I've-" Well. He barks a quick laugh and reaches out to aim a quick pat for the younger candidate's shoulder, "I think it just did?" He doesn't sound entirely sure about that, but whatever.

Mollusk Magnetism Egg teeters and it totters although with its rather bulbous markings it can be a bit hard to tell just how much movement is actually happening and how much might be an optical illusion.

Zachariah offers no objection to the shoulder pat. At least it wasn't a hair tousle. "Did it?" he stares hard for a second or two before his gaze slides to another egg. That Mollusk Magnetism. "Did that one?" Why oh why are his two favorite eggs being so uncooperative. And that thunder! It's too much! Okay, not really but he is looking a little more frazzled than normal as he tries so hard to look every which way at once.

Caila, an apprentice from StarCraft, stands with a stiff motionlessness. IS SHE BREATHING? Probably, or the danger of fainting would be even worse than it already is with her knees locking out. This is probably why one of the kinder eyed WLMs steps near enough to her to murmur a reminder that has her first straightening more before the words sink in and she shifts in a little self-conscious wriggle, cheeks flushing as her eyes go darting from egg to egg to egg. The mouthed words on her lips might be a mantra of the reminder she's just been given.

Ready or Not Egg isn't moving. Still. But it is making a sound. Or what's within it is making a sound? The strange howling, easy enough to mistake for the wind of the storm outside the hatching cavern at first, slowly registers as a deep crooning cry that is joy and anguish, rage and celebration. It rises and rises in volume, in intensity, becoming a storm all its own, one that competes with the drumming of the rain and the roar of the thunder. As the crack that began unseen beneath this egg who knows how many heartbeats ago streaks 'round and 'round the mundane shell, lacing it in tangled webs of weakness, the cry reaches a near-keening crescendo. Power punches outward, shattering the spiraling fractures, sending shards and goo scattering across sand and hatchling alike. Wings shield the one called out of darkness and dreams to this place, these sands, to see debts paid and promises realized.

Dare the Descent Bronze Hatchling
This dragon exists in unnerving duality, too much of one thing and at once too much the other. He is too much a brute in possession of primal power, and yet too much a sophisticate, one who wields reason beyond keen instinct, acumen beyond baser beasts. Darkness molds to his every line like a lover's intimate embrace, depth broken by brilliant brocades of boldest bronze. It clings to his lines, sculpts the musculature of his chest, braiding over broad shoulders and strong sides before disappearing into naught. Similar predatory perfection stalks the length of each elegant limb, prowls the roll of his gait and harries the aristocratic arrangement of preternatural beauty irrevocably tangled with savagery and grace. The camouflage of civility provided by the fine lines in his face, accents of honey on spiced chestnuts coating delicately arched brows and slightly pointed headknobs, can't hide the feral intelligence in those bejeweled eyes. The aurum glitter that dusts just above and so below does its best to distract from it, a star-studded dusting that sparkles in whorls into his brow, matching the wide width of his wings. This beauty is bait. The trap springs when the eye, drawn on a drifting current of heady allure down the long lines of his neck, is met with violence in the form of a ruff of ridges. It invades the aesthetic with its wrongness, tight clusters of multihued spikes stabbing up from his spine in convincing imitation of fur, rather than hide. A black diamond studded between collarbones and equally obsidian claws provide further contrast, existing in total opposition to the feathery white-bronze that tinges the very tips of tails and wings, delicacy and brutality in forever-balance.

Padjma might twitch a little harder when that revving up, bluish-egg starts to do its thing; in fact, subsequent shuffles see her slowly angling to move toward a cluster of young people who are a little farther away from its movements, gray-green eyes tracking the graceful little green briefly.

Lady of the Mountain Green Hatchling strolls through the sands as if this were another restday walk through a park and not a stormy squall. Staring may not be the most polite thing to do, but the young dragon can't really help herself as she inspects more candidates, but so far each is just met with a polite headnod before her little promenade continues.

Mollusk Magnetism Egg shudders as a giant thunderclap booms overhead, the sound vibrating through the hatching arena. While it might be safer in the egg, staying in there forever surely isn't an option.

Velorn snorts another soft laugh, "Looks like one of your favorites had enough, anyway." And look! The other is starting to shake, too! Though… honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if that boom of thunder was the cause of the shivering of the Mullusk Magnetism egg.

Egg on the Beach rocks back and forth in the sand, trembling and writhing as if the hangover has set in and brought every ounce of agony with it. And maybe it has. Its shell certainly splits, sending a spiderweb fracture up the length of its shell.

Zachariah wasn't looking right at the Ready or Not egg when it hatches. However that strange howling that is slowly understood to be emitting from the egg draws his gaze back just in time to see the bronze there on the sands. His eyes widen into large circles with no words at all to be uttered.

Meanwhile, Lokialia stands off to the side with arms crossed over her chest as she watches the strolling green. She huffs a little when the green doesn't come close to where she is.

Dare the Descent Bronze Hatchling's wings shift, opening the curtain of wispy star-studded darkness with distinct intention. It's a graceful move- or would be if there weren't a bit of shard sticking just where one wing needs to fold. He stops as the impediment is discovered, turning his head just enough to identify the problem, only to halt in a whole other way. There are eyes on him and these eyes draw the feral, sharpened attention of his own, the glitter dusting about their edges making the look a striking one. It might send a chill down the spine, conjure goosebumps despite the heat, and yet, there's nothing he can do about the eyes. So with a sudden and total dismissal of all those watchers, he shifts his feet, turns his neck, and twists the torso that even now promises broad shoulders and beautiful proportions in maturity to use his nose to nudge the offending shard off… leaving the would-be elegant hatchling with the new problem of a snoot topped with goop. The stillness implies an attempt to go crosseyed to study the problem with much the same demeanor as a kitten trying to sort the best way to pounce a big hoppy bug. It doesn't bode well for solving the problem, at least not without simply giving himself a different one to contend with.

"What is that?!" Hopefully Inasyth does not hear the comment by Janice of Ista Weyr. "We'd never have a bronze that looks like that at my Weyr." The judgmental look and upturn of her nose doesn't do much to flatter her either, but then she's not in contention for next rider of the bronze that just hatched, so she only has motherly ire and every other egg to worry about.

Egg on the Beach is quickly replaced by the resplendent form of a honeyed beast that oozes the kind of warmth autumn fires merely dream of. He takes his time exploring the world around him, taking in the sights and sounds, looking from dam and sire to gathered crowd and further. This one, at least, seems confident of who it is that he wants to pick — and he finds him. He finds him looking for all the world as if he'd rather be anywhere else until the moment their eyes meet and it'd be impossible for either to not know. He gasps, knees threatening to buckle under the weight of emotion as words form without any recollection of having made them. "Ekapith?" A beat, and trembling lips give way to a smile as one hand reaches out to touch between knobs and remain there. "L'van is perfect, I promise." Whatever else new discoveries they find together are left in private as weyrling staff steps in to lead them away.

Dawn of a New Era Brown Hatchling
Warmth. Pleasure. Splendor. He is all of this and more, a honey-hued beast dappled with infinite hallmarks of kindness and sincerity. Soft woody hues streak his short neck, slide over rounded ribs before fading into the warm depths of his tail, each mahogany mark housing a host of floral bundles, each different from the last. Peonies twine with pansies, lilies with lotus, carnations with clover, with broad leaves and fine vines weaving betwixt and between. A sunrise whose light feeds these eternal blooms dawns over his wings, streaks of scintillating sunshine beaming from behind gold-limned clouds. Still waters define each stocky leg, reflecting brilliance in ripples and waves that deepen to sparkling, sandy paws.

With a triumphant cry the Dawn of a New Era Brown Hatchling has found its lifemate at last. After a few moments the Weyrlingmaster leads the new pair off the sands.

Ila'den, belatedly, tells Rhodelia (in rough, husky tones that are questionably audible over the storm), "Yes." It might have also been 'death', BUT WHO IS REALLY COUNTING, ARE WE RIGHT? We right. WE KNOW WE RIGHT AND EVEN IF WE AREN'T YOU WON'T CHANGE OUR MINDS. It's fine though, because Ila'den is looking from the junior to the candidates and then the sands. What does he see there? HARD TO SAY, but it makes the corner of his lips quirk before he looks at Rau and all semblence of what might have been a smile fades. "Bets on my indoctrinating more of them than you." Which he says, as he shows Ekapith and L'van off the sands. LIKE A NINJA.

There's a mumble of something in retort to Ila'den, but it is really hard to see (let alone hear) Rhodelia at all beneath the umbrella and behind Inasyth's massive behind. The big tawny gold is enthusiastically and deafeningly bugling with ever new impression. « THEY ALL GROW UP SO FAST!!! »

Padjma's eyebrows take a hike upward as she can't help but to overhear Janice-of-Ista while doing her best to belong-and-not nearby. Were she another girl in another time and place, there might be some dry remark inserted about how that is clearly a dragon — but Navenath's candidate has only a brittle grimace in commentary, hands dropping to fist uncomfortably into the fabric at her sides as the action continues~

Mollusk Magnetism Egg has spent enough time wobbling and now it's time to get down to business. There's one more massive jiggle before the talon of a little green's back foot emerges and then another. Beep. Beep. Beep. Soon, the rest of the hatchling escapes as well, plunking down right onto her rear.

Keep On Flying Green Hatchling
Pale clouds drift in layers against interstellar depths whose jade and midnight emerald is only ever glimpsed beneath a veil of nebulae and stars. There's no constancy to her patterning, no place for the eye to rest as celadon shades to spring leaves and the delicate green-gold of steeping tea. Yet even the void is not wholly trackless, and green-dappled hide is etched with traceries paler yet, new-leaf green tinged to webs of palest citrine. Etchings cascade in loose profusion along her neck, while around her shoulders they curve together as if all following a well-worn route before they once against scatter along her flanks to trace their own intermittent, chaotic paths through the freedom of her vastness. She's solidly built, large beneath the effacing starcloud softness of her skin, with a form that's neither slender nor wide but contoured with muscle to seek both power and agility. Her shoulders are wider than her hips, the better to anchor a pair of wide wings whose sails, stretched between sturdy spars, are etched with branching patterns of leaf-vein lightning crackling with the same eager desire to fly that makes their leading edges arch forward toward the skies.

Zaira is starting to break a sweat, perspiration beading on her forehead and sticking her bangs to her forehead…and it's not merely the heat. She may be used to performing for small audiences but this was something she had never done before. Never had such a big audience, nor had the stakes ever been higher in her heart.

Lady of the Mountain Green Hatchling seems to run into a bit of trouble. A traffic jam if you will. Shell shards and siblings all suddenly in the direction she had been going and she backpedals frantically to avoid colliding with anything… at least anything in front of her. In all the chaos, she did overlook the Harper candidate that was behind her the whole time until the hatchling was literally standing on the girl's foot. The dragon lets out a squawk of embarrassment before she looks up and caresses her nose right into her new lifemate's chest.

With a triumphant cry it seems that the Lady of the Mountain Green Hatchling has found its partner at last and impression is made!

Zachariah licks his lips. It's hot. He's sweaty and now he's thirsty with no drinks in sight. He doesn't try to hide the shuffling of his feet due to the heat of the sands. Nope, he's shuffling away but keeping an eye on any movement that might head his way. His movements have him even closer to Velorn now. Nearly close enough for his arm to brush the other candidate but not quite. "Is he…does he…have egg goop on his nose? And…where's…the green….?" he cranes his head to look around Velorn juuuust intime to see the new green hatch but misses the first green's impression.

Dare the Descent Bronze Hatchling still has the same problem just in case you were wondering, a bad case of gooped-snoot that no minor (or major) amount of crosseyed puzzlement has solved to date. He shakes his head once, twice, bringing a forepaw into the fray with every intention of smacking it off except that he feels those eyes again, watching his every move, waiting with bated breath to see what his next move against this new-found nemesis might be. That might be why he freezes yet again, why that paw poised for ruin is held suspended for mere moments before he places it back on the sands and raises his maw a little higher, goop and all. There's an arrogant kind of dignity in the move, as if he is daring - no, challenging - any living soul in or out of this domed amphitheater to find flaw or offense in even his most undignified circumstance. His only recourse is to keep moving forward, behave as though he cares nothing for the titters and guffaws from the stands, to glide-wobble-glide step to where all those yet un-chosen candidates wait.

Feathered Frenzy Egg DOES A SPIN. It rolls and jives and shivers, trembling just enough to dislodge it from its place where it once sat buried in the sand.

SHOTS FIRED. GAUNTLET THROWN. EYEPATCH FLIPPED- wait, no, Rau isn't close enough and would prefer to keep his fingers. But, listen, Ila succeeds where MOST fail: an expression comes to M'tras' face (in public!!), lips twitching to a lop-sided shadow of a smirk before it's suppressed and brows rise just enough to imply a silent, CHALLENGE ACCEPTED. No one would hear him over Inasyth's PROUD PARENT NOTIFICATIONS adding to the general din of storm and hatchlings and candidates, whatever else is adding to the noise here. His step gets juuuust a little more spring in it as he- goes back to doing his job.

Waverider Egg tips a little further than it meant to, landing on its crown and sending a brilliant network of fractures down the length of its shell.

Zaira cannot resist a wince at the footstomping but the Candidate, now Z'ora tries to assess the damage. Then she extends one hand to lightly stroke her green's soft, damp neck. "Her name is Rhearth! And yes they'll fix me right up and then you can eat all you want!" She turns a bit blankly towards towards the outlet to the Hatching Sands, ready to go…but she'll be limping

Waverider Egg bursts from where its heaviest damage lay, revealing the marbled hide of a brilliant blue to Xanadu Weyr and all of her seated (or standing) spectators. He pulls himself together slowly, unhurried in every movement that finds him standing on legs that threaten to buckle back out from beneath them the moment he finds them. No matter. He shifts taloned paws through sand and shell-bits alike, garnering understanding until he trusts himself enough to run. And run he does! SURF'S UP, DUDES! He slams onto his hind legs, sliding across the sand and bowling //right into the startled arms of the boy with all the golden hair. "Faranth," comes from somewhere beneath too much blue — and then a laugh. "Sorry. Not Faranth. Aeorryth. And I am??" A beat, a longer pause, and then a wry, "M'adi. Huh. We might have to work on that one." But for all the excitement of watching a blue slam into fate, the pair seem otherwise unharmed as they're pulled apart and ushered off of the sands.//

Change in the Winds Blue Hatchling
Lean and nimble, this blue seems a wind spirit made flesh, sky-blue hide marbled with the palest of greys. Cloudmatter gathers over proud shoulders like a ruff before scudding over blunt, knobby ridges. Swirls and whorls of cadet blue cavort along the undersides of his wings, spinning over visible ribs before coming to rest at the base of his hind legs. Similar faded blues flicker and spirit in and out across the expanse of his hide, simple spots and sparkles interspersed with blots that might make shapes depending on the angle at which they are observed. The overall effect of this rorschach brilliance is of a pile of leaves and detritus swept up by a brisk breeze, forever imprinted on his hide.

With a triumphant cry the Change in the Winds Blue Hatchling has found its lifemate at last. After a few moments the Weyrlingmaster leads the new pair off the sands.

Feeble Fortress Egg twists in the sands, toppling onto the summer skies blue of its tippiest toppiest eggshell in one fantastic somersault that turns into two. It slides down its own small mound of sand, leaving a divot of egg-sized proportions in its wake until finally, inexplicably, it STICKS THE LANDING. 9.8. 7.6. 10.0!!!

Velorn looks over that the poor egg-goop besnouted bronze and can't help but chuckle, "Seems like it." His arm twitches, as though fighting the urge to sling over the shorter boy's shoulders now that Zachariah is so close. He quickly wipes the smile off of his face when the young bronze looks his way, looking away and whistling innocently as he clasps his hands behind his back and rocks back and forth from heel to toe and back. Nothing to see here. There's no one laughing at the unfortunate mishap of a poor little hatchling bronze. The quick aversion of his eyes has him spotting Zaira just as the— also unfortunate girl— is reassuring the first green that she'll get herself taken care of and then get the young dragon fed, "Looks like Zaira's got a green now." His voice is rather bland at that observation, completely missing the newest green's arrival on the sands.

Keep On Flying Green Hatchling cranes her head to take this all in, meeting each and every sight with eye-whirling enthusiasm. The young dragon trills with delight at each new sight. The shard of her egg stuck to her toe-claw! The looming (but encouraging) shadows of her parents! The crowd! Her siblings! Isn't it all amazing? All so… shiny! But there's gotta be someone that's the most shiniest of them all and off she goes, seemingly set to inspect everything and everyone on her way to wherever her lifemate might be waiting.

Zachariah twists around as he hears Zaira calling out a name. "Good looking lady there, Z!" he offers most likely unheard congratulations towards that new pair. Then another pair, blue this time, impress and he's looking every which way around to see who is left. "Is she coming this way?" he looks towards the other green on the sands as he asks Velorn. Then he's looking again for the Bronze to ensure he's keeping an eye on any moving creatures that could potentially crash into them. "A cute little green….I didn't realize how small they were at this stage…."

Dare the Descent Bronze Hatchling is still gooped, still hatch-drunk, and still stubbornly committed to his performance, as if there's any sense of grace to the glide that stutters with each limb-heavy, clumsily awkward step. (The crosseyed dilemma of 2730? Hasn't solved that, either.) He staggers (read: swaggers for all you ladies in the stands) ever closer to that line of candidates, maw still held aloft with casual arrogance as whirling facets seem to look past each face, be they glowingly hopeful or green. He slows, pausing at a thick-set Smith, the kind of candidate who might be able to match him (or outdo him, even, given the way that candidate's lips start to tug into a self-assured smirk). The beastial beauty doesn't deign to notice. He's moving, prowling now, hunting the previously elusive something now drawing him closer, anchoring him, and then he's standing before a young man with a heart-shaped face and large eyes, no longer waif or nomad because the intense, swift-whirling regard declares from that distance of mere paces that matter nothing to what happens now between them that he is claimed, he is home.

With a triumphant cry it seems that the Dare the Descent Bronze Hatchling has found its partner at last and impression is made!

Feeble Fortress Egg bets that you thought it was through after those clearly underwhelming scores, but THE JOKE'S ON YOU. It wasn't laid to be a quitter!! It practically vibrates with sudden energy, twisting and rolling and shuddering against the backdrop of the sands until one hairline fracture split spiderwebs its way up the length of this shell, promising better things yet to come.

Padjma's wary expression turns from one dragon to the next; there's a smile aimed in Zaira's direction once it's evident that a choice has been made, although her congratulatory call probably gets lost in the (literal) shuffle. There's a new urgency to the way her feet move in the manner of one who's markedly uncomfortable — too warm, perhaps, or too well-hydrated.

Something Green and Growing Egg seems to have less enthusiasm than it ought, given it's about to be //born. Or maybe it's just too big to manage wild exaltation. Either way, it merely rocks until it's tilted to the opposite side in the sands.//

Something Green and Growing Egg fractures, quite suddenly, in a mosaic of soon-to-be broken parts. It trembles in one last effort to shake its own shell away, but it seems the world will have to wait.

Velorn glances over in the direction of the… enthusiastic little green and shrugs, "Yeah, I guess." He shrugs, attention quickly turned back to the other eggs and hatchling. And then quickly away from the prowling bronze to keep from laughing again, "Cute."

Keep On Flying Green Hatchling bounces through the sands. Sure, there might be a slip here or there, but that doesn't stop this energetic hatchling. When she ends up face first in the sand, it's only a second later before she scrambles back to her feet trying to shake off the muck as she's back on the hunt, trilling happily all the way.

Zachariah staggers backwards, his expression changing even as the bronze is still making his way towards him. The moment he turned his head to spy exactly where the gooped up, hatch-drunk, bronze was he simply STOPS BREATHING. A gasp of air escapes him as he reaches with trembling hands to touch the nose of the bronze who is suddenly so THERE and so much a part of him he can hardly comprehend it all. "Hello…Daejienth…" Zachariah no more, Za'ariah now and forever. "Za'ariah. Yes. Hello…." It's gonna certainly take an AWLM to come over to lead this new pair to food.

Feeble Fortress Egg doesn't so much explode as it caves inward, the forever leaning print on its side crumbling towards that pitch within, cheerful flags and all. It gives way to taloned paws and the tip of a snoot as if its inhabitant is trying to escape all at once from this single, narrow opening until finally it shatters, leaving the egg-wet silhouette of a new hatchling dripping goop onto the sands.

The Cruelest Irony Green Hatchling
There are things that haunt the dark corners of the world, things whose names are forbidden to speak, for their mere utterance lends them power. There are monsters that prey upon dreams amidst black nights, whose warped aberration can twist even the most innocent of imaginings into untold horrors - and then there is this wicked green. She is something of terror to behold, pestilence given mortal form, a creature of undiscovered deeps and the fathomless space between stars. Sickly iridescence coats her hide in an oily sheen, rippling from bruised absinthe to bloodied emerald in a manner that's faintly nauseating, if only because it never seems to shift the same way twice. Dark waves of her natural hide shine through over lean ribs and preternaturally long legs, scaly bubbles and savage pockmarks giving the impression she's covered with a thousand undulating tentacles that have seen enough chaos to know where this is going. Unholy fires lick the trailing edges of stygian wings, the curves and blades of chartreuse flames giving her sails an impression of raggedness. A slim nose, swept knobs and a narrow chest lend reassurance where ripped depths might not: this is a beast built for flight, one whose height and size set her up to be a veritable titan of stormlit skies, the maelstrom mistress of air and darkness.

Feathered Frenzy Egg returns to the fore with a brilliant shiver, one that causes cracks to form in every inch of its shell, waiting for one last violent tremor to shake it all loose. But that tremor doesn't come — not yet. You gotta make the audience want it, and anticipation is key!

Velorn MISSES HIS FRIEND'S IMPRESSION COMPLETELY!!! At least until Zachariah, speaks and it's obvious that the younger boy isn't talking to him. Blue eyes blink several times and he looks over at the younger boy, stunned for a moment before suddenly grinning, "Way to go Zach! I told you you'd get bronze." But wait… This means that Vel is now left alone. Where's his buffer? Where is someone to help watch his back and make sure that some overly enthusiastic hatchling (we're looking at you, Keep On Flying Green) doesn't sneak up on him and maul him? Oh the humanity!

Keep On Flying Green Hatchling stumbles a bit as the rain pelts at her face. Just when she's beginning to give a rather hopeless croon as if she was losing hope, suddenly she puts on a burst of speed and practically hurls herself into the knees of the blonde haired computercrafter that is now her chosen. Nothing in the 'verse can stop her now that they're together!

With a triumphant cry it seems that the Keep On Flying Green Hatchling has found its partner at last and impression is made!

Feathered Frenzy Egg crumbles beneath the assault of one paw that turns into two. A snout comes next, followed by wings, and the rest, as they say, is history. This mischievous blue stumbles across the sands, feet unsteady, gait ungainly, until it has found the one it was looking for. Her! The one with red hair and vibrant green eyes! "Me? I'm Cifale? Oh." It's probably hard to take in that preciously round face through so many tears. "It's nice to meet you too, Larusith. Of course we can go find food." Bracing, the pair are led away from the sands by a member of the weyrling staff.

With a triumphant cry the Mine Mine Mine Mine Blue Hatchling has found its lifemate at last. After a few moments the Weyrlingmaster leads the new pair off the sands.

Ila'den is here to indoctrinate — we mean — HELP you, Zachariah. NEVER FEAR. The AWLM moves with a measured gait to the newly bonded pair, a gruff, but gentle, "This way," his only command as he leads them from the sands.j

The Cruelest Irony Green Hatchling IS FREE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES, XANADU WEYR! She stands in graceful repose, wings wilting at either side, pock-ravaged maw lowered toward the sands with too-long legs held fiercely akimbo the moment lightning deigns to add a flare of the dramatic to her entrance. She looks like an honest to Faranth villain come to life, a creature made for suffering and torture, born of nightmare dreams and the insidious hopelessness of an ending. Everything about this newly hatched green seems to be incorrect, right down to the way she moves when, despite the clumsiness of unfamiliarity, she undulates her body until she's turned to face her dam and her sire. A beat, two, three, as too-large eyes take in the fearsome bronze and the darling queen she came from, and then those sails snap to attention as she HISSES AT THEM BOTH. It's all good and fierce and full of tiny terror except the effort it costs her to exert such DIABOLICAL EVVVVVIIIILLLL seems to result in a bad case of these-legs-are-brand-new-help because DOWN SHE GOES, right into the sands where she thrashes for just a moment as if she might defeat THAT into submission too. It's not until she gains her footing once more that her inarguably (and disappointingly) adorable kreels of MALEVOLENCE cease. NOTHING TO SEE HERE, FOLKS (says the flick of one wing that gets kind of flopped at that angle after). THE SAND JUST NEEDED AN ATTITUDE ADJUSTMENT. EVERYTHING IS FINE NOW.

Velorn… was apparently right to be concerned about that enthusiasitc little green. There's an audible oof and he stumbles back when she colides with his knees, "I- what?" He give his head a hard shake, looking at the hatchling that just assaulted him, "Kyasinth?" He seems more confused than anything else at the moment, "V'orn… But… but you're green…" Apparently the color of his new lifemate is the most confusing part of the whole thing? He shakes his head, "Uh… Okay. We'll get you fed, but then we need to talk about this."

The Tide You Fear Egg shudders on the sands, executing a violent back-and-forth that swings it left and right like a pendulum counting down the minutes to chaos.

Zachariah draws in a shaky breath as he looks up towards Ila'den. It hasn't sunk in yet that he too is a bronzerider JUST LIKE GRUMPY-PANTS here but it will. Faranath help him. "Right…food. Come on Daejienth…" onwards to food. And maybe liquid. He misses the moment of his friend impressing to…*gasp* a GREEN.

Watch out, Zach. Everyone knows that one eye he has is a SHIFTY ONE. M'tras' eyes might narrow slightly as Ila adds another to his tally, but he's on his way over to Cifale and Larusith, so he's not far behind. It's those WILDCARD WLMs that're gonna make this game interesting. If it is interesting though, it'd be hard to know it from Rau's face. At least he's looking a little less bland as he greets the pair and starts EDUCATING THEM as they follow along with the others going that way.

Something Green and Growing Egg flakes away, leaving in its wake a too-tall brown both handsome and curious. Whirling facets turn to his parents, a tiny trill escaping him as if he's asking a question, only distraction comes for him in the form of candidates. Suddenly he's moving, slow and steady, paced and unrushed, making a dignified line from where he began to where he ends with the press of his maw into the softness of a human belly. She is the one he wants. "Culaeth?" comes through a tear-filled laugh, shaking hands reaching out to touch the piece of her soul she didn't know was missing. "Yes. A thousand times yes. Of course you can call me Tu'li. Let's go."

Til the End of Time Brown Hatchling
The manifestation of every motherly threat made real, it would appear as though watermelon seeds have indeed burst forth to make a tree within the stomach of the world. He is a tall and handsome beast, a deep, loamy brown traced over with rough mahogany bark. Though stripes do fly straight and true down the long lines of his neck, the rest of his bold form is covered in whorls and patterns that form symbols and elaborate knots on his sides. Though they have no translation, there's little doubt they hold great meaning, a deep, unspoken purpose that will come to guide his life. Destiny is further spelled out upon long, strong wings, a night sky's worth of golden-brown stars that speckle and flash in Rukbat's light. He holds himself as though that purpose were already in mind: his steps are slow and sure, each placement of gnarled toes and and each shift of his long, branched tail is thoughtful, prescripted, intentional to a fault.

With a triumphant cry the Til the End of Time Brown Hatchling has found its lifemate at last. After a few moments the Weyrlingmaster leads the new pair off the sands.

The Cruelest Irony Green Hatchling is pretty curious WHAT YOU THINK YOU'RE LOOKING AT. YEAH YOU, THERE, IN THE STANDS. YOU. THE ONE WITH THE HAIR. AND THE FACE. SHE SEES YOU. SHE SEES YOU AND YOUR VILLAIN MOUSTACHE. Or maybe she doesn't; maybe she just got some sand in her eye. NO MATTER. She still looks wicked and fierce even with her nictitating membrane partially closed. And half of villainy is all about the presentation, darlings. WATCH AND LEARN. She moves, something alien and predacious in each step that, even with the awkward acclimation of newly-discovered appendages, promises to be something horrific when she comes into her power. For now, she just looks wrong, carrying herself with a stilted quickness that's all the more alarming for just how straight-outta-a-horror-movie it is to witness. Determination carries her far from both Inasyth and Garouth, outward and away towards those white-robed hopefuls all lined up in a row. FOOLS. YOU SHOULD HAVE RUN WHEN YOU HAD THE CHANCE, and now you shall all PERI — what's this? Are these… are these FEET? Her attention shifts (lucky for that poor, poor candidate who is just trying to LIVE THE DREAM), and with one alarming shake towards her almost-victim, she prowls on. YOU'RE NEXT. But only after she discovers just how nemesitical these toes over here are threatening to be.

The Tide You Fear Egg splinters under the machinations of its own inertia, yielding to rest only once the splendor of its shell is left in ruins, waiting to give.

Padjma could be finding it harder to blend in. The number of remaining candidates is shrinking, which prompts her to shuffle-shuffle toward the middle of those who still stand while a stare marks some of the other Impressions happening nearby. That boy to bronze. That other boy to green! Next to her, one of the younger girls tugs nervously at her sleeve, prompting the dark-haired girl to attempt a comforting hand-squeeze that's all too short-lived.

The Tide You Fear Egg falls apart, leaving a petite green in its wake. There's something otherworldly about the way she moves, studying the candidates as if she has come to pass judgement upon them all — and she has. None are so worthy as her, her — "Neia?" Laughter tumbles from lips that tremble just as suddenly with emotion, hands reaching out to frame the sea-kissed maw of her brand new forever. "I can't believe you waited this whole time for me, Melazyth. I waited for you too. Thank you for finding me."

All Debts Come Due Green Hatchling
Darkened pine struck through with fern and chartreuse wraps the resplendent form of this uncanny green in hydrographic splendor. A dusting of seafoam intertwines with mint, crowning her forehead and kissing her head knobs. Her lithe, slender form hides a deceptive amount of power, wingspars sturdy and endless, swathed in a gradient fading from blackened emerald into muted jade. Predatory grace translates in every movement, making her mere existence a threat, whispering of something primal and ancient, something pulled from the sea and imprisoned within the restrictive confines of a dragon's body. Her tail extends in perfect proportion to the rest of her, the pronged summits freckled with white to complement the very tips of each of her paws. There is something almost inviting about her, but only almost. Getting too close gives the impression of getting caught in the unrelenting force of an undertow.

With a triumphant cry the All Debts Come Due Green Hatchling has found its lifemate at last. After a few moments the Weyrlingmaster leads the new pair off the sands.

Is she… is she crying? Why yes, Verwesa, a laundress from the lower caverns now wearing candidate white is weeping. Maybe it's all the excitement. Maybe it's the dwindling number of shells. MAYBE SHE'S JUST SO HAPPY FOR INASYTH, or terrified of that dragon with all the hissing. Whatever the reason, Oleska from the kitchens splits her focus to wrap an arm around her and awkwardly pat a shoulder.

The Cruelest Irony Green Hatchling is sad to report that they weren't nemesitical at all and tasted a little funky to boot. They did not stand up to the scrutiny of her LERO LERO LERO. Which is just downright insulting. NOW SHE IS INSULTED. Which is probably why she's smacking every candidate she passes with her wings and stepping on delicate toes, on purpose, along the way. YOU. BE LESS HUMAN. YOU, BE TALLER. YOU!!! BE LESS OF… ALL OF YOU. She seems to be enjoying it, the fear she inspires as those smart enough to move backpedal and those unlucky enough to have their attention everywhere but on her find out just WHY IT WAS SUCH A BAD IDEA TO LOOK AWAY. At least nobody is getting maimed as she savage, classy, bougie, ratchets her way down the line with her head tilted at an angle to imply she'd be laughing if she were capable of it. But she's not. So she isn't. She's all regal benevolence until — oh. Listen, everybody's toes were pretty gross, but these toes had a particular squish to them. Wing sails pull in tight against her body (by which we mean they try, and then kind of flop, uselessly) as she turns all of her attention onto the candidate unlucky enough to have caught her attention. Ah. Dark brown eyes and red hair. Perfect. It's good to see she's found someone without a soul. You'll do.

With a triumphant cry it seems that the The Cruelest Irony Green Hatchling has found its partner at last and impression is made!

Irony of ironies… as soon as the last hatchling finds it's lifemate seems to be when the rain finally lets up. Inasyth lets out a bittersweet little sigh as she noses in the direction of the barracks where all her babies have been trundled off to. « Grow well, little ones! » But as for the humans remaining behind, Rhodelia puts up her umbrella and clears her throat. "I know things might not have worked out how some of you may have hoped, but I want you all to know that you were each greatly appreciated by the Weyr. Please help yourselfs to the food and drink set up in the living caverns for the Feast. And we'll make sure there's dry clothes and towels available as well for any that need it." Which given the weather, might be just about everybody.

Padjma is one of those remaining who looks relieved, although the same can't be said for at least one other candidate who follows her hasty path back toward the entryway and the siren's call of dry clothes. White robes and rain are probably not the best combination~

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