11/3/2001

06:35 PM
Logfile from Hannah.

Geisha District of Ista (#18450)

Sparse and neat are the first visible impressions of this weyr while elegance is the next. Silk wall hangings add warmth to the stone and create a deeper, more lush environment. A sitting area is the first visible signs of establishment; each cushion is laid out in precise arrangement around a low table. Perfect for sitting around and sipping tea. Cushions are a rich sapphire, jade, ruby, and white; each cushion a different jewel tone, lending a bright environment. Off to the side, is a small, open cabinet that houses various non-toxic plants and a couple of leisure books. Further back into the weyr, the path to the gold occupant's couch is lined with rugs; each rug woven in a bright, exotic design. The entrance to Hannah's room is situated off to the side, made private by the opaque, sapphire curtain that is strung across the door. Spartan and functional, very little luxery is allowed. The quiet elegance of the gold permeates the very weyr in which she lives as does the faint scent of citrusy lemon and sweetgrass.
It is a summer noon.
To the east, you see Dhiammarath.
To the southeast, you see Mnedzanth and Serath.
Obvious exits:
Couch Inner Weyr Ledge Landing Overlook

<All> Dhiammarath senses that she shifts smoky brown discomfort permeating the wordless broadcast… or is it a none-so-subtle protest?

Dhiammarath senses Serath curls her honey-sticky-sweet touch toward you, still sleepy from her recent sun-drenched nap. « Are you not well? » she queries the younger gold, sleepy yet concerned.

** Hannah just set the @party! Type @party to check it out! **

Dhiammarath will begin clutching for Ista Weyr's latest clutch at 7:00 pm CST! Go to the galleries (@move me to #2066) to watch the event and the pre-clutching RP that's going to be happening soon. :)

— entered by Hannah on 2001-11-03 18:34 MOO Time. (15 seconds)

<All> Dhiammarath senses that she shakes her head, smokey brown hardening to granite denial. »No, not unwell simply.. uncomfortable…« Sky blue urgency tinges her tone. »I think it would be wise to go to the sands…« The last is turned up in a question directed at the more experienced gold.

Dhiammarath senses Serath projects on a tight band to the young one, avoiding disturbing all of the Weyr. « You will lay eggs, » the older gold advises in sage tones, gently allowing calming sweetness to ooze profusely. « It is uncomfortable, but it is your reason, and your duty. » The calming touch remains gently with the younger queen.

Dhiammarath senses that Hannah's tones become a bit frantic with excitement. "I am on my way to the sands." A touch of amusement enters her voice, "But first, I must get my shoes!"

You go to the Hannah's Hideaway.

Hannah's Hideaway (#10719)

Volumptuous bed is the main focus of this room. A four-poster contraption that is draped in silks and velvets of every jewel-hued color. Over-stuffed pillows decorate the plushy mattress, sitting atop a comfortor of the richest jade. Curtains drape from the poster-frame, allowing privacy when occupied. An elegant armoire is set off to the side, allowing the easy storage of clothing and other necessities. Virtually as spartan as the weyr, each personal item has it's own distinct place. Shelves line one wall, storing various knick-knacks that the rider has acquired over the turns.
It is a summer afternoon.
Gliding about is Mosquiton.
Obvious exits:
Tunnel Outer Weyr
You go to the Tunnel.

Tunnel (#1017)

The tunnel is large enough to allow a full grown gold passage from her weyr to the hatching grounds. Over the years, stone carvers have smoothed out the rough edges of the tunnel walls, while the traffic is slowly wearing its mark into the floor. The only things in the tunnel are stone holders for glows that light the passage dimmly.
Obvious exits:
Saria's Chambers Hatching Sands Hannah's Nook Annie's Domain

You go to the Hatching Grounds.

Hatching Grounds BROADCASTING (#4321)

The heat here is stifling, encompassing, swallowing mind and hazing sight into waved oblivion. Sparkling, coarse black sand simmers with volcanic urgency underfoot, its hillocks and dunes arranged to queen's liking; reflected light filters in, offered no even perceived respite. When empty, the vault of this cavern is hushed, still that echoes and rebounds; when occupied, it is intensified: clutch dominates view. Every sound resounds twicefold as loud as was intended.
Obvious exits:
Entrance

Dhiammarath thinks to you, « I bespoke Serath with: Dhiammarath nods, cool saphire acceptance. »I go to the sands. Duty will not wait.« A faint trace of crimson tinges through her tone. »but those arrogant candidates had best watch their step and their manners.« »

You sense Dhiammarath hmmms at you, a faint silken thought full dove grey wraping around you. »Hmmm. shoes…« but she does not elborate.

Dhiammarath shuffles gracefully, honey-tipped tail swish-swishing behind her, in from the Tunnel.

Dhiammarath drags her gravid body across the black sands to her swept, cleaned area and starts nosing about. A brief greeting is crooned to those on the ledge as she carefully moves towards the farthest back corner, eying it speculatively.

Hannah enters the sands via the tunnel from the goldriders ledges. "Dhia? Love? Is it time?" She looks about the newly swept sands, "Look, the candidates have cleaned off the sands for you." The little weyrwoman makes her way over to her lifemate, wringing her pale hands.

Dhiammarath pauses in her roaming to swing back to her life mate and nuzzle her gently, reasuringly, then she returns to the order of business she pushes the sand this way and that, creating a single hollow, away from the corner she had first demarcated.

Hannah frowns a bit, "Hmm. R'ley and Tynabith must be caught in sweeps. They should be here to see the clutching of the bronze's children." She hops and skips over the hot sands, shadowing her lifemate to watch the once thought infertile gold clutch. Or prepare to clutch. Her eyes swing back to glance at the galleries. "It sure is crowding up."

Dhiammarath rumbles with some trepidation looking towards the entrance as if expecting her mate to swing through at any moment. But as neither bronze nor rider reveal themselves. She turns back to the sands, shaping that one center hollow claws tracing faint rings around it, like ripples of water accross the sands.

Hannah really should have brought something to sit on rather than standing on these hot sands. Luckily, though, she brought her thick boots to help protect those tender feet. "They should be here soon love." Watching that pale hide for a moment, her attention is given to the galleries. Ducking her head, she moves closer to her lifemate, using her for a shield. "At least you, love, have everyone's attention." Having seen her mother's lifemate, Ysbryth, clutch many times, goldrider knows what to expect, but when it's her own lifemate it still sends her into a worried tizzy. "Can I do anything?" Silly question.

Dhiammarath lowers herself to the black diamond sands once more, crooning as she exerts herself to bring another egg into the world, and yet remaining utterly composed throughout. Eventually, she demurely raises herself to reveal an elegant and yet understated English Country Garden Egg sitting in place upon the sands, as perched and poised in place as any young aristocrat would be.

English Country Garden Egg
Rich, verdant green is the underlying hue that covers this egg, as perfect and even over the surface as a carefully trimmed lawn. But that luscious viridian is overshadowed by the riotous colours, that, while they draw the eye, remain contained within their own perfect borders, as if creating a walkway for the eye to wander around. Sweet rosy-pinks, musky scarlets, sharp jasmines and sour laburnam-yellows shift into one another, no one in particular acheiving dominance over the rest, neat and precise.

Hannah blinks as Dhiammarath's first egg is layed. "Oooh, love. It's perfect." She steps a bit closer to the soft and still wet egg. "Very pretty. A very good first egg." Stepping back again, to let her lifemate work, she tries to find a comfortable position. Brother. She needs a chair.

Dhiammarath whuffles the new arival and slowly traces out in a circle from it, her tail draging a perfect line around the egg as she creates a trench avoiding the back most corner of the sands. Those have been prepared for a later purpose.

Dhiammarath senses that Hannah swoons in that violet that swirls through her mind. Words aren't needed as she just seeps in her love for you.

Dhiammarath looks up at Hannah, then casts a long look at the galleries, as if trying to pick out spacific faces, or perhaps characteristics, like cloathing. She shifts so her next actions are a little more difficult to observe from the galleries, a quiet cold shoulder to those who dared offend her.

"I should have brought a chair," is muttered from the goldrider, but soon her attention is taken from her feet and back to the new egg. "Your first baby. This little one is special. I wonder if this one will be the first to hatch.." Sensing her lifemate's change in mood, she too lifts her face up to the galleries. "There'd better be a lot of green-clad bodies up there. But love, they did send that wonderful basket." Only the beginning.

Dhiammarath aquieces and after the arrival of the first's first sibling, a lacy frilly little egg wafting like cheap perfume. She condescends to uncoil herself, still partially blocking the view of those on the sands, but not nearly so obstructive. [Lace and Old Perfume (NPC)]

Dhiammarath seems to glow, almost sensually, opalescent eyes whirling faster as she starts to sway a little in time to unheard music. Her dance continues, and you can almost hear the beat of the drums, the droning of the strings, and the haunting melody of a horn. Pale-gold hide ripples almost gracefully before delicately laying the Exotic Spices of India Egg into it's special trench in the sands.

Exotic Spices of India Egg
A rainbow of multicolored splendor enfolds this egg, bright hues of every imaginable color sweeping across its seemingly bejeweled surface. Tracings of gold separate the colors, like golden jewelry on a silk-clad dancer. A faint, spicy aroma hangs close about it, the odors of saffron, cardamom, turmeric and other exotics tickling your nose. Most curious of all, if you happen to be standing close to the egg you can almost hear music emanating from it, almost catch the soft, rhythmic jingle of an unseen dancer's ankle bells as she moves. If you close your eyes, you can almost imagine yourself in India, watching a temple dancer sway in time to the plucking of a sitar's strings and the beat of a drum as the smell of burning incense fills the air.

Hannah squeals softly, "Oooh, love!" Again, she hops closer, being careful to keep much of herself behind the gold and away from the many, many eyes of the galleries. "It's beautiful." Pride shows in her face when she turns to her pale lifemate and smiles crookedly. "You're doing wonderfully."

Dhiammarath doesn't respond outwardly, busy readying the next trench, the next line in the circle for it's intended recipient. The new pattern cutting the old in an odd symetry.

Hannah smiles at the pattern her lifemate is making in the sands. "Creative, love. Yes, you are correct. All of them will be beautiful, but not all will think so."

Dhiammarath finishes the newest line with a thoughtful wisk of her tail, far away so as not to disturb the rest of the pattern. Again that pause, again the waiting, patience being the virtue by which all others are governed.

Dhiammarath shifts daintily to the side, settling to the sands as white-gold flanks tremor; her efforts, as shown by her movement aside, are rewarded by a splash of cream-flecked pastry. 375 degrees, a few minutes, and voila! - olfactory bliss: Bakery Fragrance Egg.

Tynabith walks out onto the sands.

Dhiammarath breaths a long sigh either of relief or simply savoring the newest arival as she noses it into it's appointed position in the Grand Scheme of Things. She noses a good foundation of black sand around Bakery egg, like stoking coals, so it will bake evenly, before moving on.

Bakery Fragrance Egg
Warmth, unrequited were it not for the baking heat of the Sands, exudes with the lightest fragrance of crisp, crumbling, sugar-scented pastries, mingled molasses and frosted chocolate blurring into a plethora of crisscrossing cinnamon-sprinkled stripes from apex to nadir of the ovoid. Walnut overtly blends into the nutmeg-imbued mix, its addition spurring on the bittersweet fragrance of coffee; perversely, near invisible touches of frothy cream mute the entirety of this egg's too-rich aromatic appearance with flecks of off-white, topped with a scant, scentless dash of rainbow'd sprinkles.

Hannah turns when she sees Tynabith enter the sands, "Look, love, Tynabith is here. Just in time to watch the clutching." Moving closer to the newest egg, she turns her attention away from the bronze and to the new arrival. "Looks scrumptious. Such pretty colors are your eggs."

Dhiammarath croons happily as her mate enters in time to see the arival of most of their progeny. Claws once more trace concentric circles that intercept the paths of the those belonging to the other eggs. First a bitter, dark oily egg makes it's rather unexpected arival, what do you expect from codliver oil? But it too is quickly burried, much to the relief of most children. [Cod Liver Oil (NPC)]

Dhiammarath pale haunches gleam with exertion as she tenses the muscles in her haunches, pushing with as much energy as she can muster to release yet another egg from her decreasing burden. Emitting a trumpet at her success, the quivering of her tired muscles reducing as she shifts away from her egg to relax, the young queen nudges her head towards her rider, wings shifting about her wearily.

Heady Incense Egg
Dusk darkened patterns swirl and twist as if smoky trellises upon inclined edges of richly whorled red — touched as if embroidered, like heavy brocade. Deep bronze salutes dusky shades, floating higher upon egg's shell to twist and mingle with rich designs, gaining altitude as colour pales, tracing oblique messages into oblivion by the almost pointy top ridge of the egg's solid form. Intangible trails sink deeper still, buried beneath regal ornamentation marbled in the royal purple that adds lustre to the red that pervades background about all edges.

Hannah wrinkles her nose at the oily egg, "Um.. Nice, dear." That one isn't her favorite, but still, it did come from her lifemate. Ooh, but next (Heady Incense Egg) one is much nicer. "I like that one."

Dhiammarath's pattern is less energetic, but she does not slow. All must be completed in the Great Patern as planned. She twists slightly, galleries forgotten in favor of Purpose. Rest will wait when the job is done. The newest is given a light dusting of sand for protection it's pattern closely linked to it's pungent neighbor.

Tynabith hovers close to Dhiammarath, trying to see this process of laying his children. Crooning to her, he keeps close tabs on where each egg is buried. That one is oily, that one is sweet smelling..

Dhiammarath steps back a moment, almost into her reserved corner, and hastily shifts direction, not yet. Not there. That has a purpose as well, one that must not be broached too soon. Instead she reforms the part of the pattern she smudged with her hasty moves. Such must be avoided in the future. Tynabith is given a reasuring croon.

Dhiammarath rumbles with disdain as yet another egg moves its way to the warmth that beholds the hatching sands. Pale hide ripples as sinew and bone shift and twist to clutch the egg while uttering a cry of rejoice as the dewy softness of her egg world for the first time. Fruit of the Loom egg has arrived, resoundingly to say the least. Quite the pick of the bunch.

Fruit of the Loom Egg
It's unordinary… cascading of colors vibrant in so many ways, interlacing yet casual at the same time. Melon melts into berry's bunch, rippling with serenity as indigos bounce and wander away, fallen from the whole. Old ivory spills, filling in the fissures with their stickiness left unwiped. Yet beneath this masquerade is rather homely, etiolated and undefiled save for the loom of fruity hue that intensifies it's base of inelegance.

Hannah keeps back, shifting her feet from side to side. "Lovely, dear. Just lovely." Ooh, a new egg! "You have the brightest colors," except for that oily one, "on your eggshells, Dhiammarath. Very nice." Hmm. "That one's kind of big. Wonder how many will bet that it's a brown or bronze?"

Dhiammarath nudges Hannah almost with amusement, as if half chiding her for the expectations of anything so /obvious/. Herself convinced that nothing about this clutch will be so simple. Barely does she have time to finish when another arives close on it's heels, a tangy green sweeping across it's plump surface like a lime rolled out of the previous bunch to stand alone. [Lime Egg (NPC)]

Hannah is nudged and blushes a little, "You're right, of course. Ah, but still. It's awfully large." The egg trenches her lifemate makes are quickly filling up with large goey eggs. In the spirit of the clutching, even her firelizard had laid a batch of eggs, but those were up in the weyr and not quite so beautiful as /these/.

Dhiammarath circles the clutch as the growing number of eggs merits a widening of the pattern. These will be no closely bunched group, but an odd sort of garden to be explored. A particularly deep trench is made in preparation as time marches on relentlessly.

Dhiammarath almost shivers as her next egg makes its appearance, rolling once on its long side before coming to a halt in the sands. Biting Autumn Morning Egg looks almost cold among the other eggs, and you might need mittens if you're around it too long.

Biting Autumn Morning Egg
Russet, auburn and darkly shaded orange adorns the surface of this egg, dappled as leaves discarded from trees are as they lie upon the ground, the edges of their shapes so crisp they might almost crunch if one were to touch them. Soft grey tendrils wrap around the egg, their source unseen, perhaps from somewhere under the layers of dappled autumnal colours, and dominate the ovoid's surface with its tantalisingly smoky hue. Along the edges of those leaves, icey white is sprinkled upon them, chilling the egg to a biting cold so out of place on the burning sands, and stings the senses. Combining with the just-detectable smokiness, it forms a uniquely seasonal combination.

Hours pass as the galleries crowd comes and go, as clutchings take a while to happen. Hannah's pale hair sticks to her forehead and she looks a little less fresh than when she started. That doesn't stop the her happiness when the next egg is laid. "Ooh. Nice love." Tynabith is watched while he hovers as close to the gold as he can without smudging her 'garden'. He doesn't think she'd take kindly to that.

Dhiammarath pauses a moment over the somewhat frosty egg, and tucks the hot black sands more tightly about it, as if in a vain attempt to keep it warm. Alas, this is most unlikely! But Tynabith is given a long look and a croon as if she is trying to some how fit him into this pattern even as she crafts it.

Dhiammarath prepares the next furrow for it's offering. Destiny weaving it's patter inexhonorably onward, mysterious and predictable in an age old paradox. She puts her self somewhat between the new and the old and then…

Dhiammarath rumbles as she feels yet another egg approaching its time to exit. Golden tail snaps impatiently as her own stomach mimics her vocal rumble. Suddenly, it's time, and Dhiammarath lifts her tail elegantly, only to snap it down a moment later with an irritated snort. Another try is given, much with the same response, though this third time, she hunkers her great bulk down with determination. Clamping her wings tightly against her, and pushing with all her might, she finally extracts the egg from her body. Mass discomfort floods her features, and a look of stinging pain enters her giant, swirling orbs. She hops around from foot to foot, trying to stop the burning, and only succeeds in flinging sand about her. Finally the burning ceases, but Dhiammarath doesn't look to happy about laying any other jalapenos.

OO! So Hot n' Spicy Egg
If glanced at from a certain angle, this egg appears to be a rich, plant-like green, though terribly boring. If one were to walk a little further about this roundish egg, they'd find it was not so boring, but interesting, and strangely appetizing. From this view, the same dark green makes a thick ring around the center, while lighter shades mingle together inside the circle. There seems to be a basic structure of light green through the middle, connecting the sides together. An even lighter green, to the point that it looks washed out, forms tiny balls of a sort, dotting the inside connectors. A strange appearance, yet it carries the connotation of heat, yet flavor, and one can almost smell the tantalizing scent of a fiery jalapeno.

Hannah winces at that brash egg. "Love?" is called out with a tinge of worry, "Are you okay?" Weyrwoman steps closer to the newly laid egg, her eyes sweeping it's goey visage before attention is given to the queen. "That looked like it hurt." A nasty little egg.

You think to Dhiammarath, » Love? That looked particularly stinging.. «

Dhiammarath stares at the mess she made for a long moment and begins to rectify the gouges in her lovely garden as a rapid set of 3 insist on making their entrance. The first echoing the spice of the other newly laid OO! So Hot n' Spicy Egg. Kimchi anyone? The second is more soothingly mellow only slightly tangy Soy sauce, the third barely seems there, the simple plain white of steamed rice. Hannah is given a gentle croon. [Kimchi (NPC); Soy Sauce (NPC); Steamed Rice (NPC)]

Dhiammarath thinks to you, « It /stang/ It is good it is now on the sands, rather than within. I hope the interior is as refined as the exterior is raucous. »

Dhiammarath sighs and once more rectifies the marks maring her precious pattern. Hopefully there will be no such… pungent, disturbances. A faint tremor shifts through the pale, pale body. Her efforts have slowed a fraction as the great gold tires once more.

Dhiammarath shifts once more, elegant golden haunches demurely touching the black sands where there seems to be a hollow all ready and waiting to receive what she has to offer. As the riotous mixture of fruitiness and musk hits the sands, one might expect a clamor to see Feeding Time At The Zoo Egg by the eager spectators, but no pushing is necessary since the pale mother allows all to see before being covered by the sands.

Feeding Time At The Zoo Egg
A riotious mash of colour, pounded this way and that, mingles haphazardly over the ovoid surface, piled one on top of the other in a multitude of layers. Creamy banana is pressed into the rich tangy mango, that spreads outwards in sluggish lines before it encroaches on the sharp apple-green that adorns the squat end of the egg, buried underneath the raw flesh-toned striations that dominate all the vivid colours with its powerfully rancid appearance. Overlaid all of it is the quite musky overtones of a soft grey-brown, faintly coarse and iridescent when it catches the light in just the right way.

Dhiammarath senses that Hannah is in agreement, "I hope so too. The inside had better be good to tolerate that outside!"

Hannah smiles at the rapid sucession of a batch of eggs. "You're doing so well. Some of them really look very good. Not all," namely the tangy one and the oily one. Tynabith croons at the gold's disturbance but settles down again when she begins rebuilding her design.

Dhiammarath rumbles softly at Hannah, the drain on her system starting to tell as the pale gold tinges vaguely red. She does not move far, the next prepared furrow hollowed only a short distance away.

Dhiammarath crouches, concentrating intensely. Meticulous effort pays off in the form of a blob of perfection. Sun-warmed Olive Oil With Za'atar Egg arrives on the sands warm with well baked goodness. The integrally delightful thing settles comfortably into a small depression, built by the protective mother-queen to house this perfect ovoid. Its golden mother momentarily pauses to enjoy what she has produced before going back to the task at hand and moving down a bit to the next little trench.
Sun-warmed Olive Oil With Za'atar Egg
Decadent middle-eastern gold sweeps languidly over the deeply warm, crust-brown base of this egg. Smooth and glistening as a late afternoon summer sunbeam it floats down. Lazy cartloads of faded and chipped forest green trundle along their incomprehensible paths. High-gloss tarnished yellow oozes down the sides from the lovely puddle that glazes the top. Soft clouds of musty spice waft over the mid-section and launch speckles of sandy brown and dark orange to the extremities.

Dhiammarath drags the furrows into existance, urgency increasing as the time between the eggs themselves decrease. No relief for the weary… not yet at least. Yet the sooner a task is finished, the sooner a worker might rest.

Dhiammarath shivers - she's got the urge! - and glances over to her lifemate in anticipation, her pale moonlit face glowing with moistness from the sands. She shuffles toward an unused patch of the black sands, scooping up a small amount to create a nice trench. She turns to deposit Herbal Essences Egg into the hole with dramatic flair, and then uses the tip of her muzzle to touch it in protective curiosity. Ooooh yes!

Herbal Essences Egg
Aqueous honey and umber pearls the surface of this grand egg, urging waves of moist amber that crimp the shell with an ethereal glow. Though the preponderance of the shape is the gentle honey hue, stars of aquamarine and pine-needle-green ruffle small circles here and there, following a common line of greenness that melts into both the sharp apex and cupped bottom of the egg. Darkness claims no dominance in this wash of platinum; for the egg simply ricochets light and radiates charm.

Hannah watches as the eggs just seem to come one on top of another. "Wow! Ooh, look at that goldish colored one. Is that, perchance…?" is asked of her lifemate, who surely would give some indication.

Dhiammarath snorts with disdain and disagreement. She moves on after giving the newest arival only a cursory covering. The next arival comes with very little fuss and only a faint crackle of grey and flicker of flame, like the last embers of a campfire smoldering. [Smokey Camp Fire (NPC)]

"Oh. Hmm. Maybe it's green.. or brown.. or blue.. or bronze." Hannah eyes the goldish one and then moves on to look at the newer ones. "Oh, that one is pretty." She seems to be a broken record in her comments, but still, they are sincere enough.

Dhiammarath short precise moves carve a place out of the black sands as the considerably lightened queen almost slithers along the sands to the next aloted spot. She doesn't notice the broken record, only the sincerity, unfortunately the next one might break that record more.

Dhiammarath whiffs at the air, her glittering eyes striating with reddened hues that are an indication of her agitation. Shuffling towards an unused patch of blackness, the lady paws at the ground for a few moments, turning, her tail gracefully sweeping the sand around her. Then, after a few arduous contractions, the Sour Milk Egg finally appears. Pale queen nudges egg away with her muzzle and the deliverance is speculatively eyed. It's… different.

Sour Milk Egg
A small lump of off-white; this egg appears to have been the ill-favored outcome of a child with clay in her fingers, molded and shaped into a mere elliptical ovoid that sits uninspiringly off somewhere, tucked obscurely in the general clutch. Bubbles of pallid cream blot the surface with uncouth shapelessness, blobs thicker in sections and undeniably yellowed in other places. Whilst a blob of saffron, or even old ivory, seems normal to rise now and again, the most unmistakable abhorrence is squarely centered on the very crown of the egg - a lovely patch of speckled olive green.

"Dhiammarath, you sure are laying some doozies. That one is quite.. pungent. Gross looking." Suddenly something dawns on her, "Oh, love. You don't think these gross ones are a product of any lingering illnesses?" All of these will /hatch/ right? This new worry occupies the goldrider's thoughts while she moves closer — making sure not to damage the design — to glance at the nasty looking ones.

Dhiammarath turns towards Hannah, pausing in her sand sculpture, and her rumble seems almost a laugh. Such folly, of /course/ they would all hatch. They were just… different.

Dhiammarath thinks to you, « Dearest, I told you each had a purpose, and not all would be thought of as beautiful. Do not fear. »

Dhiammarath hunches near by and lays the Sour one's oposite. Pure, fluffy white crisped with just the faintest traces of brown. The little thing seems nothing more substantial than a roasting marshmellow. [Roasted Marshmellow (NPC)]

You think to Dhiammarath, » Okay. But it is hard, love, when each day I still worry about your health. «

Hannah nibbles her lip and nods at her lifemate, looking a little chastised. "Yes.. Hmm.. All of them are certainly unique."

Dhiammarath croons a reasurance to her rider before moving to one of the few unclaimed bits of sands left. When she's done there may be just enough room to walk around the outside of the great design, for human and dragon alike.

Dhiammarath rumbles softly, the deep throaty sound emanating from her sinewy gold throat. Tired, she is, ready for a lengthy nap among the hot sands of the Grounds. Honey-colored jaws stretch open in a wide dragon-yawn, her eyes whirling slower, the vortex of green-blues shifting in lazy swirls. Even the end of her amber-colored tail moves with less momentum. She needs to perk up a bit… there's egg laying to be done! Waiter, I need a cup of that wonderful stimulant. As if on cue, the Mornin' Cup o'Klah Egg appears, to be set delicately upon the sandy table by it's pale golden mother.

Mornin' Cup o'Klah Egg
Swirls of mocha-infused darkness slowly meander their way along this eggs curvaceous lines, wisps of creamy white traveling across the surface in lazy curls. The java-like headiness stimulates your senses, giving you a slightly buzz-like feeling as you savor the aroma that tickles your nose and taste buds. Sprinkled upon the frothy foam cap are specks of cinnamon-brown, adding a rich sienna spiciness to the chocolaty-coffee scent. Topping off the espresso creation are curls of dark-chocolate color, completing this welcoming cup of morning addiction, always good to the last drop!

Hannah is becoming rather tired herself, those pale strands of hair beginning to stick to her cheeks and neck. Lifting her two heavy braids, she fans herself. "Hmm. Lovely." Her eyes seem to gaze out at the vast area now full of eggs and she daydreams a bit, as each egg is not greeted with nearly so much energy as before, when both queen and rider were fresh.

Dhiammarath shifts only slightly to one side, almost eagerly. A cue she might be finishing soon? Who knows? Perhaps Dhiammarath, perhaps not even she knows exactly. But the furrow is dug waiting it's new reciptient.

Dhiammarath shifts to one side, her movements becoming a tad quicker with this oncoming egg, almost as though desperate to rid her body of it. In preparation, her posture contorts in /just/ the sort of way to make it seem as if, perhaps, this egg has overstayed its welcome within her. She gives a final, reverberating bellow to announce its arrival, even as she proceeds to expel it from her very being. Heralding the arrival of the egg on the heated sands is a strangly squishy sound that ends in a loud *plop*. Pern, meet the Fruit Gone Rancid Egg, and do cover your noses.

Fruit Gone Rancid Egg
A darling wretch of an egg, this one's coloration and patterning gives the effect of dents and bulges on the shell, as though it has been beaten to the point of disfiguration. Lime predominates, as only the brightest of hues would do! Noxious yellow, violet, and magenta battle violently from the center outwards to each end. But muddy smoke coils upward throughout, entwining itself among the striking colors in such a way as to offer a subtle rotting appearance, as if each of those drastically attention-commanding shades has been wasting away. Other eggs might be ashamed to be so foul, but not this one! Proudly does it wear its design, bright and bold in the most eye-aching of ways.

"Ewwww.." Hannah is pulled from her reverie by the stench emanating from the gold's direction. "Dhia.. did you..?" How do you ask delicately a question like that? However, she notices it's that putrid looking egg that's causing the stench. "What is wrong with /that/ one?"

Dhiammarath just seems to stare at the latest egg, as if starting to wonder about some of them herself, but then her attention is drawn back to that lone, almost forgotten corner of the sands. so carefully prepared, apart from the rest of the pattern, yet some how an intrinsic part of it, and she heads there. Hannah's question saved for later, or perhaps taken as retorical.

Dhiammarath puts her bulk between her actions and the audience, even the gaze of her mate as she deposits the rich treasures in their allotted places, safe, and out of easy access from the rest of the clutch. Hissing slightly with effort, two eggs arrive in rapid succession, diametrically opposed, light and dark, yet both treasures are of equal value… the last gleaming with the subtle brilliance of additional promise.

Heavenly Frankinsence Egg
Silver drifts in smoky tendrils across the surface of this egg, warping the edges or perhaps only the perceptions of the edges. Mirage shimmers with muted mystery, permeating, potent and persistent, a cloak of rich, alluring illusion, an image of perfection, though seemingly lacking substance. Yet under the shifting pattern is something darker… more substantial, taunting hues and fragrances just beyond definition.

Dhiammarath moves the large golden egg slightly apart from it's twin, but not too far, as these are nearly a mated pair. A queen and her consort has been laid.

Somber Myrrh Egg
Molten bronze lurks across the surface of this subdued sentinel, like a bitter perfume. Its oil slick surface gleams as if a light had been placed with in it, drawing out lines of burnished gold, molten and shifting. Portents hang heavily over it, like an ancient piece of amber. Yet even the darkest aspect of the shell burns from within, as if slowly pulling apart the oppressive weight of the lingering, defiant, overpowering essence of over concentration, diluting it to simple, omnipresent potency.

Hannah is still to busy caught up in the stench of the rancid egg to notice to two perfectly colored eggs just laid. "Ewww.." she murmurs to herself, forcing her feet to move away from that egg. Moving down the line — as she has done the entire time — she inspects the newest arrivals. "Now, these, love are nice." She spots a familiar color. "Is that one..?"

Dhiammarath settles into the black sands at last finished, curling around that back corner like a sentinel goddess. Heavenly Frankincense Egg left to it's own devices as consort briefly, while Somber Myrrh Egg is most carfully entrenched in the rich black sands. the single bright splash of amber on dhiammarath's tail blocks Hannah's progress almost appologettically. Letting her veiw the somber golden glory, but not approach closer.

Dhiammarath thinks to you, « Yes, love, yes it is… but some treasures must be guarded at all costs. *light amber reluctance.* MIght I ask your help in this matter. The treasure must be especially guarded. »

Dhiammarath senses that Hannah is in awe. "Then it is a gold egg?" A tinge of hurt threads through her delicate sense of self. "You won't let even me near it? Of course, I will help you guard this one. No one shall see or touch it. For nothing shall mar it's shell!"

Hannah gasps, "A gold!" She is blocked from the egg, but still she looks up on it. However she turns to the spectators in the galleries and calls out in a wavery voice — she's never been fond of crowds. "Twenty-three eggs have been lain and one of them is gold!" Her attention then turns from the galleries and to her lifemate. She climbs upon that golden tail, finally glad to be off the hot sands and allowed to relax. "It's beautiful. They both are."

Tierza snugs Hannah! Hannah peeks up at you through her lashes, then launches herself at you to give you a tight *squooshie*!

Dhiammarath reluctantly moves her tail out of the way and permits Hannah to approach the golden shell of Myrrh. One finnal glance is cast at the galleries, half distrustful, half simply warry before she settles the emense head back to the sands, and her guard duty.

Hannah is respectful of her lifemate's wishes and doesn't get too close. However, she's more content to sit upon her queen's tail, gazing upon the vista of Dhiammarath's garden. "You are very creative. You have made a story of your eggs. Beautiful."'

Dhiammarath rumbles with tired content and drifts off into a light sleep, for now. But the outermost lid of one eye remains open, never doubt she would wake at the slightest intrusion.

You think to Dhiammarath, » I am too. Let's rest. «

Dhiammarath thinks to you, « go, go to your bed and sleep. I will stay here. You need your rest and the sands are too hot for humans to be comfortable. »

Hannah curls up on Dhiammarath's back, at the place where her wings meet, and closes her eyes. She too is tired and she didn't do any of the work. Tynabith joins the little group — careful of the garden — to curl up next to the gold, but not too close to the gold egg. /That/ is a prize reserved only for the queen.

You think to Dhiammarath, » I will only nap here. I don't want to leave just yet… «

You sense Dhiammarath folds you in rich bearfur and acknowledges wordlessly before drifting off completely herself.

<end of clutching>