Gold Leirith and Bronze Xermiltoth'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 Risali: « WHY ARE YOU ALL THE WAY OVER THERE WHEN YOU COULD BE ALL THE WAY OVER HERE? WE'RE HAVING A PARRRRRRTTTTTY, AND EVERYBODY'S INVITED! » THAT'S RIGHT, Y'ALL. IIIIIIT'S HATCHING DAY AND IT'S TIME TO TURN UP THE CRAZY. We're pouring out the champagne and shooting fireworks like it's Independence Day, so don't be afraid to come and be glorious with us! There's just 10 more minutes on the clock until those eggs start to rock and roll. Please feel free to come on down and cheer for Xanadu Weyr's candidates as they brave the sands! +go XAW, HA, OL

< Galleries > Sonya casts a brief eye skywards to perhaps see where her blue chooses to perch for his own viewing. After assuring herself he is well settled she goes about doing the same thing. An absent nod of greeting here or there as she passes people the recently graduated weyrling settles into a section to watch the sands.

< Galleries > Did someone say Parties? And Eggs? And Champagne? Those are like… all of Inasyth's favorite things and while Xanadu's youngest gold might not be on the Sands herself, she's certainly doing her best to be a one-dragon-welcoming committee to all the dragons flying in from across the globe. « HELLO!!! YOU LOOK GREAT! WHERE'D YOU GET THOSE STRAPS FROM? RHODY, DID YOU HEAR THAT? If YOU'RE PECKISH, TRY THE OVINE. SO FLUFFY, THEY'RE THE BEST… OH, I THINK THAT ONE — no, not yet. FALSE ALARM, BUT I'M SURE THEY'LL BE HATCHING ANY MINUTE Y'ALL!!! » Inasyth's mental voice is a steady stream of effervescent bubbles even as she keeps up a steady hum, trying to encourage those little eggies to get get a move on. There's a party waiting for them, after all! Rhodelia is much less a whirlwind of welcoming, the goldrider having grabbed a drink the first time she can and already snagged her seat, keeping an eye on the sands for the moment. "Candidates should be coming out any minute I'd guess…."

THIS IS IT, THIS IS THE DAY, THE MOMENT, THE HOUR, THE TIME EVERYBODY HAS BEEN WAITING FOR. No? Not everybody. OKAY, THE CANDIDATES THEN. And listen, we heard you. 'No unreasonable hours and snow-storms,' you said. 'FINE,' we shouted back, 'BUT WE'RE DOING THIS UNDER DURESS.' For once, nobody has to stumble groggy-eyed and bed-tousled from their (questionably) comfortable beds, nor do they have to stumble around in the darkness, bang knees on side tables, invoke long dead queens in the confusion and tangle of putting on white robes and hoping they did not go on inside out or backwards. What? That's hard to tell IN THE DARKNESS. This time the humming starts at a reasonable hour (by which we mean during lunch hour, because Leirith and Xermiltoth can only be somewhat reasonable somewhat of the time), that thrumming herald of get-the-heck-on-the-sands-WE-MADE-CUTE-BABIES-GOGOGOGO starting with dam and sire only to be picked up by all of the dragons in the Weyr. HUUUUUUMMMMM-GET-THE-HECK-IN-YOUR-ROBES. HUUUUUUMMMMM-SIT-THE-HECK-DOWN-IN-THE-STANDS, HUUUUUUUMMMM. And with dragons come leadership, perhaps pulled from behind office desks but certainly entering together, Risali on R'hyn's back, R'hyn, half-strangled and still going strong. He makes a clear path through the sands to where seats have been set, and even when it's evident that Risali should descend with grace to the floor and give R'hyn a chance to breathe, SHE DOES NOT. But that's not the important part. Important is all the eyes suddenly turning towards the entryway, waiting with bated breath for the candidates to make their way onto the sands, and hopefully meet some lifemates.

Emerging in a sea of white, the group of Candidates move out onto the sands. That there are nerves aplenty is clear in the awkward shifting and darting glances as they bow, in a group, to Leirith and Xermiltoth before fanning out into a neat, if not slightly wavey semi-circle. To their credit, no one has passed out, we'll just ignore the fact that it's only be a few moments.

Egg Bubble That Bites is the silent kind of predator, looking all innocent if one ignores its sanguine splotch at its base. Clearly not quite hovering because that'd be a little weird even for the spawn of Xanadu's senior pair, but perhaps appearing to with the way the only movement it displays it the smallest little lean, one way, then another, causing sand from the base of its mound to go skittering away. That's fine, as long as those things in white robes stay put. It doesn't want the sand…

Pretty Sus Egg isn't moving. You definitely imagined that. Nothing to see here, look elsewhere. Keep on movin', now.

Soul-Raving Transcendence Egg rocks as a child woke in nightmare. The jarring jerk swings it one way and then the opposite, escape yet a dream. There are no arms to hold it, no hands to sweep eerie crystalline tears that weep from punctures in the beautiful shell. When they arrived, none saw. They're there now, weakening the veil.

Lyubomir angles a brief look to the galleries, but it's a fleeting thing. His attention is quick to settle on eggs that may or may not be moving out there. Post-bow, he finds his place, which is likely adjacent to some familiar faces.

Ajral is taken aback by the fact that it's, you know, not the middle of the night? No electrical storm? No snow? Nothing else making it seem like the world is going to end? A hatching at a reasonable hour? It's thrown her jaded attitude a little — she was actually in the middle of something important rather than trying to sleep, which is definitely not important kthx. "Well," she says, "this is different." Her bun is kind of falling out because of how fast she pulled her hair up, even, but at least the robe's on straight. And not backward.

< Galleries > "You're not wrong~" Ru'ien's amused voice will likely sound from behind Rhodelia as he sneaks up on the goldrider. There's a quick wink given, before he'll just rudely gracefully help himself to the nearest seat next to her. His attention is on the Sands not a second too late, as the Candidates begin filing out. "Just made it myself, looks like!"

Egg Bubble That Bites rolls. Maybe it's unintentional, but the jerk that frees it of its sand mound gathers the smallest bit of momentum. Maybe its mound was a little higher than the rest, maybe Leirith just wanted her eggs to have fun on hatching day, after all what good Mom would want otherwise? Don't answer that. There are too many golden, uh, headknobs? within range to chance that being anything but rhetorical. IN ANY CASE, the bubble gets to prove it's not quite as fragile as it looks by bumping into one of its sibs still in the shell… or trying to. Unfortunately, climbing the tiny mound the other egg is resting in proves to be an insurmountable obstacle.

REASONABLE HOURS ARE VERY APPRECIATED BY THE CANDIDATES. At least, this candidate (this candidate being Shiloh) appreciates being AWAKE AND AWARE even if he might still be stumbling. And looking awkward. Very awkward. Robes will do that to a guy. Those eggs are eyed suspiciously but it's Avi that he heads for, offering a hand if he has one free. At least they got to eat lunch?

Pretty Sus Egg still isn't moving, the sand is being shoved off of it by a neighbor, is all. Maybe there's a small earthquake happening, very locally. That must be it! The ground's shuddering, causing little fissures to rise up the surface of the green-y shell. Somebody tell the ground to keep it quiet! Some of us are trying to sleep. Not hatch. No, why would you think that.

Averil exhales a breath, doing a little step-hop-step as he takes a moment to get used to the heat of the sand on his feet. That there really is no getting used to that? We will just let him have his delusions, shall we? Course, things are moving and whispers are flying and at the moment, Averil is still trying to take it all in as he clings to Shiloh's hand. It's a LOT, Ok?

Leader of the Pack Egg shudders in violent anticipation, pitching itself onto its side in the heat, rolling and rolling down the rise of shifting sands. It picks up speed as it descends, leaving a divot to mark where it started until it stops here, colliding into the feet of its sire and coming to rest. There's one quivering movement as if in relief, and then all is still.

Ajral is going to migrate even closer to Lyubomir now, because she's stood with him how many times now? A lot? More than one, and while she knows they've got a mutual 'friend' in common and an awkward situation that could boil over, it doesn't really have anything to do with her and she can maintain multiple alliances! So: "It's kind of disturbingly normal?" she uptalks, giving away a line of nerves, and chews the edge of her lip.

Kasle holds tight to both Nyvex and Logain's hands, her eyes wide and trembling slightly with nerves. Nope. This is not normal! She shuffles her feet against the heat, glancing up at the clutch parents before her attention turns to the shuddering, shaking eggs.

Logain's eyes are so wide they might fall out of his head! WhatamIsupposedtodo?!? Kas's deathgrip causes enugh pain to keep him anchored in reality (for now). He wildly looks from one rocking egg to the next, wondering what sort of chaos is about to unfold…

Lyubomir drifts just a bit, sliding slant-wise to end up all the more securely in Ajral's conversational bubble. The continued stirrings of eggs elicit a faint furrowing of his brow. "I was going to say," he muses to the healer-doot, "it seems- anti-climactic? No chaos. No weird hours." The words are hushed and he crosses his fingers, but Faranth knows if that will just jinx it. (it will probably jinx it)

< Galleries > The hatching routine is overly familiar to the giant family, sending the teenagers to save seats in large swatches, to ensure optimal viewing for the more aged members who aren't as quick on their feet (don't say that, but it's true.) As the raucous noise that is a Xanadu Hatching comes to a massive crescendo indicating the arrival of new dragons, there's a race between a moppy blonde boy and a lankier brown haired adolescent. Both throw every manner of hats, socks, and jackets on two rows and one plops himself on the end and tosses his feet over the back of the seat infront of him. Better than guard canines, teen boys, if much more expensive to feed. In quick enough succession Evi arrives, infant on her hip being drug up the observation level steps by a tall dark haired woman who presses her mousey cousin into the nearest middle seat. "I'm, Ony, you're older but this seems extreme." With a deep sigh of resignation that only comes from being related to inccorigble people, Evi remains where she is, waving to people she knows, staring out at the sands and searching. Searching for someone, the first glimpse at a face that is carved into her mind. Where are you, her eyes find his even if his do not find hers. "See down there izzy, that's lyu.. yeah, and Ajral, yeaahh." Cooing to the baby even as she nearly looks ready to cry. But there there's a wiggle, and another, and she's not sure what to do anymore.

Soul-Raving Transcendence Egg weaves a web of fissures that breathe. It seems to become more luminous as the crooked cracks cling fiercely to their mirror fractures still bound as a broken one instead of many. The breath catches and holds an impossibly long count before something thumps within, an ominously hollow sound that should not be because that egg is filled with a dragon about to emerge… right? Perhaps those that feel the threat in the wild sound that repeats, reverberating a ripple down those broken spines set to shatter, should cross fingers, toes, or anything else they think will do any good to guard them against the destiny or doom within.

What about this is normal?! That is definitely the look Shiloh is shooting Ajral, because apparently he's totes close enough to hear her. A huff and a sigh and maybe a roll of his eyes. But comments? Nope. Shiloh's got none of those right now. Just a squeeze of his fingers around Avi's and a hard look at the eggs and a very firm attempt to not look awkward in a dress robe.

Nyvex follows out with the rest of the candidates onto the sands. The extremely tall blond dressed in his basic robe like the rest. He is nervous and excited just like the rest. His bright green eyes darting all over the sands. So much going on at once. Sensory overload. He finds himself in the circle near Kasle and he takes hold of the girls hand. "Everything will work out perfectly. We got this." He winks at her and Logain.

Egg Bubble That Bites was probably going for stealth. That does seem to be sort of its go-to mode, given that the tiny faultlines scoring across its shell are nearly invisible even when they've thoroughly honeycombed its fragile-looking facade. It cannot, however, be said that the explosion of shell that follows is even a little subtle, shards slapping as shrapnel, sinking with thuds into the surrounding sand. Then again, the way the green dragonet jerks her head toward Leirith, maybe she's being reassured she can relax. At Xanadu, as her Mom may be explaining, it's actually super weird if something's NOT exploding. Possibly satisfied she's only getting messy and making mistakes, Study What's Sacred Green sets out to seek what new and wondrous things can be found among the local ecology. Candidates count, right? It doesn't take her long to fixate on a TechCraft apprentice with long dark hair pulled back in braids. Laughter is complemented by just a few tears as Rhase (once Rohasei) beams at her new lifemate. "Yes, Ulayth, it's enough to go on with. The food is-" Her brows flick as she searches, but there's an assistant weyrlingmaster already heading their way to make sure all the most pressing questions get answered as the pair is led off the sands.

Study What's Sacred Green Hatchling
Dizzying is the design on this green, as stunning in simplicity as she is captivating in complexity. At a glance, she, like a flower seen for its whole, is easy to take as just one more lovely green, drenched in deep teal and patterned with a web of eye-catching highlights in vibrant shades that skip across the spectrum from moss to chartreuse, even verging at odd intervals into a bubble outline of amber-tinged lime. Closer examination yields an astounding intricacy to the harmonious variance that nevertheless can be counted in exponential replications within the array. The lines of her form seem to be a template, a duplicate in dragon shape. Her angles are neither too soft nor too sharp, her face unremarkable save for how one amber-tinged bubble unevenly outlines one eye while the other is lost amid the static patterns of vaguely rectangular or slightly rounded rows, uneven in individual aspect, but regular when taken as a whole. Wingsails may be slightly more translucent than the average green, but not more delicate, traceries of veins only visible when flared beneath the brightest sun. 'Ridges, 'spars, flanks and tail all have the expected dimensions while her symmetrical limbs are a touch long, terminating in milky pale talons, that might resemble the viscous weep of a stem parted from its still-living roots.

With a triumphant cry the Study What's Sacred Green Hatchling has found its lifemate at last. After a few moments the Weyrlingmaster leads the new pair off the sands.

< Galleries > "I got a lifemate that claims to be an expert on these kind of things after all," Rhodelia grins and tilts her head towards where Inasyth is perched on the lowest of the obeservation ledges and peering her long neck to get as close to the sands as she can. But as the candidates come out, she gives a little fist bump of self-congratulations. "Called it and ohhh, that was quick. And she's lovely!"

Pretty Sus Egg has to give up the ruse sometime, and boy, does it go out with a //bang! No, really. It goes out with a literal BANG of motion and sound, whether it be internal or the sound of it whacking against a neighboring shell, who's to say. The brown that flings himself out of the shell does so without grace, rolling headlong into a wickedly jagged shard of his shell. When he stands up, after a beat, the Regret Nothing, Until It Is Too Late Brown is dripping ichor: a small wound, curved up along his cheek in a knife-gash of a smile. It doesn't seem to faze him, however. The brown doesn't even seem to notice the cut, blinking dazedly at the world around him. Oh. Well.//

Regret Nothing, Until It Is Too Late Brown Hatchling
If you don't look too closely at this brown, he looks pretty ordinary. Ordinarily pretty, yes, with that warm gold-touched hide, the soft sandy caramel that makes up the majority of him. A desert sunset in motion, this brown seems to flow almost, the minute color differences between one shade of sand to the next an interesting backdrop for his relatively plain figure. From certain angles, maybe he looks like he has too many wings, or heads, or — no, no, he's perfectly normal, thank you very much. He's got a handsomely shaped head, with nice shapely cheekbones and a maybe slightly roman nose, dusted 'round the topline with sooty umber. The shadowed shade sweeps elegantly over wide eyes, (definitely only two) down long headknobs and jagged neckridges. It darkens the warm sandy brown of his slightly cresty neck only slightly on its way down to powerful shoulders, where the gathering umbra ranges once more. This time, it springs wildly up the broad undersides of seemingly-impossibly long wings, darkening from umber to near-black along the very trailing edges, yet not so much as touching the caramel of sides, hips, sweeping tail. No, those get the faintest touches of salmon here, copper there, an impressionistic flare of color that stains the upper part of those long-long wings slightly brighter than the rest of his already-bright body.

Ajral nods along, even if her instinct cringes at 'no chaos' the same way she'd cringe at 'quiet' in an infirmary! "At least — okay, that one Impressed and no one's dead yet, so that's. Good. Even if it seems to me like there's some ominous undercurrent just waiting," because this is what they have to talk about when no dragons come close enough to them yet, right? Like, the sand is going to explode and eat them, but not YET. "— oh and. A brown. That was. That was at least a little chaotic."

"Disturbingly normal?" Avi's shoick is clear as he slants a glance at Ajral and stares. Fortunately, there is so much going on that his attention is stolen from her, a breath exhaled in response to the squeeze of his hand. "I think I'm going to faint," he whispers to Shiloh before blinking. "There are two? When? How?" He missed it!

Lyubomir offers a hand to Ajral as a courtesy; an anchor-point for his fellow, long-standing candidate-companion. "Deep breaths." A reminder to himself and a suggestion to her, all at once. And then! A green hatches and quickly Impresses, earning a slight glance that way. "There's one Impression," he amends. "And- huh. That's a fine-looking fellow, isn't it?" His mouth pulls faintly, not quite a smile, but adjacent. "Might be yours, you know."

Kasle gives Logain's hand a tight squeeze, bumping his shoulder with her own. Nyvex gets a small smile and the gardener-candidate straightens, taking a deep breath, "Yeah. We got this." And then two of the eggs have hatched and she positively CLINGS to the other two's hands. She very much looks like she's trying hard not to run.

Regret Nothing, Until It Is Too Late Brown started off in the world upside-down and in pain, and whether or not that's the way he goes out of it is, thankfully, yet to be seen. Yes, one half of his maw is sliced pretty good, but the brown hardly seems to notice the pain in his drippy cheek. No, he's much more busy staring in wide-eyed awe up at his parents. WHAT ARE THOSE! They loom like monsters, abstract (thank you, ichor in the eyes) and horrifying, shadows streaming from their wings, eyes whirring, and oh man, he is not here for this. With a sound like creaking metal, the brown closes his eyes, and very abruptly moves, marching, uh, not even sort of in the right direction. Unless the right direction is Away From The Unseen Monsters That Lurk, Waiting For Him, in which case, success! He's right on track! Goodbye monsters, hello…rock? Hm. This would probably work better with his eyes open.

"Two hatched," says Shiloh. "Plenty more to go." SO MANY EGGS. "It's fine," almost sounds reassuring. At least Shiloh tries to sound like he's totally got this (even if he doesn't). JUST IGNORE THE SWEAT. It's totally from the heat and not, you know, anxiety!

< Galleries > Above an ancient coppery bronze settles into the viewing ledges, humming with the lot as two figures enter the observation level. One, a young dark haired woman, fairly tall… the other an older rider, his long dark silvered hair bound by a series of ties down his back. "Been a few since I've been in here… Are we late? We're probably late.." The older rider murmurs to his younger companion. "Where should we sit, Aethra? Do you have a spot you usually go?" The young woman offers him a smile before surveying the available seats. She notes Evi getting pressed down into a seat with an infant and offers her a wave if she can catch it. "Um, over here, granddad." The two settled into seats not too far from Evi and her family, looking down into the sands below. "Oh, they've already started!" Aethra murmurs.

Soul-Raving Transcendence Egg makes good on its promise. The inconstant beats of beast banging on shell, demanding freedom, demanding life, defies its shell to continue to withstand the primal assault from within. The shell bursts as burning wings brutally cleave through weakened prison walls, fire unfurling in the form of a goo-anointed dragonet. The wreckage of shards is left as the bronze blazes a trail toward the figures in white robes, every step taking him closer to destiny. He prowls close to a group of girls that recoil from his stalking swagger, an approximation of laughter huffing through flame-licked maw. "Now then, Ellylldath, we'll have none of that." Hirryaw, now H'rra, a forrester plucked up from Ressac Sea Hold steps into the space vacated by the young women, a grin on his usually grim features. He's swift to step and meet his lifemate, a quiet wonder still kindled in his face as one of the weyrlingmaster staff approaches to guide the new pairing off the sands.

Burn For Me Bronze Hatchling
Flame feathers a face of shadowed nightmare on a bronze built to sunder the world. What fire does not destroy, it hardens, and that truth is repeated over and over in every unforgiving line of his fearsome frame. Lithe in a way that should not house such strength, his angles are exquisite, if slightly exaggerated, imparting an otherworldly oddity that is at once alluring and unnerving to the average eye. And he burns. With a core of embers so spent as to be only soot tinged with the telltale bronze gleam, the metallic fire rages outward, consuming, relentless, demanding reign over every lick of unspent hide, a conflagration captured but never tamed. He is as wild as the forces framed by his uneven neckridges and wings netted with cracked webs of char riddling radiant amber twisting and writhing in eternal dance amid aurate highlights and decaying darkness.

With a triumphant cry the Burn For Me Bronze Hatchling has found its lifemate at last. After a few moments the Weyrlingmaster leads the new pair off the sands.

Ajral feels like she's swallowed her heart, which is pounding weirdly in her stomach, but that doesn't change the fact that for a hatching it is … at least a little bit normal! It's as normal as hatchings have gotten in a while, let's appreciate how normality itself is weird! "He is very handsome. Could be yours as well - hope his eyes are okay." Her voice isn't quavering anymore. All she has to do is open her mouth, though, and — the next thing she was going to say is TOTALLY contradicted. "That was fast."

Leader of the Pack Egg FOOLED YOU. It was never done; it was merely testing your mettle (and a very fond hello to you too, //Dad). If there's a snout (or two) bent close to inspect, there's not a single solitary ounce of warning before fractured fragments of splitting shell are spit outward with indiscriminate haste. FOOLED YOU TWICE, HAHA. It got you close enough to look and now you've got egg stuck on your snout. Attractive, really. Don't mind if it takes a sabbatical to enjoy how ridiculous you look while it rests. What? It's trying to spit a whole dragon out, and it needs to enjoy what bits of its egg-sonality remain while it can.//

Element of Freedom Egg twitches once. It's just enough for the sand around its base to crumble away on one side, letting the egg slowly tilt down that way.

"Is it?" Avi's response is breathy and a little bit on the disbelieving side. IS IT FINE SHILOH? He doesn't think so. Course, with dragons on the sands, he's now shifting, a not so subtle draw back that has him making that semi-circle even more wavey then it was before. "It doesn't /feel/ fine."

Somebody say anxiety? Giant young Jilcarl has anxiety covered. The rather large young man appears to be trying to hide behind another, shorter candidate, chewing on a thumbnail anxiously. "Do you think they're going to…attack?" The young man ventures, voice high. "No. Right? Probably not?"

Leader of the Pack Egg bursts beneath the massive heave of its captive dragon, broken splinters shredding, crumbling, as one side of the shell goes concave. It ripples in and out, in and out with each movement that transpires inside, as if this blood-red cage were a beating heart keeping time. Out onto the sands comes an egg-wet head, the hatchling come to rest for just a moment before limbs and wings surely follow.

Against All Odds Blue Hatchling
There is something bold and untamed, something vastly infinite and timeless in the whirling eyes of this empyrean blue. Nebulous starlight was pulled from the firmaments, cosmic constellations stitched into the fabric of a suit dyed navy and midnight, woven from threads of stardust, fitted to conform over lithe curvature and powerful muscle. Indigo-dusted limbs carry this otherworldly creature with lethal grace, dark hues climbing up his sides only to fade into nebula whorls painted beneath the massive spread of his sails. This deep night-darkness curves over the bridge of his nose to mask both eyes before brushing over low-seated knobs. Similar shadows swish down the ridges of his spine, settling over the top-spread of wings that resemble nothing more than a cape when bundled in against his haunches. Starry diamond-dazzle shatters upon his sides and the underdark of his wings, a pale, pale blue that seems to flicker dimly on even the darkest of nights.

"It's okay," says Ajral, "so long as nobody faints, anyway? Please don't faint. It's just unfathomably hot right now. Which is actually a wonderful reason to faint, but … try water first." Someone must have a waterskin here, right? She looks around to make sure to place them, and adds, for Jilcarl, "I don't think so. They need reasons." She leaves off that 'standing in front of the wrong person at the wrong time' counts as a reason. She is not at her best.

Lyubomir squints a bit. "Oh, looks like he got hurt a bit." He might have missed it in all the chaos. Actually, no 'might', that's a must. "I'm sure he'll be fine," he reasons, even while his attention is momentarily drawn to the bronze. It's a flash in the pan moment, a blink-and-you'll-miss it, and then it's right back to watching that brown kind of… blunder his way along.

Regret Nothing, Until It Is Too Late Brown seems to be holding some sort of conference with himself. Or possibly the wall. It's hard to tell, especially in the chaos of the sands, where he's only one sand-colored sand-covered hill of ichor and confusion among many. After considerable time, the brown seems to come to a conclusion, and draws himself up, puffing scrawny chest out, overlong wings lofty. Carefully ignoring the looming shadow of The Horrors, the little dude takes off at a slow march towards his doo- destiny?, looking like he's smiling grimly the whole way. He's not, of course, but maybe you can imagine that the little injury there is a smile for you, candidates. You can imagine the way his wing-claw skims shoulders and chins is a caress, not clumsiness bordering on near disaster. You can imagine that he's looking at you, blondie, hope in those fathomless eyes. He's not, of course. He's making a slow march, shoulders a little hunched under the gaze of his dam and sire, under the gaze of /so many here on the sands with him. Maybe it's for the best that he's not staring into your soul, huh?

"It is." THEY AIN'T DEAD YET, ARE THEY?? CLEARLY THEY'RE FINE. Shiloh even manages to pass off something that could be a smile as he says it, dark eyes darting the way of the artist at his side before they're back on the CHAOTIC CHAOS of the hatching sands. "Don't they normally go fast?" is asked of… whoever is listening, honestly. "Green, bronze… keep an eye on the brown though and… Oh. That one." The blue. He means the blue. SQUINT. "Just be ready to move." SAGE ADVICE FROM THE GUY WHO HAS NEVER STOOD BEFORE.

ACTUALLY THAT'S REALLY GOOD ADVICE. Ajral points at Shiloh. "What he said."

Against All Odds Blue Hatchling stands still for a long moment, whirling eyes lifting to take in the massive burnt-bronze of his sire, maw tilting to one side as he lifts a single paw and dips his head to take in taloned feet. He looks from his own to Xermiltoth's, a slow back and forth, back and forth, back and — WUFF. YEAH OKAY. SO YOUR PAWS ARE IMPRESSIVE, DAD, IF THAT'S EVEN YOUR REAL NAME. HIS ARE BRAND NEW, OKAY. Just wait until he gets older. His paws are gonna be huge. A shimmy-shake starts at the tip of his nose and ripples down the length of his spine to forked tail-tips, shedding bits of egg and wet that drop to the sands and plop, thick and heavy. In taking that first step forward, his head tilts again to — Leirith. He halts, whirling eyes going to that massive spread of xanthous wings, attention dropping to his own before his gaze shifts away from her and out towards the candidates. Is it possible to make such an Unimpressed Face at so young an age? That momentary pause seems to conjure it, if nothing else. No matter. Size isn't everything, you know. Time to prove it.

Nyvex tries to stay as alert as possible. Keeping an eye out for action with the rocking eggs and then keeping track of the moving hatchlings as the young dragons make their way out into the world and find their lifemates. The first impression is made and he offers a quick congratulations. But he really can't focus too much on that. He does at least offer some support to Kasle. "They are hatching fast. It will be over in no time." A green, a brown, a bronze, now a blue… So many too keep track of. He just tries to stay focused more on the area in front of him. That's less stressful.

Kasle's eyes widen and she looks over at Jilcarl, "What do you mean, attack?!" She takes a step back, hands loosening. Yeah, someone probably ought to grab her. She's definately looking like she's about to bolt!

< Galleries > A green impresses and Evi smiles, sighing and staring down at the brown haired man as if she can somehow send him messages through her eyes. As Aethra settles in Evi glances up at her. "More the merrier, if someone shorter and younger than you is in a seat you can make them move." It might be a rule, waving to the two older riders a silver haired older woman pipes up, "I didn' even know yu knew how to get here 'nymore T'eo. Been so long." It's a giant reunion, and Evi blushes and shhs the older woman who gives her a playful smack. "Sit down, and maybe ignore them." Smiling but caught up as two more impressions occur, eyes still only on one person.

Egg on the Edge of Tomorrow heaves once, the force of the singular effort toppling it onto its side with a hefty FLUMP. Despite the drama of its first motion, it lies motionless as if there still may be some time before it rises to the occasion of breaking shell.

One Flesh, One Egg animates in a sudden, violent burst of movement. It rocks back and forth, back and forth, an agonized repetition of frenetic energy that heralds a desperation to be free, the outer wrongness of its shell roiling and shifting against heated sands as it fights, fights, fights to shatter its restraints. One shuddering vibration courses down the length of this ovicular egg-strocity, and then it goes deathly still.

Element of Freedom Egg, settled on its side, crackles and starts to split near its widest point. Goo bubbles out of the widening fissure as something within tries to push its way through. This is hard work, though, and it just needs to rest for a moment.

"I don't have enough eyes to keep watch on all of them." The words are muttered under Averil's breath, pale grey eyes flicking wildly as he tries to keep track of where everyone is. "I'm good," he assures Ajral in low tones. "Really." He's not. Not at all. But he'll fake it til he makes it. Still, he's squeezing Shiloh's hand hard. Hard enough that eventually catches himself and loosens his hold. Just a little. Just. A. Little.

Shiloh huffs. "They're not gonna attack." SAYS THE GUY WHO HAS NEVER STOOD BEFORE AND HAS ABSOLUTELY ZERO DRAGON-BACKGROUND. DEFINITELY TRUST HIS ADVICE. "They're just babies." LISTEN. He wasn't this cool a few hours ago, okay? FAKE IT TILL YOU MAKE IT MY DUDES.

Lyubomir tracks the blue for a while, then it's back to the long-wandering soul that's seemingly lost in the desert on the sands. There's entirely too much else for him to keep track of, so it's just watch the wandering dragons. That's it. That's all he's got. Are there conversational threads he's dropped? It's going to happen when they're being thrown all over!

Regret Nothing, Until It Is Too Late Brown hasn't found that it's too late, yet. He's still on Phase I, 'regret nothing', apparently, since he's still trailing among the candidates languidly. Does he even notice that his face is dripping ichor? It doesn't look like it, as he pauses, abruptly, to examine his dam from afar with intense suspicion. Only when he's turning his head (after an entirely unsatisfactory examination of the gold, still SUS) to eye the other big lug does he spot Him, just standing there, perfect, wonderful. Just standing there! The brown's face does something terribly grim when he spots the man, falling open in a scream, or a squeal, or some sort of noise that maybe indicates happiness. He takes one, two, six bounding strides before the decorum of The Thing catches up with him, and the Regret Nothing, Until It Is Too Late Brown remembers that he's got to look the part. So he strolls. Strides. Ambles with extreme grace (don't laugh at him!), mysterious and magnanimous, and meets his lifemate's eyes with a gape-mouthed grin that probably only makes one or two of the candidates near the broad-shouldered man barf. Hello, you!

Against All Odds Blue Hatchling is just going to have to try this again. FROM THE TOP, MAESTROS! Star-spackled shoulders roll, midnight-dusted mask lifts, whirling eyes take in the line of white-robed hopefuls who stand unified in one cause: impression. He could be majestic for how long he stands there, heroic-like, poised as if he's marking the path of least resistance, as if preparing a spine-thrilling speech to rally the masses and bring them to his cause. Those wings lift, that head angles upward, and those paws? go a little too fast, to be honest. One step becomes two, becomes three, becomes four in too-rapid succession, until what might have been running is more of a bid to stay on his feet. It doesn't work; he lands square on his rump, forepaws digging into sand as he goes sliding down a particularly large dune. WHEEEEE~!

With a triumphant cry it seems that the Regret Nothing, Until It Is Too Late Brown Hatchling has found its partner at last and impression is made!

One Flesh, One Egg shudders, a bone-cracking POP resounding through the chaotic rush of hatching as one fleck of shell explodes outward, leaves a gaping wound from which hairline fissures stretch, fractal fingers reaching, reaching, reaching, spreading out across the macabre spanse of this geriatric-insulting ovid in fragile splinters. It's as if the shifting darkness within, the hint of mass that roils in shadowed obscurity, kicked a single door open for sheer defiance of having been denied the first time.

Ajral is tall, but so are a lot of these other people, and the sands are crowded, so she has to rock forward on her toes a bit to make sure she's seeing everything. She is seeing eggs moving, including the one that — no, the two that gave her nightmares. "Once this is over I can sleep again," she mutters to herself, squeezing her own hands in balled fists rather than actually holding hands with anyone. "It's fast but that bronze was like extra ridiculously fast. They are giant babies. It is unfortunate that … that …" … that someone standing right by her just Impressed and this sentence is no longer important.

Choice of Two Doors Egg blanches further, if that were even possible, an aching-slow shudder rocking through it causing dark color to virtually melt from its form. It also might be shaking off a little bit of shell-dust, but shh. Let it have its creepy moment.

One Flesh, One Egg never stopped moving, doesn't know when to just give the hell up and admit defeat. It crashes in tumultuous dissidence, writhing and shifting, roiling and churning as glimpses of egg-wet snout and talon-tips announce themselves in indiscernible glimpses against that small opening it's made. More and more shell falls away, caves inward or erupts outward until one paw slams down on the sands, shoulder rolling haunches forward, head bent as if exhausted from a fight, wings wet and pressed tight to body, stubborn and survived. If the hatchling that emerges isn't exactly what you'd expect from such a dark and grisly middle-finger of an egg, well. That's a problem for you, yourself, and thy.

< Galleries > Aethra grins at Evi as she takes a seat. "No worries… we got a couple here." She assures the rider, turning back to her a moment. "And who's this cutie?" Said of the infant. "Oh, have you met my granddad? T-" But as she says his name someone else does. At the sound of it name, the older rider turns 'round, gazing through the family that Aethra had seemed to know at least one person of. And imagine that! He does too! "Senk!" There's a warm smile across his usually stern face, the harsh edges seeming at odds with the action. "I could never forget Xanadu… How have you been?" Though his amber eyes survey the family with a bit of a smirk. "Well, I trust?"

Fealty to the Bone Empress Green Hatchling
Brain, meet brawn: the dragon of your dreams wrapped in macabre, muscular majesty. Charisma oozes from her hide's every pore, sepulchral green stretched tight over corded strength, pressing inwards on ego that nevertheless scrapes at her seams. One must admit she earns her strange vanity - for a dragon, she is arresting, strong of face with windswept headknobs and a long, sculpted muzzle. Inky darkness pools around clever eyes, shattering an otherwise delicate shade of spring green in order to form deep hollows from high cheekbones to squared jaw. This derelict dark even notches the space between her nostrils before raking down over lips and chin. The effect is of a painted skull, one whose brethren ghost in and out of existence along bulging biceps, flashes of death everlasting hidden in haunted trails of pitch and foxfire. This phantasmic miasma ripples with her every step, there one moment, gone the next, leaving a mind to wonder if perhaps it was an elaborate deception until they show again: gaping jaws trapped in forever-laughter, spilling forth spirit-matter that coalesces again and again, forming skull after skull, ad wristum. Though touched by shimmering sickly splendor, the rest of her is rather plain in comparison, bulked musculature made stark by malachite hues that cling to their outer curves, no matter how ill the lighting. The only features to provoke this penumbral tedium are the gashes and slashes of garish chartreuse that burst from beneath clavicles, fading in ribcage crick-crackles over chest and stomach in ghoulish imitation of her sire.

"I just…" Jilcarl kind of squeaks, and yep, he's the one to blow when that brown gets close. BLEGH, at least the young man manages to take several steps away from the others before he harks up a hairball. "Faranth. You think it's gonna stay this quick? Only, I never stood before…"

"Did you ever sleep to begin with?" asks Shiloh (of Ajral). He doesn't spare her a look because eggs and more importantly BABY DRAGONS but still. There's a tensing, a rocking of his weight as if prepared to dodge or run or a LOOKG BIGGER even if that probably doesn't help. "Look out for that one." WHICH ONE THO??

Against All Odds Blue Hatchling rises from the dust of his accidental descent, but that's okay. Falling serves, if nothing else, to teach us how to rise back up again. And rise he does, a delicate bruising to his ego present in the way he holds himself, in the pride that dusts whirling faucets when he turns them back onto those awaiting contact. He moves slower this time, adjusts to subtly shifting sand, adopts a gait that's cautious but graceful, that bespeaks to the potential for power once he comes into his own. But that time is far from now; now he moves with slow consideration, pauses here, there, until he's forced to double back and look for what he missed. You? No. Him? Not right. Her? No. Ah. There you are. Those whirling eyes meet the warm browns of his curly-tipped beastcrafter seconds before his nose presses into the space where his side and his arm meet. Home.

With a triumphant cry it seems that the Against All Odds Blue Hatchling has found its partner at last and impression is made!

Kasle nods at Nyvex, "Yeah, but what if one of them does attack?" Rather than running, she half hides behind the tall blond candidate, pulling Logain beside her so that she's safely blocked behind them. Nope. She's not going to fall victim to baby dragon claws!

Logain is too beside hmself with nerves to really react to any conversations around him.

Element of Freedom Egg sets its hostage free with a subdued fracture that unceremoniously oozes a small blue onto the sands. He lays there for a moment, like he hasn't quite realized that he made it out of his shell. Before anyone can get worried, though, he squawks indignantly, delicate wings flapping awkwardly so he can find his balance and get up onto splayed feet. He hesitates, whirling eyes looking for the one he'll travel the world with. Suddenly he warbles and jumps forward in the direction of a dark haired girl with crystal blue eyes. "Vaangth!" she cries when he stumbles in his haste to meet her, and she practically trips in her haste to help him back up. "I'm okay!" she says when she gets to him. "Your Kataka will always be okay, now that you're here with me, Vaangth," is assured with an emotional laugh before the pair are guided from the sands to start this new journey.

"Not really but more than I have been since touching tha-" Ajral was about to point to One Flesh, One Egg, which is no longer an egg, but rather a monstrosity of large green-ness. At least only one of the WORST MONSTERS hatched at a time? "Anyway not much was the conclusion to that!" she finally gets out, after watching out for That One, which must have been the blue.

Acolyte of Air Blue Hatchling
Crystal bright skies are painted in broad, swirling currents across the brilliant hide of this lively little blue. Each one of his long, lean extremities fades into a gossamer shade of near-white until, at least on his legs, dappled slate talons, with just a hint of dawn, offer a keen contrast from that boreal hide. Proportionate to his willowy body, his wings are long, seemingly delicate with misty silver-blue sails, but more than capable of mastering the air they'll soar through one day. His most prominent feature, though, is the way a deeper shade of azure gathers along the whole top length of him from just between his eyes in a shape that looks somewhat like an arrow, all the way down his ridges to the tip of his spaded tail.

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

Fealty to the Bone Empress Green Hatchling spends the first several minutes of her life just staring. Holy butt nuggets, none of you were lying, it's all so… colorful. Though she has no voice yet, this and more is implied in the whistling chirr she emits as her eyes swivel around, taking in broken shells, siblings emergent and yet-to-be, the varying shades of straw tufts plopped on the heads of every white-robed creature around her, the sound of it, the smells. Maybe give her a minute. She's clearly overwhelmed.

Egg on the Edge of Tomorrow doesn't bother to wiggle or shimmy. It simply swells to the brink of an impending explosion, fissures distorting the electric hues and fragmenting its vibrant veneer. Pressure is growing, building against the barrier that just-barely restrains the hatchling within.

Ly'iir was- is- never mind, because none of that matters. Not here. Not now. Not with some disembodied presence insinuating itself into his head like a particularly specific kind of PSA. He's silent for a time, maybe a moment, maybe a whole minute- time just doesn't matter. He reaches, fingers skimming just over the ichor-oozy bits. "C'mon, Khoszeth. We definitely should eat, though I don't know if I can get you one of those… what'd you call it? Porcine swirls. Better get this looked at, too."

HONEY BADGER DON'T GIVE A EGG wibblies and wobblies and does a little spin, perhaps just trying to keep up with its other shell-sib's sick dance moves. It aspires to them anyway, twisting in the sands, heaving back and forth, vibrating as whatever's inside shimmies and shakes and tries to get out.

< Galleries > Evi's eyes grown large, mouth open in a bright smile even as a brow peaks up. It's a rare day Neifeth seems normal, but the off looking brown might do it. Distracted she whimpers, body tense. "This is, Izzy, he's um, my foster son. Sorry, I might be rude, my uh, whatever he is just impressed." My lover, my friend, no one in particularl and everyone. Longingly watching him, even as she speaks to Aethra. Senkyou is not distracted at all and claps T'eo on the shoulder with a snort, "Well 'nuff, all the people sittin' 'round yu are here cuz of me." The old womans smile is all trouble.

Choice of Two Doors Egg cracks, sudden, abrupt. The creature within bulges and writhes against the egg's shell in that same dull-heartbeat pattern its mind displayed. Lub-dub, push-shove, and then sudden, deceptive stillness.

Nyvex just says, "They are babies, they don't know half of what they are doing. They won't attack. They may accidentally hurt someone if they aren't paying attention. But just stay calm, stay alert and you will be fine." More dragons coming. More impressions being made. He can't keep track of them all. He just helps keep Kasle calm. "Oh look, my favorite egg just wiggled." Yes, we know how much he loved HONEY BADGER DON'T GIVE A EGG. He's mentioned it multiple times. "I can't wait to meet that dragon."

LOOK. LISTEN. HE WAS READY TO DODGE, OKAY?! HE WAS JUST A LITTLE TOO SLOW. And then there is a nose, pressed into his side. And then there is a mind, pressed into his own. And then there is… nothing and everything. Shiloh is not Shiloh anymore, even if he still looks like Shiloh. Now he's Sh'y. Even if he's not shy. The hand holding Averil's gives a final squeeze before leaving to touch the blue before him, and a beat, two, three comes before he manages a hoarse, "Right. Yes. Kovagath…" Is there anything else that needs to be said?

Ajral is attention-torn between hatchlings and people she knows Impressing, as well as people she doesn't entirely know, because there are A LOT of them okay, but she looks back to Lyubomir Or Whatever Your Name Is for a second there. "You'll have to spell that for me, brownrider," and presumably she means Khoszeth and not a porcine swirl. Which sounds awful. Gag. The wobbly eggs and the overwhelmed little green are drawing smiles and horror somehow at the same time. One's in the eyes, one's in the mouth.

< Galleries > There may not be a significant number of spectators from Fort among the crowd, but Lhiannon's among those who happen (or is that 'happen?') to be in the neighborhood — on business, as it were, which is probably on hold while Leirith and Xermiltoth's offspring draw the masses. Rather than navigating through the crowd to find a seat, she leans against a wall instead, expression relatively impassive save for the upward curl of her mouth for Impressions as they occur.

Fealty to the Bone Empress Green Hatchling winces as her fragile eyes finally find light overhead, membranes creeping across her vision. Oh, ow, well those are damned rude, aren't they. Cripes, it's almost as if they didn't expect to have babies in here, babies that do super stupid things like stare straight into a light source. Can dragons even have the impression of lights temporarily scarred into their retinas? One might suppose so, given the hatchling's rapid blinking and shaking of her head as she finally moves, flexing wings, spreading paws, nearly taking out a candidate with a sweep of her tail. Half-shut eyes flick back to glare at the white-robed figure as though to say, isn't there enough sand for the both of us, chief?! Snorting under her breath, the green makes to saunter away, praying her tail won't catch between her legs, because it'd be awfully ridiculous for her to judge someone just to trip herse— WHUMPF. Down she goes. Maybe nobody saw it.

Averil is not tall. He is the polar opposite of tall, but he is trying to pay attention to what is happening around him. This? No easy task. Not on the best day. "No," the word is uttered in breathy tones to Shiloh despite the fact that the question was not to him. And then whirling eyes are meeting brown and Avi's hand is falling away, his smile impossibly warm as he steps to the side, to give the pair space. "Congratulations," is whispered as he brushes his tongue over his lips and drifts closer to where Ajral is standing. It's only belatedly that he glances at Lyubomir.. No, Ly'iir and shakes his head. "It's all happening so fast."

Egg on the Edge of Tomorrow erupts in a shower of fragments and egg-slime, pieces scattered around its vicinity in the remnants of the first overcome obstacle in this one's journey. The newly-shelled hatchling large enough to have filled every iota of space in its egg is left sprawled centrally amidst the eggshell rubble, with slimy wings caught up beneath himself, and stout limbs splayed in awkward orientation.

Like No One Ever Was Brown Hatchling
Colossal is this mountain of a dragon, touched by grandeur and molten stone encompassing his tremendous stature. He is enormous in every way, from hulking magnitude to thick contour, with his massive size rivalling even the smallest bronze. Versicolored over much of his substantial frame, the base of his hide is imbued with russet and earthen shades, with volcanic-cloaked darker points dusted in fallen ash over blunted muzzle and sturdy limbs. Charcoal erupts from fuliginous paws in concisely sculpted but finely honed claw. Broad of head and heavy in jowl, burnt sienna settles as a would-be mantle on his wide forehead and along the tapered rounded ends of his headknobs. Sooty clay flows nimbus-like over the burly shortness of his neck, churning down the length of his spine and muscular tail, which ends in turbid, grit-touched granite. Rounded argillaceous hued ridges stand in even cadence of ancient strata, smoothed from eons of erosion. Bay and dark loam swirl and eddy, as though further shaped by the elements, over the domed and dense configuration of his sides, belly and brawny hindquarters. Extravagant wings are as immense as he is, sifted with lighter dustings of dim oxidized copper and sandstone along 'spars, leaving broad sails to night-cast mahogany.

You know who else is beside herself? Young Mikye, darling of the lower caverns, just now old enough to take her birthright and Stand. It's a miracle that nobody's come to give her a bag to breathe into. Why is she making a noise like a kettle too-long ignored on the hearth? The world may never know.

Ajral is just tall for a girl, so it's entirely possible that there are candidates at least a foot taller than she is out there. "Now it's going even faster," she says, acknowledging Avi as she speaks, "almost like they pick up a pace and then … kick it up five notches. Oh, pretty brown, and … oh, that looks unfortunate." Sorry green, Ajral saw it, but she didn't directly call you out. Even if she only almost knocked someone over. "At least they're all gorgeous and no one's been seriously injured so far," NO ONE BE SERIOUSLY INJURED IN THE THIRTY SECONDS AFTER SHE TALKS THIS TIME. "Congratulations, Shiloh Or Whatever Your Name Is Now," she finally remembers to say, hopefully while he can still hear her!

Fealty to the Bone Empress Green Hatchling's rise to her feet is sheepish, that heaping helping of humblesauce fresh on her tongue as she scurries sideways to somewhere a little less visible than center stage. She seems more comfortable here, far from the shadows (she's had enough of those for a lifetime, thanks), but far from the limelight, too. Here she can think, or at least, execute her best approximation of thinking, which mostly just means she's flexing young muscles in a powerful stride, creeping, skulking, searching, not knowing quite for what until she finds it. All of a sudden, righteous indignation overpowers bashfulness, coltish form drawing to its admittedly not-yet-that-impressive height, actualizing its full ability as she charges across the sands in a dead sprint. OH. Oh, ow. Though it's not a full-bodied tackle, the Fealty to the Bone Empress Green definitely pivots on a paw, one back foot connecting with the sternum of one dark-haired candidate in particular. She's quick to follow up on the blow, weight bearing down, claws digging in, actions not nearly enough to cause lasting injury but certainly enough to expose her for the dirty fighter she is as impression settles in around the green and everyone's favorite (possibly concussed) mindhealer.

With a triumphant cry it seems that the Fealty to the Bone Empress Green Hatchling has found its partner at last and impression is made!

HONEY BADGER DON'T GIVE A EGG might well be trying to hypnotize the crowd, what with the way it spins in a dizzying hypnotic swirl of black and yellow (black and yellow, black and yellow) — right up until a large shard of egg goes flying from it. The spinning slows, one, two, three tumultuous bumps taken over sandy-divots before it comes to rest again, only somewhat further than where it started. Ah well, it's all about progress, not perfection. Whatever's inside seems to be content with what strides it's made and goes still.

M'tras may know why those kettle sounds are happening, but he's busy here, so he only smirks for a moment so brief it may never have even happened (can you prove it??) in young Mikye's direction as he attends to his duties.

Egg of Dreams twists in the sands, rocking back and forth, to and fro in a lazy, pendulum rhythm.

Kasle peeks from around Nyvex, actually curious about HONEY BADGER DON'T GIVE A EGG and what might be in it, "It did?" She almost comes out from behind him, "I missed it." Because you were hiding behind him, dimglow! She bites her lip and stands, making herself step out from behind the big blond. She squares her shoulders, keeping half an eye on Logain to make sure he's okay.

< Galleries > Aethra waves her fingers at Izzy but at Evi's distraction she looks back around to the sands. "Yeah?" She doesn't need an explanation on the 'who'. Just that she knows someone who impressed is enough. "Well shells, lady! Congrats to them an' you!" T'eo's chuckles. "Eh? Well certainly you've been busy. Most of mine are, well, in Ista save my granddaughter Aethra here… she's my son Aereo's." He gestures to the younger girl at his side but notes her interest in the sands, gaze fdarting back and forth between her and Evi. "Oh? Who impressed? Someone you know?"

Choice of Two Doors Egg intensifies in activity, like a heart taking off in abject fear, its own pulsing taking on an alarming edge. It is not desperation, but rather determination, anticipation, as though the time for biding is long over. Now is the time for emergence, ashen shell finally parting in a thousand different ways as a pale, streaked bronze pours from within. His rise to his feet is slow, tempered, the pose he strikes thereafter incidental, given he is merely scenting the air, but his appearance says otherwise. He is meant to be admired from a strong angle, and it's safe to say a certain candidate agrees. "Syldoth?," bursts from a lanky teenager, who might yet grow to match his dragon's strong form as he darts forwards from amongst his peers to drop to a kneel before the stately hatchling. "Syldoth! Y—yes, you're right, I should never have doubted you. I am your A'rion, and always will be," is said aloud, voice and hands both shaking as he leads his new lifemate to an awaiting weyrlingmaster.

Guardian of the Pass Bronze Hatchling
This bronze is the very definition of statuesque: overlarge, overtall, with a regality that speaks even in repose. Dark marbling streaks his pale bronze form, bringing out the crags of heavy brows, the stern length of his nose, emphasizing the slight downturn of his mouth. A faint metallic sheen does little to soften his form, each hard muscle standing out against skin that looks like it could weather an eon of storms and still hold strong. Tucked wings are so long as to appear to swoosh around his hindquarters, slow gait giving them an almost robe-like quality, but when spread they are just as ageless and powerful as the rest of him. All four paws are ensconced in brilliant bronze cappings, a sculptor's ode to something ancient and vaguely militaristic, bold color cutting off at wrists and heels lest anyone get the impression he is in any way flashy. No, like the rest of him, this color serves only to keep and preserve him, in your mind if nowhere else. He is timeless, true, and forever.

With a triumphant cry the Guardian of the Pass Bronze Hatchling has found its lifemate at last. After a few moments the Weyrlingmaster leads the new pair off the sands.

Okay. So. OKAY. Another one bites the dust and Avi is, again, left without the person he was standing next to. One the upside, he's getting used to dancing away from new pairs and finds a spot with enough room to dash, should he need to. It's all good, ignore the longing looks toward the side.

An Altogether Unexpected Egg is ready to GET THIS PARTY STARTEEEEEED! It shivers to life, rolling in the sands with an energetic pulse that keeps time with the crowd. Boom, boom, boom. It's clapping too, probably! … Or would be, you know… if it had hands. Never you mind, it's tired now. Time to prepare for second lunch and rest.

Mikye doesn't notice that smirk, but she does notice the way that black and yellow and black and yellow egg is just…swirling, swirling, round and round and ohp. Does she sway so much that she nearly takes a header? MAYBE. Does she? NO. "Woah." The girl squeaks, edging antsily behind Avi. Don't mind her.

Ajral is the one who got seriously injured. Everyone saw that coming, right? Everyone except actually Ajral, who is definitely getting a little bit sands burned as she ends up tangled on the ground for a minute before drawing herself to sitting and then standing. People who know her might have expected crying at this point, but while her eyes are a little squinted, this is not tears: this is a mixture of pain-wincing and laughing. "Ah, whatever you say, Navenath - no, I'm laughing with you," yeah she's totally gonna believe that. "I'm glad you remembered. Up we get." Using her own minutes-old dragon as a stoop to stand up is FINE, she's bulky.

HONEY BADGER DON'T GIVE A EGG thinks it's got it this time, it just… needs… CRACK. Theeeeere we go. One massive fissure splits the length of this ovid, crumbling away from the center, revealing the egg-wet droop of an itty-bitty nose, and itty-bitty toes, and itty-bitty wingy thingies that drag on bits of sand as it stumble, wobbles, whoops into an almost graceful heap. What, Moooooom? It totally meant to do that.

Toss of the Dice Blue Hatchling
Every aspect of this blue is willowy and thin, narrow of neck and chest and limb. Viewed alone, he is long and stretched, elfin features leading to delicately curved headknobs, which in turn frame thin, pointy ridges that spike from the back of his neck. Tapered legs give him an almost felinic gait, slow and ponderous when he walks, swift and sure when speed is of the essence. Smooth cadet blue shrouds his upper half like the hood of a cloak, maw and 'knobs dipped in a faintly darker color. Pale periwinkle rings his neck like a collar or ruff, thin in the front, bulkier in the back, splashes of twilit darkness ticking it throughout. This same deep denim sweeps over membranous wings, a fine filigree pattern wrought in steely tones giving him an almost feathered edge. The rest of him is cloaked in a soft sky-blue gradient, broken only by midnight boots and gloves that push up all four legs. It's only when he's next to others that his diminutive size becomes apparent, as though some trickster gave him every beautiful hallmark of height except the actual height itself.

Ny's bright green eyes dart around and around. Did Shiloh just impress? Woah. When did that happen. Too fast to even offer a congratulations to the new pair. He looks towards Kasle. "Yeah, just think about the good eggs. And the positive experiences. Don't be afraid, you can't see anything hiding behin me. I have a big head." Big everything. When he spots the big brown hatching he says, "Shards. Look at that fella. Think that one is bigger than the bronze that just hatched." And then he says, "Oooo, A blue from my favorite egg!"

Like No One Ever Was Brown Hatchling lifts his head up first, giving it a ponderous shake and then exhaling in a disgruntled SNORT. Well, this didn't quite go as planned? Carefully, slowly, he moves one stocky limb after the other, in an effort to orient himself to a proper upright stance. Then it's time for a full body shake, a full stretch of no-longer cramped wings and a deeper breath. Ahh, much better! He turns that massive bulk of his to better face the sea of white before him, head gradually moving as he scans the milling groups from one end to the other but doesn't seem at all hurried to move forwards.

Nope would totally come join you Avi, but firelizards are not allowed and he doesn't wanna get eaten today. SORRY!

"Congratulations," is called after Ajral, one of Avi's hands raising in a wave as she's suddenly two rather then one. Letting his hand drop, he takes a moment to get his bearings, drawing in a slow breath before wiping his hands on his robe. It's good. Everything is fine here, just getting bearings and avoiding potential collisons.

Egg of Dreams rocks harder, a metronome beat — tick, tick, tick — counting down the seconds until talons break through shell, cleave a mere pin-prick of weakness from which it might work its way out of. Spiderweb fractures ripple out across the spanse of its shell, but the captive within goes still.

< Galleries > Evi watches the pair leave the stands, and suddenly she's lost both a boyriend and a shrink in one hatching. BAd day. Even with the need for a new mental healthcare provider she smiles at Ajral, laughing with a squeak. "Um, sorry bronzerider, yes, my um, whatever just impressed brown and now.. Ajral, she'sstood like 80 million time got a green." Exhaling sharply as Izzy reaches up to grab at Aethra's shirt. Senkyou reaches a hand out to Aethra, "I'd name mine but we'd be here a click. Yu should come to dinner sometime." Offering to T'eo even as she watches the impressions with half interest. This is really just a social situation for the old wingleader.

Averil only belatedly notices Mikye and reaches for her hand. "We're fine," he whispers in reassuring tones. "We're fine." It's all good! WE WILL BE FINE. "Don't be scared." It's a little scarey, admittedly, but still.

An Altogether Unexpected Egg is the one egg to RULE THEM ALL. See it evident in the force with which this be-shelled specimen cracks, fissures racing across its surface, large chunks flaking. One way or another, it's getting the heck outta there.

Ly'iir might be distracted with feeding Khoszeth and keeping the brown distracted, in turn, from the fact that a dragonhealer is taking a look-see at him, but he's not so distracted to be oblivious to Ajral's Impression. He flashes her a rare smile and throws a thumbs-up her way, as one does. Then? It's back to feeding and looking perplexed. At what? Why? IT IS A MYSTERY.

It must be the heat. The heat has finally gotten to all of Leirith's hot glue and Obviously, This Egg Is a Ninja is starting to sag, to droop, to drag. A ruffle stretches, a button pops, a frill //unfrills. What in the frilly heck?? Maybe it's just gotten bored of all the sitting around, all the waiting for a plot twist. It's about time for one, right? Another little shift and a small bit of something salmon-colored is starting to slide in an oozy trail down over ribbons of plum… but, you know, gracefully.//

Kasle looks at the dwindling number of candidates left, dark eyes wide, and finally makes herself come out to stand between the two blond guys, "Yeah." She's got to be where the hatchlings can find her. Right. Sure. She makes a small sound at Ny's favorite egg as it hatches, "Oh! He's beautiful!"

Toss of the Dice Blue Hatchling rises on limbs long and unsteady, tiny form trembling from exertion until it finds proper footing, limbs akimbo, wings tucked in tight at his sides. For just a moment, it seems as if he doesn't know what he's even doing here; for just a moment, it seems as if he'd rather run away and tuck right back into his shell, untouched and unbothered by all of this grand-entrance hullabaloo. Look, suddenly all (or, well, enough eyes) are on him and that tiny blue draws himself up, wavers on the precipice of indecision until — oh. Oh yes. Hello, you young, white-robed things. How are you doing? Attention drawn, curiosity wins the better side of caution, and that first step is taken in a gambling bid to meet his destiny.

Egg of Dreams shudders once, a grand vibration that grips the entirety of this egg before — crack! An egg-wet blue breaks nose, paws, spars from the crumbling keep of his shell. A tiny trill comes as faceted eyes turn to gaze upon Xermiltoth and Leirith, take in his dam and sire both before curiosity wins and his attention falls back on the line of candidates. Trrrrppppt. Static Storm Blue Hatchling's head tilts once, slow, this way and then back, one paw held immobile in the air before coming down in his first tentative attempt to go //forward. He manages, one foot crossing over the other over and over and over again until he's closer now, closer now, closer. Trrreeeepttt. Give him a moment, two. His head cocks this way and that again, the curiosity of a canine-pup caricatured in a storm-hide blue. *Tppppt?* A hand reaches out slowly, and contact is made: his nose to the flat of her palm. "Zuvirenth," comes with whispered awe, tiny hands trembling as the brown-haired, brown-eyed once-healer leans into that contact. "Yes. Yes, of course I'm Nevale and you're Zuvirenth." SHE'S NOT CRYING, YOU'RE CRYING. "Yes, yes. Of course. I'm hungry too." And as her attention lifts, one of the assistant weyrlingmasters moves in to guide her from the sands.//

Static Storm Blue Hatchling
Periwinkle ranges soft and downy down from on high, drifts across the upper aspect of falconine wings and down whiplike tail, near the brightest color on this tempestuous little blue. It's only outshone by the near-white that breaks the line of blue, boiling up vibrant and sharp-edged down shoulders and the undersides of those ridiculously long wings. The pale veil simmers up the curve of his neck, arches darker down the underside, takes over on the sharp angles of a short-nosed face, mingling palest turquoise and near-indigo. Splashing through the brilliant shade, much darker shadows simmer, steel and charcoal mixing here and there over broad chest and those thin 'sails. Deeper bruises of color sheet below, struck through with silvery flashes of color along long limbs and the soft tuck of his muscular abdomen. Those gloomy shadows cloud the entirety of this rangy fellow's undersides, from the sharp of his lower jaw, clear down the bottom of his tail, near-on black by the time his long-clawed toes come into play.

Ajral is trying to keep watching the rest of the hatching, really she is — she gives Ly'iir a little wave and a bright smile for a whole half-second before she has to pull chewed-up too-big steak out of Navenath's mouth and chide softly. (She will learn to chide less softly.) "You'll choke, slow down. Also, no, they do not need to get a move on."

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

Outright Authority Egg spins, slowly, on its axis. What drives the motion? It's unclear, but the egg is restless already. Little twitches throw the rotation off slightly, but it always rights itself, weeble-style. It's not time to fall down, just yet.

IS IT FINE? "Are you sure?" Mikye doesn't sound sure, eyeing the metronome tick-tick with wide eyes. Then the dwindling number of eggs. "They're hatching so fast, they didn't seme fast…yesterday…" I mean, fair.

Broken Halo Egg trembles, tipping over precariously to one side while it continues to shiver and shudder. When it settles again, not quite ready for the world, it remains awkwardly slanted against the threat of gravity.

Sh'y is probably aware that there are other things happening, but really, can he be blamed for not paying attention to them? Probably? Possibly? He'll apologize later. Maybe. Right now? Baby dragon stuff!

An Altogether Unexpected Egg doesn't so much explode as distend vaguely outwards. From one impressive gap emerges the ooooooze of a dragonet, one who seems to be having trouble finding her footing. Almost — just — there. Candied Wickedness Green Hatchling finds a moment to compose herself, maw tilted in a proud rise, wings and tail held with the same felinic curiosity of a predator spotting easy prey. Hello candidates. She starts her way there, a trot that would be more impressive if she were not so clumsy on her feet. But //this green seems to have hatched from the shell knowing exactly what — or rather, whom — she wanted of this world. There is no long moment to contemplate the rows of figures dressed in white, waiting, waiting, waiting. No, Candied Wickedness Green Hatchling moves straight to that impressively tall, fair eyed and dark haired candidate who, himself, looks shocked to be facing down a force of such glaring opposites. That is, until he laughs. "Vierath, is it?" Out his hand goes, and that green face pushes into it. "I don't know how I feel about R'ahl, but we'll figure that out after you eat." And so it goes, another pair met and swept by the Assistant Weyrlingmasters off of the sands.//

Candied Wickedness Green Hatchling
The fact that this candy-apple green is a little more round than lean does nothing to impede lissom movement, nor does it subtract from the high-sheen of a turquoise glaze that wraps a rich, lustrous base of sea green and darkened pine. Vibrant teal mottles the whole of her from rounded nose to fubsy tail tip, pressed beneath what, at first glance, gives her the appearance of having been dipped in candy-glass. Jungle green frosts fine-taloned paws as if that sweetened outer-shell converged thick upon them, fading in an upward gradient sweeping towards the ridge of her spine. But the poise with which she executes each movement hints to something bitter beneath all that sugar, spice, and everything nice. One thing is for certain: she might be decadence given form, but this confectionary tart has bite.

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

"Well.. No," Averil admits in hushed tones. "I'm not. But it will be fine." WHY AVERIL. "It has to be." Oh, that clears that up. "We'll be done in no time and eating cake," he promises. "Drinking tea." All things good and proper. "You'll see, Mikye." Cause being reassuring is his thing.

"How many left?" the voice probably wasn't meant to squeak as Jaenjal, a blonde in her late teens from the Weyr's laundry, tries to take inventory, struggling to get an accurate one when there's just so much to distract, like, you know, that most recen impression. "R'ahl," is breathed softly before she manages a louder, "Congrats!"

~It's getting hot in here~ So take off all your- shell. Yes, the next word is definitely shell. Judge much?? Obviously, This Egg Is a Ninja is just having a little fun~ It's just enjoying the experience as it was obviously meant to be enjoyed! Maybe it only knows that one song. It isn't the one that started all the humming. It's just making do! A little shimmy, a little shake, a super uncomfortable- …can eggs twerk? All evidence points to no, not even at Xanadu. BUT DON'T TRY TO STEAL ITS JOY with any of your stuffy, 'This is a hatching, Ninja, sit still and show off your best assets, catch yourself a lifemate~' nonsense! IT WILL SHOW YOU ITS BEST ASS- …ets. … Oh, look, a few more pearls, or iridescent counterfeits, are gliding away in handy distraction from the utterly abhorrent moneymaker-shaker behavior of this egg that goes suspiciously still, totally unlikely to continue to do anything unexpected or kooky or uncouth. Everything's fine now. See?

Outright Authority Egg stops. Cracks, loudly, momentum carried into the violent fissuring of indigo shell. Straight down the middle she goes, a line only slightly deviating from one direction to the next. Is that a claw, prying its way down the seam of it?

Nyvex takes a deep breath and he smiles at Kasle. It helps to clear his own nerves by helping someone else who is nervous. He nods his head towards the blue that came from the black and yellow egg. "That one is going to be one to keep an eye on. Such pleasant things from it, always." He smiles and gives her hand a supportive squeeze. But he doesn't stay focused on the blue for long. Because there are other dragons out on the sand. His green gaze goes out to look for the unaccounted for bronze and brown on the sands still.

Like No One Ever Was Brown Hatchling continues to hold his ground not far from the remnants of the egg he hatched from. Heat has already begun to dry his hide, but aside from the occasional twitch or flick of his wings, he still hasn't made his move. His head lifts high, blunted nose sniffing at the air with intrigue — and that much at least has him rising up on those massive hindquarters to get a brief higher vantaged glance at the Candidates. There must be something (or someone) within a cluster that he's honed in on at last, as the brown lowers heavily back to all four feet. Next, he lumbers into prowl along the perimeter, head lowered and turning to remain focused on those robed figures. Almost almost

< Galleries > "How many blues now?" Aethra murmurs, counting the few that have impressed just now and the new one fresh upon the sands. "He was to tha' first brown then?" Evi gets a sympathetic smile, noting the expression on the young woman's face. But this breaks off as her shirt is grabbed and soon she's extracting tiny baby fingers. "Well congratulations." T'eo responds, surveying the pairs on the sands, oblivious to any undercurrent of emotion. "This is quite a full clutch… glad to see it. I remember turns when we had only a handful of eggs on the sands." As if one could hold these eggs in their hands… Once the baby's hand has been extracted Aethra finds herself shaking Senkyou's proffered one. "Well met, brownrider." Offered cheerfully enough. "Absolutely," T'eo agrees, "Dinner would be great."

Broken Halo Egg starts shivering again, and this time completes its half-baked fall to slump over onto the sands. The shell splits down one side, the thin crevasse separating further the ring of its crown but not yet sparing a hint to the hatchling still within.

Mikye is 100% behind this line of thinking, eyes widening a little. "Cake, wow, you think they'll have cake?" The girl ventures, eyeing the weyrlings over there. Cake and tea kind of sounds better than baby dragons eating gross squealchy meat. "I hope there's cake." Well, everybody has something to look forward to.

The prowling brown draws a couple of sharp intakes of breath. Tierka and Shenzo, twins from Black Rocks sweep back three full paces, clinging tight to one another just in case he thinks to look their way.

~Just a little bit, uh uh, and a little bit of, uh uh~-oh. Obviously, This Egg Is a Ninja is at it again. Jamming away to its own sick beats, vibrating, pulsing and just- those are the most awkward movements an egg has ever made, probably, but- well, have you seen its parents? Whatever is in this egg can surely blame whatever locomotive deficiencies it's having on heredity, right? That's what parents are for! That, and to disappoint. HERE COMES LEIRITH'S NEXT, BEST DISAPPOINTMENT, because with one more groove and move that might inspire more sympathy than sighs of wonder for how wince-worthy that particular uncoordinated twist and topple was, IT GETS THE JOB DONE, and Dad at least can be proud of that? The hot mess of haberdashery lookalikes crumble, bogging down the grossly be-goo'd hatchling under layered shards of gathers and pleats and torn tatting.

Wallflower in Bloom Green Hatchling
She's every stroke an artist's dream. While not every eye sees beauty in shading so soft and subdued, nor the masterwork in her lean lines and subtle curves, the right eye will recognize this muted mamselle for the magnum opus she is. Mist shrouds her brilliance, hushing all her hues into hazy twilight greens. This embrace of nature's breath imparts a softness to her small and slender frame, reinforced by a nuanced patterning of eensy-weensy licks of an unbridled brush. This indistinct layering of complementary colors implausibly imparts a feeling, more essential than the truth of her utterly unassuming hide, that she possesses a vital vivacity. Obliging opacity obscures mettlesome depths, the magic of her minutiae enchanting only the avid observer with a willing heart. Bewitching brume casts the illusion of captured light making the rounded tip of her nose ghostly, a near white tinged with only an echo of the pale sage that was. Color blooms as slow and subtle as any sprouting seed seeking sun, painting her in a graceful gradient that grows to its deepest at the end of her slim tail, dual tips wrapped with haar-hugged emerald. Inconspicuous as each transition of tone is, it's noticeable where guileless eyes break the gradual progression, finespun eyeridges crested with a touch of shadow. If the common eye needs more reason than lackluster color or diminutive size to disregard her, it can be found in the quirky slant of her perky headknobs and dimensions of neck, tail and extremities, all as likely to be gangly-awkward as they are to be willowy and lithe in motion. These dinky details doom her to dismissal as a dragon as meek as she is harmless, at least where popular opinion is concerned. They don't diminish the capability contained by her spare yet sleek torso, flanks and hips, only the faintest curves creating a more varied shape to her than a straight line. Pigments pattering in the natural progression tip into frosted jade at the trailing edge of her delicate wingsails. So unremarkable is the flow of the perpetual transformation of color as it draws to its final, dusky evolution, no more intense than the rest of her, that it could convince the average eye that this extraordinary creature might be simply ordinary. After all, true beauty needs not the painted flourish of praise.

"There is always cake," Avi assures with a reassuring smile. "And if there isn't cake, we can probably make some. Oh… /Look/." Almost immediately, he is tugging Mikye forward, his chin dipping toward the newly hatched green. "Look at those colors." They are perfect, that much is clear from the sound of his voice.

If first impressions matter, Wallflower in Bloom Green Hatchling is not doing well. She loses the battle for becoming vertical, following the unsightly sprawl that ultimately shattered her shell, her wrenching jerk doing little more than hiccuping her belly momentarily off the sands. The soupy mess of shell shard and egg goo should be giving her sticky traction, but the not-viscous-enough gunk hasn't saturated the sand enough to become less of a slick snare and thus the dragonet, who might otherwise be unremarkable, is drawing quite a lot of attention with her awkward antics. Nevertheless, she persists. Slender chest heaving, there's a shove of her limbs that slip in the infernal hair gel massed at her feet, but not to no purpose. She's nudging the shards nearest her paws together, crushing them finer, churning up the sand to fabricate some friction underfoot. Her wings flick, not open, but in a slightly spastic shake that rains shards down with plops into glop, to be broken and added to the muddling mixture that seems to be having the desired effect of adding traction below. It does nothing to help the limbs that want to tangle in the process of getting herself onto her feet, of course, but she's dauntlessly pursuing her priorities. Step 1: Escape. Everything else will have to wait.

Cake? Tea? Ajral would love both, even if she is … clearly starting to get a little bit lightheaded, and she might be coughing a little bit, too. Pity she can't really hear the remaining candidates, even if her eye is on all of them — uh, theoretically, since she can't look in two directions at once. At least Navenath has finally stopped making suggestions about what the other hatchlings should be doing and is instead also watching, wide-eyed. Impression is very different from the outside. Also, it's still bright and crowded in here? The most recent green to hatch gets an impressed smile from Ajral, too — "What lovely wingsails," says she who NEVER thought in a million years she'd ride green.

Outright Authority Egg shatters, easily, calmly, like that was the plan all along. Maybe it was. The brown that emerges from the scattered remnants of his shell examines his surroundings with sharp eyes, a darting gaze taking in everything quickly. He stays like this for a long time, contemplating the situation without so much as a muscle moving anywhere but his sharp-'ridged head. Maybe eyes have moved on by the time he moves — it would make sense, he's been a statue for a while, rigidly immobile, before he makes his choice. The Fearless Firebrand Brown doesn't hesitate once he sets eyes on the tiny lad, hardly visible in the shadow of a broad young woman who smiles gruffly at the boy, shoves him forward. It takes Rolian a few beats of wide-eyed silence to offer a shaking hand to white-brushed muzzle, and it's only the Weyrlingmaster's support that gets the boy off the sands in one piece, murmuring, "O'lin? Niyrith? Really, you're serious…?" as he goes.

Fearless Firebrand Brown Hatchling
Well, you can't say he doesn't stand up to his heritage. There's an energy to this brown, held just below the surface of his rough-smooth hide, the kind that sets the teeth on edge. His loping gait, long legs pacing more effectively than many of dragonkind, the way his eyes never seem to blink, well. He's got panache, certainly. Powerful shoulders are the cornerstone of his figure, shrouded in a haze of chocolate that covers most of his body. He's lacking in bold markings over the majority of his form, soft fading russet down lanky legs, dusty buff around belly and the base of his short, powerful neck. Sharper russet starts along his jaw, nearly hits copper down the slightly convex line of his blunted face, but it's hard to tell. Along this strangely angular face, brilliant near-white taupe stands out clearly-marked and not in the slightest bit smudged. They circle almost leonine around small, sharp eyes, bolt off angular down his muzzle and over the front of his lips in three thinning lines. Off from the eye markings sweep thick stripes of white down long, long headknobs, sharply angular 'ridges too. They converge in the center of his forehead, a more or less diamond-shaped splash of bright color on a dark hide. With such a concentrated area of brilliant markings, it is perhaps no wonder that the rest of his body's so bland! He was saving all the marking-spaces up for his face, is all.

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

Kasle nods, "Yeah, he looks like he's going to be a handful." She blinks at the arrival of the newest green, "Oh! She's pretty, too." She smiles, only a little uncertain, "She looks like she belongs in a garden."

Toss of the Dice Blue Hatchling didn't expect to find so many dashingly-dressed ladies here. A hello to you, and to you, and — oh my. You look stunning in white, darling. At least, the lingering gaze of faceted eyes seems to say as much as that easy gait carries him forward over the sands, brings him down along that row of standing candidates, dodging the varied interest of his clutchsiblings as he makes his way down the line. He stops at one candidate in particular, extending his neck out, tentative in that first delicate sniff he takes before jerking his head back. WUFFCHOO. Yes, that's a sneeze, one that's probably made some poor soul more wet than they were before he shakes his maw and draws away. No, no. That won't do. To the next, then.

Mikye noticed that green. Her shaking stops, eyes widen a little, mouth forming a kind-of adorable 'o'. "Aw wow, look at her. She's the prettiest one out there." There's confidence there, anyways, but the girl wiggles back behind Avi. Not THAT confident.

It's Rascnor from SmithCraft, who looks like not even an earthquake could get him shaking, who's jumping back at that sound the blue made. THAT'S A SNEEZE?? Maybe he's having a few moments of RAGRET about being on these sands.

Has anybody mentioned Ilyscaeth? No? That's weird, because she's been here the whole time, because she's got a whole pile of eggs on the other side of the sands, herself. At least she's not beat-boxing for Leirith. OR IS SHE. Maybe you should open your mind, man. Open your HEART.

"A little clumsy, though," Averil notes with a quietly warm laugh. He's fine with Mikye sheltering behind him, though, his gaze sweeping over the dragons remaining on the sands. "She does kind of look like a flower," he murmurs in response to Kasle.

Wallflower in Bloom Green Hatchling is trembling with effort by the time she earns her first Achievement Unlocked. Having extricated her lithe-or-gangly frame from where she was entombed and taken a few wobbly steps away, she's already stopping to regroup and breathe like the n00b she is. Maybe she can be forgiven since she's obviously squishy. The way she's sucking air as the sustaining force it is in great gulps attests to the fact that she is not a dragon made for soloing. Those guileless eyes take the moment of relative steadiness to sweep her surroundings: sand, shell shards, very large dragons, tiny things obviously as squishy as she is just look at their robes. Who can say what she's looking for? Maybe she's just taking it all in because there's another moment or two spent just looking before she's giving another step or two a whirl. Well, whirl might have been what she was going for. What she got was wibble-wobble-stumble-and-justbarelynotfall. Her wings fan in a wildly uncoordinated attempt to keep her from kissing sand; combined with an uncomfortable splay of lower limbs and tail, she remains upright, but that seems to be the best her questionable ninja skills can manage at the moment.

See how hard it was to keep track? Nyvex didn't even realize that the bronze had impressed. But then the green comes out of the Ninja egg and Kasle points her out. "Oh yes, she is quite striking." However he still had that mountain of a brown to keep en eye out for. Oh yes, there he is. Focus kept on the blue and the brown and the green. His green gaze flickering between the three.

Leirith hopes that Ilyscaeth is beat-boxing. SOMEBODY NEEDS TO KEEP THE MUSIC GOING. You know, and also to distract from the fact that Risali might also possibly be strangling the Weyrleader out there. It's fine.

Like No One Ever Was Brown Hatchling abruptly stops, his massive frame gathering up under him as he faces the robed Candidates directly. With an exuberant roar-like call, he lurches forwards, by no means fast (or entirely graceful) in those first steps but his stride lengthens in ground eating pace. He cuts a straight path with as much ferocity as a landslide, leaving it to anyone in his way to move out of it or get knocked aside in his passing. There's only one he wants and that missing part, his forever partner and equal, is directly in his sights — and it will only be that tall Harper that'll bring him to a stop, mere inches from a collision and his head now pressed against his chosen's chest.

With a triumphant cry it seems that the Like No One Ever Was Brown Hatchling has found its partner at last and impression is made!

< Galleries > Evi eeps, wincing and helping remove the baby fingers while watching as yet another green graces the sands. "That's my favorite color, green, and that one is breathtaking. It's nice to know Nei might have more- um, friends." Even as the words come out there's an ironic flick of her lips. "Have you stood yet Aethra?" Occupying the tiny baby hands by holding them and playing a ridiculous clapping game. "Giving the sailor's hand a firm shake, there's crinkled smile on the old brownrider's face. "Lotsa browns this time, good clutch, well met Aethra. Known yur grandad for, a bit." Like 50 turns. It's nothing. T'eo gets a wry smile, because he's probably aware of how long a bit is.

Broken Halo Egg cracks further, the singular split widening and fracturing into several more. Dark-touched paw and hazy bronze wing shove their way through the weakened shell before the hatchling's face follows. A piercing creel announces his arrival, just as the egg starts to roll over, spilling him out the rest of the way onto the sands all at once. He cries piteously, craning his neck from his front-end-down position to look upwards at his sire and dam. This is THEIR FAULT, clearly. Struggling, he gets his paws underneath him, wings dragging alongside. Forward momentum takes him towards his white-robed audience. He can't turn. Or stop. It's a good thing most of them know to get out of his way as one misstep redefines assessing as assaulting, and a young smithcrafter is pulled down by the hem of his robe to meet the small bronze face to face in the most literal sense. "Well, yes.. I can. I can make that for you. Are you sure that's a good idea, Ikeroth?" Ae'lus stutters with uncertainty, retrieved only slightly from the stupor of his Impression to work at unhooking dragon talons from his robe lest he join the other new weyrlings at the feeding tables naked. As soon as he can stand again, one of the assistant weyrlingmasters arrives to help usher him away.

Fly No Higher Bronze Hatchling
Ambitious are majestic, spectacular wings that nearly dwarf the rest of him, spars beholding immense, sweeping sails which cast long shadow over the extent of their expanse. Sharp aerodynamic angles dictate their contours, but not their hue. Patchy varnish clouds russet bronze, feather-like despite metallic sheen, softening his fierce contrast with the velutinous plumate pattern draping down to the very fringe of those pinions to make even stark lines hazy. Where feathered copper meets lean, long, and sinewy frame, plumose touch melts into a yielding, pale tone. Waxen polish coats his hide stretched over gaunt shoulder and limbre hindquarter. Candle-smooth, ceraceous color begins to liquefy into dull antiqued pallor, accented in auriferous, nigh-golden accents around his face. Gentle muzzle is short and narrow, curved upwards to frame well-spaced faceted eyes 'neath sun-lit headknobs. Neckridges, too, bask in sweltering, molten bronze while they rise in steady, yet slowly waning height along his spine. Unlike the brilliant daylight of his visage, pelagic limbs fade, drenched and drowned in time aged copper to turbid marine darkness at paws tipped in seafoam-silvered claw.

With a triumphant cry the Fly No Higher Bronze Hatchling has found its lifemate at last. After a few moments the Weyrlingmaster leads the new pair off the sands.

Perhaps it's because there are so few eggs left, or maybe the candidates combined opinion of the muted green is simply shared (or contageous), but whatever the reason, Weensa, from the Xanadu Kitchens, is on tiptoe, her hands clasped before her heart, leeeaning ever so slightly toward that muted green after glancing toward the brown and bronze finding their lifemates elsewhere on the sands.

Did Mikye just coo? "A really pretty garden." The girl murmurs, head tilting to the side. She's back to shaking, maybe a little, but look, they're closing in on the end of the thing and - oh, wow. "Wow." Yeah, she's not coming out from behind here any time soon, that thing is huge.

Averil can't help laughing, although to his credit, it it not a mean laugh, just an indulgent one. "You can do it," he murmurs under his breath. "One step (mob) at a time and you got this." Fat, fat loot looms in her future. Course, his attention is momentarily taken by the triumphant cry of the brown, his lips twitching a wry smile. "Almost there, Mikye," he assures over his shoulder.

Wallflower in Bloom Green Hatchling may not especially love the idea of trying to move again, but she can't stay like this. For one thing, she can probably calculate the time to muscle exhaustion and collapse. Having already been there, done that and gotten the figurative tee shirt, there's no need to repeat; she's a quick study and her Resolve Face is ready to roll. She's watching the sand this time, vigilant for unexpected environmental hazards, but once more it's her own feet miring her progress. At least this time, it's just a little grunt-worthy thump onto the sands, leaving her seated, and maybe she's content to stay that way. For a moment, her tail curls up to be clasped by fidgeting paws, hugged to her chest, while she contemplates the conundrum. Physics. So complicated! But she's got this. Her tail goes slipping away. Before she moves though, she startles for no apparent cause. Her body twists, eyes landing on a diminutive figure with golden blond hair and blue-grey eyes as though unexpectedly called. Her head tilts, innocently inquisitive, the look echoed by a small sound of confusion. It would be easy to miss if someone weren't watching, the way revelation rocks through her moments later, stunning her for a breath, then two. The scramble to her feet is rapid and inelegant, but she will bend the world to her will if that's what it takes to reach her lifemate: nothing will keep them apart now.

With a triumphant cry it seems that the Wallflower in Bloom Green Hatchling has found its partner at last and impression is made!

Mikye bursts into tears, because look, "That was so beautiful." the girl whispers, and to her credit, she doesn't RUN. She…creeps. Edges away from the pair with eyes not leaving them, sniffing and beaming. Kasle, you were looking for somebody to hide behind you, right? "Wasn't that beautiful? Look at them."

Kasle squeeks and stumbles away when the brown… headbutts Nyvex. YIPE! She nearly trips over Logain, "C- congratulations, Ny." But now she's unprotected, and having to make sure she can shove her brother out of the way of rampaging hatchlings. She tightens her grip on Logain's hand and drags him a little distance from the newest brownrider, giving them space and making sure that neither one of them get in the way.

Toss of the Dice Blue Hatchling HAS BEEN WALKING FOR DAYS, DAYS. The sands are… probably hot, the crowd is watching him, and if he has to take ONE. MORE. STEP, HE'S GOING TO — whump. Sit. That's what he's going to do. He's going to sit right here on these here feet. Yes these feet, the ones that belong to you, you with the dark hair and the dark eyes and the matching — oh. Whirling faucets lift with the rising angle of his maw, a kind of backward tilt that finds him looking back, back, back and up. Boop. The tip of his snoot meets with curious reverence on the tip of one of Xanadu's gardener's nose. There you are. Home at last.

With a triumphant cry it seems that the Toss of the Dice Blue Hatchling has found its partner at last and impression is made!

Ila'den is just casually leaning on a wall there, you guys, watching the entire hatching unfold. Don't mind the fact that the AWLM looks unmoved by the entire thing, this is his excited face.


"Mirieth." The word is breathed out on a sigh that is impossible to describe, everything in Averil responding to it on a gut-deep, instinctive level that has him stepping away from Mikye and directly toward the little green. "Mirieth," is uttered in firmer tones, stronger tones, the sort of tones that hold an absolute certainty to them. "No, no.. I'll move to you." "Avi.. Yes.. You found me." And what a quest it was. Without a second thought for anything else, his arms are around her neck, his hands touching every part of her can as he does his level best to try to guide her out of the press. "We're fine.. It's all fine..You should eat." Food is definitely a good thing.
<Sands> Aw, look, y'all! There's a matched set. M'tras may be much younger and have both eyes, but aside from that one smirk that NO ON CAN PROVE, he pretty much mirrors Ila'den's expression. RIP Xanadu weyrlings. Have a good time. They'll clearly cheer you on and feel for you in your hard times. No one panic.

All of the gaze darting back and forth finally stops with the tall blond harpers attention is stolen away from the others. Can those green eyes get even bigger in his head? He thought he was going to have to eat his own words about the dragons hurting people. Instead the mountain of a dragon stops just short of knocking him over. They focus in on the one in front of him. Sadly even Kasle is left behind. "N'ye?" He blinks at the name given and nods his head. His arms wrap around the head pressed into his chest. "Yes, Satoth. We are!" He returns the excitement that only he can seem to hear. His green eyes glistening to with unshed tears. "Yes Food, food is good."

NAVENATH IS GOING TO TAKE THAT CHALLENGE, AWLMs. SHE HAS GOALS — "Please stop plotting," Ajral says weakly, coughs, "and eat."

< Galleries > "Green's a great color… I dunno why… always been partial t'blues…" Aethra shrugs, "Maybe the whole sea color thing." She offers a wry grin to Evi. "Granddad said he wanted a blue… but impressed Raenth." The older sailor glances up towards the viewing ledges before making a face. "I liked blues, yes… but of course Raenth was the one for me." The polar opposite color from blue. "I tried to get Aethra to stand at Ista." he continues, answering for his granddaughter. "She was too into the Craft at the time." The girl rolls her equally amber eyes, clear now where they came from. "I got the Sea Glass… that's 'nough for me." But to Evi more kindly, "I know it's not the same though. Just seems like a lotta work t'do both, ya know?" T'eo's smile sets in a sort of humoring way. "Maybe one day you'll change your mind."


Kasle's nose is booped! For a moment, she stops breathing, licking her lips uncertainly, "Oh. Um… Spades?" Then the brightest grin blooms on her face, "I- are you sure?" She reverantly reaches out to rest a hand on that dark blue head, "Dovirauth." She laughs softly, "My Dovirauth." She shakes her head in amusement, "Well, I don't usually play dice, myself, but I'll go anywhere with you."

WELL, THAT'S IT. ALL THE EGGS HAVE HATCHED, FOLKS. IT'S BEEN A HELL OF A RIDE, BUT WE'RE THINKING IT'S TIME TO GO. SO THANK YOU ALL FOR COMING; WE HOPE YOU LIKED THE SHOW. IT WAS MADE ON A BUDGET (OO DI LA DEE DO). Perhaps not everybody met their fate this day, and Risali knows that. R'hyn knows it, too. It's why the Weyrwoman is looking to the Weyrleader, pain in the sideways pull of her lip because this has always been the part she hates the most. Whatever she sees when R'hyn looks back gives her courage enough to step forward, to bring her hands together and clear her throat as Leirith comes to a pause just behind her. "Thank you," comes soft, but loud enough to carry. Then, softer still, grey eyes sweeping those who've been left to try another day, "For this moment and every moment that came before." And surely, hopefully, those that will come after. "There's a feast in the caverns, for anybody who would like to join us in celebration, but we understand if you cannot." Then Risali sinks into a bow that Leirith imitates with a dip of that massive head, a one-two-three-four seconds long display meant to return every ounce of respect afforded her — and Leirith — throughout the tenure of this candidacy. Four seconds, and she's on the move as soon as her spine straightens, hand coming up in a sweep before her as she gestures towards the exit. "This way, please." PUT YOUR BEST FACE ON, EVERYBODY. PRETEND YOU KNOW THIS SONG, EVERYBODY. COME HANG. LET'S GO OUT WITH A BANG! (And a really, really big, very heartfelt thank you to the amazing people who helped me with Xanadu's SearchCo this year: Citayla, F'yr, K'vir, Ki'lian, R'hyn, and V'ro!)

You remember Jilcarl? He's OUT. He's spent the latter half of the hatching with a hand pressed firmly over his mouth, and the second that last dragonet looks like it might have Impressed, never mind poor Risa and her no-doubt interesting speech, PEACE. The young man heads for the hills with both hands over his mouth, now. Maybe it's better that he does, though.

Everyone knew this day would end in tears, right? The important thing is that no one died. (Yet.) And while one or two candidates might be desperately searching for additional eggs that might MAGICALLY SPRING FORTH additional hatchlings (Leirith seems like she'd hide easter eggs for a hatching, doesn't she? Definitely sus), others are already hugging and quietly weeping.

< Galleries > "Blue is nice, they're easy going mostly." Evi responds with a chirp, nodding to the bronzerider. "Odi wanted a blue, got a gold. She promised she'd be here but she's stuck in Igen." Sighing in mild annoyance. A inky blackhaired brownrider from Fort walks past just as Risali stands, all the dragons paired off and in the hands of the Weyrling team. The woman scoops the baby out of Evi's hands, with no protest outside of a "He can eat solids but like, not solid-solids, he um, only has one tooth." Turning back she stands up and offers an arm to her grandmother, "Maybe, it's.. a big commitment. Are you coming to the feast?" Evi shuffling from foot to foot, suddenly feeling the absence of her baby.

< Galleries > T'eo smirks a little, "It's pretty much how hatchings run, really… Go in with one expectation, leave with something completely different." Aethra waves to the little one before standing when Evi and her grandmother do. "And you wonder why I don' stand." Though anyone who had met Aethra would never think of her to have an aversion to unpredictability. "I think we are?" T'eo nods, making his way to his feet as well. Aethra doesn't help, perhaps knowing it would be waved away… though as a dragonman, he certainly is more spritely for his age than any holder. That and an active time at sea, though his swarthy complexion may not assist in his appearance any. "Yeah I think so… Raenth needs a bit of a rest still before we head back, though he'd never admit it. Hatchings wind him up a bit." A rumbling chuff from up above barely audible in the din of the many wing beats and happy chatter of the dragons departing.

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