Amani and Zymuraith, M'noq and Ravaith


Zymuraith takes to the Sands in the cool of an autumn dawn.


It is dawn of the seventh day of the third month of the fourteenth turn of the 12th pass.


Hatching Sands, Southern Weyr

OOC Date 09 Jun 2018 06:00


amani_default.jpg m-noq_default.jpg
zymuraith_default.jpg ravaith_default.jpg

"She timed it perfectly. Which is what she intended all along, of course."


Hatching Sands

The Sands are surprisingly soft to the feet and to the eyes: rich grains of gold commingle with the ground basalt-black that mark the shores of Azov's Sea. The whorls of lighter color pattern into the sands, larger-grained and often settling at the top, as golden driftwood against dark shores. … but the moaning from above sounds like the chorus of the damned, lessening the natural beauty here below.

It's a quiet morning, just before sunrise, and pleasantly cool, meaning that Amani is sleeping easily for once. This, of course, means that Zymuraith deems it the perfect time to rise and shine…and make her way to the Sands. If she weren't gravid, the queen would probably have accomplished this without waking anyone. But she opts to gradually infiltrate dragon minds both wakeful and slumbering with the cheerful, warming crackle of her mental bonfire, black and white tents bedecked in festive crimson and twinkling fairly lights as sweet caramel and cider spice fill the crisp autumn air alongside the excited rustling of leaves and whispering of eager voices. « It is time! » she says, her voice a secretive near-hush. Amani stirs at this and immediately pulls herself out of bed, hastily throwing on a skirt, shirt, and cloak to follow her lifemate down to the Sands, yawning much of the way. "Of course you would," she mutters as she makes her way in, moving over to one side to observe exactly how her queen means to handle things.

Why is it dragons always pick the most inconvenient times to do things? Flights, hatchings, clutchings… especially clutchings. Ravaith wakes at the sound of Zymuraith's mindvoice, in only the way an expectant father does. M'noq is roused in the semidark with a rather less gentle tone, and he arrives not long after Amani. He is dressed, at least, but he is sporting a rather impressive case of bed-head. "Good morning," he says to the junior weyrwoman. "Nice morning for it, isn't it?" His smile is a little wry, though there's a distinct tone of excitement in his voice.

A grin spreads over Amani's face upon seeing M'noq, because let's be honest, bedhead is entertaining for a few reasons. A endearing, on some. "She timed it perfectly," she agrees drowsily, giving the brownrider a quick hug before trying in vain to pat down some of his hair. "Which is what she intended all along, of course." No one had better suggest it wasn't as simple as that, of course. The goldrider watches intently now as Zymuraith wanders her hefty form around the Sands in a very calculated circle, coming right to the center of the space…and then measuring out seven strides to the west, stopping, and beginning to scoop out some little niches. The digging takes no time at all…and she wastes none in filling them!

See No Evil Egg
Ringlets surround this egg in different colors: blue, white, a light blue, and finally a large round black spot in the middle that stands out against the hatching ground sands like a soul sucking pit. It seems to watch the observer any way the egg is rotated, keeping a look out for what is out there: all the evils of Pern to ward against. Gaze too hard into the abyss, and it will look back at you…and judge you.

Flying Too High Egg
The mottled, leaden surface of this small egg appears fletched, as if a hundred tiny feathers have been laid out in perfect formation and mirrored into the uneven shell. Not nearly so eye-catching as many of its siblings, there's nonetheless something about it; something about the way those wings - for surely they must be wings! - splay; something about the sense of youth and hope, shell ready to be cast aside when the moment comes.

Women's Rites Egg
There's something about the surface of this narrow, pointed egg, something that seems to suggest imagery and patterns, though surely there are only random markings here upon this pale, off-white shell. Towards the narrow tip, there's the flicker of movement, as if a tongue; lower, about the fuller curve, there's a more watercoloured wash hinting at red or perhaps the purest of milky whites. Somehow, too, there's a sense of femininity to this egg: women's magic, women's secrets.

Worn for Luck Egg
Dark and glossy, there's something lean and smooth about this egg to look at it, though its shell is just as uneven as any to the touch. Its narrower tip is paler than the rest of it, curved to a very touchable kind of tip and significantly smoother than the rest: as if hundreds of hands have rubbed it for luck, and in the process, worn it away.

Cross My Path Egg
Broader than its height as it nestles comfortably in the cushioning sands, this egg's warm roundness seems to ooze sleepy contentment. But how can an egg be so black? Sleek and glossy and dark as a Southern night, it's marked only by a few paler hints - a curve of claws here, a streak of whisker there - and a pair of slanting gems of luminous green, like half-open eyes.

Triskaidekaphobia Anonymous Egg
Ten jagged spires of threatening ebon visually arrest a tricolor sky, clear doom writ in the very fundament of this broad, squat egg. Five streamers of ichor green wind around the spires, captured in eight infinity knots of varying elaborate industry. Deaths breath creeps downward from the top, pooling into seven uneasy grey splotches; six of them are anointed with portentous scarlet. Smooth and still, this one lies in waiting, because no matter how you add it up, this is a triskaidekaphobe's nightmare.

M'noq gives Amani an amused grin. "I suppose her timing could have been worse, if it was only sleep she interrupted." He lets her try to smooth down his sleep-tousled hair for only a moment or two before waving her off. "Could have been the heat of the day, too. This is probably the most pleasant time of day she could have picked." Ravaith shuffles over to a spot near the queen yet not encroaching in her space. He gives a greeting rummble in her direction, then puffs himself out, extending his wings, bugling a greeting to the eggs as they make their entrance into the world.

"Yeah. It's not as though we weren't getting up soon anyway…" Amani starts, and then the first egg comes and she finds herself transfixed. "Oh, Faranth. Look, M'noq!" Even if he already is looking, she can't help it, and clutches at his arm. They're her lifemate's children. Zymuraith and Ravaith's babies! And something about that simple truth makes her eyes go over-bright with welling tears. Zymuriath is quite deliberate about how she places the new arrivals, crooning her response to Ravaith even as she arranges them in a neatly-space arc, a curving line of six. Then she moves along to make some more niches, following the same curve as the others. Is she making a circle?

Mushu's Lucky Egg
It's purple! Why does it look so spindly? Oh, wait its not, it just looks that way. This egg is barred with vertical lines that seem to capture a creature of purple behind them if one was so fanciful as to look upon blotches of color on a shell and come up with such an idea. Its persistent, though, something that once seen cannot be easily driven away. Up close, the detail is unique, with the impression of wiry hair off spring legs and the faintest lines to suggest antenna. Those that dare to rub it will find the shell smooth as glass, without so much as bump.

Five Fingers Against the Eye Egg
Though large and immensely steady-seeming, this egg is quite simple at first glance, the shell is enrobed in gently blended shades of blue - cobalt mingling with ocean's azure and autumnal sky. But come closer! Something shimmers with a sense of the mystical to draw the eye - subtle streaks of silver and amber, four in total wrapping round about, almost like the fingers of a hand curling protectively around the precious life within.

Bane of the Supernatural Egg
Cold and heavy lies this egg upon the Sands, the muted shine of hammered metal alternating in rough-edged warp and weft with subtle hues of ruddy rust and darkened tarnish. Will a finger's touch against the smooth, cool density of this shell serve to settle…or repel?

"True enough," M'noq agrees, to the notion they would be getting up soon. "But somehow those last few moments of sleep are the sweetest," he adds, a bit wistful for the early waking. He isn't being entirely serious, though, as his attention gets called over to the newly appearing eggs, Amani tugging on his arm. "Oh. They are beautiful, aren't they?" Well, all dragon eggs are beautiful in their own way, aren't they? But somehow the way Amani puts it makes his chest tighten a little bit. "She does seem to have a precise plan, doesn't she? These babies… with her as the mother and Ravaith as the sire, they're all going to be smart. They'll be planners, I'm sure." Better warn the Weyrlingmaster. Once Zymuraith has laid out her plan for where the eggs will go, Raviath will assist, digging and sending sand flying, making sure that the place is set perfectly for each one.

Amani isn't really able to find words at the moment, nodding agreement to M'noq's sentiments and just keeping hold of his arm as she watches their dragons working together now. "The Weyr's going to have its hands full," she manages with a thick chuckle in the end. "They're all so different… Bright and dark, inviting and then not so much." And a few can't seem to decide themselves either way! Zymuraith hums a bit at Ravaith for his help; birthing is starting to tire her, though it'll be some time before she admits it. She'll readily make use of what her mate has put in place, continuing the arc and arranging them just so in what does indeed appear to be a circle.

The Pharaoh's Watcher Egg
Bands of lapis lazuli, rich carnelian, shimmering white, jade green, and gleaming gold embrace this majestic egg in an opulence befitting ancient royalty. Brush strokes of black overlay gem tones in bold curves - a large black circle embrace by two curves joined in a long tail, another stroke following the lines above in parallel. Yet another falls away below the circle like the short trail of an inky tear, and one more slants away at an angle, trailing off into a small, tight curl. Is it simple striation…or an eye that observes all, vigilant over its brothers and sisters and weighing those who would wander near?

Medal of Everlasting Life Egg
Pitch black coats the shell of this egg in all points but one, where it fades into a sickly, glowing green. Tendrils of black slip through the green to form a heart and a skull, if one looking at it right.The promise of eternal life seems to sit impregnated in the curves of the heart, but the lines of the skull seem to imply that this promise comes with a caveat, something ominous and deadly.

Careful What You Wish For Egg
Desiccated ashen grey creeps over to encompass the shell of this emaciated looking egg. Fine hatching of mud brown mixed with charcoal clumps sprout obscenely in a random array like tufts of long dead hair. Subtle shadows play tricks with the eyes of those unfortunate enough to behold this shrunken thing, the shape of three skeletal digits grasping menacingly at the watcher, inviting them to take a chance.

M'noq watches as each of the eggs are revealed, light and dark, encouraging and foreboding. "I'm sure all of the dragons within will prove to be quite different from one another, as well," he says. Ravaith hums back to Zymuraith in response, and gives her an encouraging nuzzle. He's there to dig, pile up sand, adjust the piles of sand. The dragon tilts his head to point a jeweled eye at an egg or two every so often, as if there is something particularly notable about one or another. Whatever that thing the brown clutchsire sees, though, is unlikely to be apparent to anyone else watching.

Again Amani nods, marveling at the colors banding some of the most recent eggs as well as some of the rather more…macabre variations that come along. Zymuraith directs Ravaith to complete the circle, waddling her way into the midst of it before doing her part with the next eggs.

Materials Most Macabre Egg
Putrid flesh tones ranging from sickly green to noxious yellow encapsulate this rather elongated egg. Fragile tendrils of gangrenous darkness branch up from the bottom, each bifurcation stretching them until they fade completely into the crown of waxen ivory that drips down onto the more ghastly tones below. A sharp contrast to the rest of the egg, the very tip of the egg looks almost aflame in garishly contrasting shades of orange and reds.

Fortunate Wherry Droppings Egg
This large mostly-white egg is goopy; hard to describe but it looks like a combination of sludge and liquid all molded together and somehow holding into an egg-shape. Its consistency seems to move from white to a mixture of dark greenish-black muck along the center, unpleasant to look at and yet disgustingly familiar.

Khepri's Ancient Scarab Egg
Green jasper dominates this egg, ranging in shades from deep emerald to light crystalline jade in dappled patterns upon the shell. Almost as if sunlight filters through a canopy of foliage. Brought to a tumbled shine, those greens are shaped behind delicately crafted bands of gold which sweep over and around dappled hues to both enhance and protect. One side remains dull as stone raw and freshly cut, feint outlines of ancient languages scrolled upon its surface, but age and time have worn them well beyond reading.

Ravaith circles back around with his digging and adjusting of sandpiles. Certain, precision is something the brown excels at, so to bring the deposits of eggs back around to the spot where Zymuraith began isn't so difficult. Towards the end, his digging is a little slower but no less intense, careful nudging of piles of sand here and there, making sure that everything is set just so. Watching, M'noq is amazed at how well the two work together, whether that is by plan or similar purpose.

Zymuraith starts a fresh ring within the just-completed circle, carefully picking her starting point and letting Ravaith take it from there. In the meantime, she detours to the middle and digs another pit right smack in the center. Only once that's accomplished does she come to rest at a mid-point between it and the other pits. There is apparently going to be a bit more rigorous arranging done shortly!

Werewolf's Gift Egg
Grey and black storm clouds have unleashed rains that fall on the dark forest full of shadows illuminated by flashes from the lightning of the storm that shrouds this tempestuous shell. Muddy ground encompasses the base, a footprint denting dark earth with shadow - to large too be animal and to misshapen to be human. At the top, the moon has broken open through the eye of the storm and reflects in the water that has pooled temptingly in the ominous track below. Two points of glowing red stare back at you from the deep in the forest shadows. Does this egg draw you closer…or do you run?

Ghost Light Egg
There's really no other way to describe it - this egg is glowing, or at least seems to be. White within white and touched with faintest aurum, the shell seems nigh perfect and nondescript, as unblemished an example of an egg one could ask for. But just at the corner of the eye, spectral shadow hovers, clinging to every curve…only to vanish when focused upon.

Player's Faux-Pas Egg
Out, damned spot! There's something about this egg that just seems misplaced - not quite as well-formed (it seems too broad on one side), nor as large (the smallest of the lot), nor as bright. Shadow-darkness is sliced by several slashes of murder's red from tip to base, scarlet droplets trailing over a stretch of near-black burgundy seemingly wrought in velvet. A curiosity arises from the blackness near the base, however - a bright point, a glistening globule, somehow almost clear-looking and clinging tenaciously to the dismally adumbral shell as though it might be the solution to this egg's overall haunted state.

Ravaith focuses on the arranging of sand, making sure ridges, piles, and lines are set out just so. When the gold detours to the middle of the piles, he extends his muzzle to check on her, giving her a nuzzle and a warm rumble. At the edge of the spot where the queen has dug, the brown will widen the spot on his own. He seems to have a clear view of whatever the big picture of this should be, without a lot of debate or instruction.

Ah, but Zymuraith checks Ravaith this time! Not with a nip, but with a rumbled nuzzle of her own to keep him from doing more to the bullseye pit she's made. Into that one, she carefully rolls the Ghost Light Egg, as though placing it to provide a bright anchor for all the rest. Then she moves the rest into the arc of the next circle, letting Ravaith know to continue there before filling in herself.

Stuck That Way Egg
Here sits a well-proportioned oval with a smooth, glossy, unblemished shell colored in a shade of soft cream the perfect little dragon egg. At least until you walk around to the other side. There lies a twisted visage, black lines and splotches forming into what looks eerily like a face. Black eyes are wide and round, with jagged lines above them bent into a severe furrow, while the mouth sits off-center and hugely agape. Its a ridiculous expression. Maybe the egg thought it was being very funny, but the joke is on the egg! For it is doomed to sit here with that stupid look on its eggy face FOREVER. Or at least until it hatches.

Don't Fall To Pieces Egg
Oddly spherical and even more peculiar, this egg seems to almost reflect the sky above the hatching caverns and the sands below. Better hope Zymuraith decides to cover this sand come high noon or the surface might be blinding! As polished as this shell might be at first glance, closer inspection will reveal not everything is as it seems. A smudge here. Some flecks of darker silver there. A dark wisp of a line gradual thickens and splinters until eventually the whole back half of the egg is threatening to fragment off into disaster. Or a hatching, whichever comes first.

The Devil's Fruit Egg
Dark as the darkest berry is this large and robust egg! The way that light and shadow play across hinted, bruised purple and deepest of midnight blue gives the shell the illusion of a bumpy, textured surface. Lustrous black overall, the egg is almost delicious and inviting to look at. Surely it wouldn't hurt just to harvest some of the bounty it offers?

Ravaith's direction is already pointed towards finishing out the circle, digging carefully. Somehow he's concerned about particular lines and ridges that don't seem to be part of the circle, but once completed, seem to fill the big picture out. Perhaps it looks like a map, or maybe a coastline, shoring up some of the eggs a little more that seem like they need a bit more support.

That's something Zymuraith will likely fully support once she's not so focused on just getting this done! It is almost done, right? The young queen determinedly keeps on with the circle, eminently grateful for Ravaith's help all along the way. How many more? Surely not too many; she's already looking a good deal smaller - to Amani, anyway.

Uh Oh, Not Three Egg
Stygian darkness rests across the surface of this egg, not a beam from either Timor or Belior to be seen. The pitch black expanse is broken up by a faint twinkle of a flame, dead center on the ovoid shell. A small shadow passes and the amber light travels slightly towards the left. A spark jumps further on, but before it can grow any more, the soft glow is snuffed out back into the darkness once more.

Find A Penny Pick It Up Egg
Burnished copper slides over ovoid curves, glinting in some places, dull in others, deep shadows belie impressions of engravings near worn from it's reddish brown surface. Tarnished rust and patches of matte midnight black splotch over the surface as if it were long worn by time and much handling. As if used as a lucky token or worry stone, some of it's veneer is worn smooth, some rough and near porous.

Doorway For The Devil Egg
Smooth is the veneer of this ovoid example of bad Feng Shui, smooth as glass that is, and reflective too. Every angle seems to illuminate an infinite hallway, surrounded by midnight black empty space. It's near vertigo inducing. And just as one might finally accept the reflection of an infinite hallway, one's senses may pick out the hint, the feint suggestion, of something dark and ominous emerging from that dark abyss surrounding the hall.

Ravaith focuses on digging the perfect spot for each egg, somehow knowing how each one will settle and the sort of space each one needs. Here towards the end, there is a bit more pacing, gazing at the entire project from far off, then up close, a gentle nose given to the sand around this or that egg, making sure they are all carefully set. He gives the gold as much space as she needs, while still assisting with completing this carefully laid-out vision.

It's coming to the last stretch, the inner circle nearly closed. Amani's grip on M'noq's arm has been steadily tightening with her own mental bolstering of her lifemate. "She's tired," she murmurs, seemingly half to herself. "But almost done." At least it's easy to tell with the way Zymuraith is setting them up. One more push…and then perhaps one more…

Ducky's Favorite Song Egg
Matte grey and dull brown stretch over the particularly fat landscape of this ovoid form in the sand. Grainy and rough is it's surface, interrupted by a mosaic of shadowed 'cracks' and valleys, some with a hint of life sprouting from between sun baked banks of mud. One could near imagine playing hopscotch between the cracks or singing silly nursery rhymes whilst jumping from one to the other.

The Night Avian's Bad Omen Egg
There is a predatory perfection to the shape and presence of this ovoid. Blue as dark as shades of inky black and Cobalt bleed into lapis and arctic blue. Each weaves together in a delicate and intricate pattern that seems to mimic feathers and the impression of a redoubtable beak. Orbs of aged parchment yellow sit marred by wide circles of ink, giving the impression of a set of luminous, watchful eyes that seem to follow a person around the room.

If You Look Hard Enough Egg
A field of shamrock green blankets the shell of this ovoid with lush verdant growth. Dabs of light kelly next to dark verdigris trick the eye into seeing hundred of tiny round leaves. Nestled among the greenery, a rarity just waiting to be plucked and the one to possess it will be blessed indeed, but they must find it first among the emerald multitude.

Charm of the Ayi Vodun Egg
This egg seems to be formed from heavily textured mud and clay layered and layered upon itself to form a bottom-heavy spheroid. Red and yellow ochre pigments are mixed into the earth, streaks of vibrant color on the dull umber and beige terracotta. Clusters of red speckles seem to be bubbling from under the surface, giving the shell an almost sickly appearance.

Seacrafter Take Warning Egg
The dark depths of the ocean rise in variegated blues from the base. Above the illusion of placid sea, Rukbat rises crimson over the horizon at the egg's midline. Foreboding red spreads through the sky to the filial of black spattered with white-dot constellations, a warning to all who know to listen.

Circle, Circle, Dot, Dot Egg
There's always at least one in any group. In this case, the odd man out just may be this rather tiny egg, tucked away at the edge of the clutch. Most of its shell is a soft cream of old vellum. Ridges on the egg give a texture that could almost make it appear like a crumbled and discarded scrap. Lingering in the margins of the ovoid are faint traces of nearly erased graphite taking the form of childlike doodles of trundlebugs and vtols each imprisoned and pinned under a brighter red circle.

M'noq pats Amani's arm gently in reassurance, not seeming to mind if the goldrider is leaving a hand-shaped bruise on his arm. "She'll make it," he assures her. "She's strong." Of course, he knows Amani already knows that, but some things are important to say out loud. In the pause before this last push, Ravaith sits back on his haunches and gazes out into the galleries, perhaps looking here or there in particular, seeming to seek out certain individuals there. It lasts only for a moment, though, and he is back to assisting the gold and drawing lines in the sand.

Time to finish this thing! With one last croon of thanks to her mate, Zymuraith sets in place the last of the circle - two concentric rings and a guiding light in the midst. "She is," Amani affirms, smiling up at M'noq before returning her attention to her lifemate…and her final push of the clutch.

In Bocca al Lupo Egg
The surface of this beast-of-an-egg's shell is fibrously-textured and mahogany-stained, a windswept coat of fur that radiates heat even on the scorching Sands. In the middle is a dark void is surrounded by streaks of garish white and two beady yellow dots hanging above it. Like a great maw about to strike, it isn't exactly the most friendly thing to stand near.

Fukuryuu Dragon Puppy Egg
A goldendoodle wrought in eye-pleasing peaches and creams, this egg stands tall and proud and, if ever Zymuraith sees fit to lay it upon one side, //long. There is a cartoonish sense of carefree script to the heathered shell, a childish glee paired with canid loyalty. Even from afar, this egg is a convival mishmash of the dawn sky and all that is good in the world, even for those not looking for such. Do not submerge this fuzzy legend in water, for only ill-luck lies within the aquatic; no, keep to the skies, and never give up, and luck will find you.//

The Terminally Dismembered Fuzzy Icon of Fate Egg
This is terrible, just terrible, this egg: oh, anxiously fuzzy it is — if an egg had hands, which it doesn't, it would wring them, but that would be silly, sillier still than the horrific sense of dismemberment and removal from the whole that the crimson top gives, with hints of white bone and grey ligament in the center. There is certain resemblance of bloodstains to the top of the textured white egg, like heartsblood caught in soft fur. But what is it? It's not a lucky spleen. No, it's not hands, that's already been discerned; no, not still a liver, or a lucky appendix. There are many things that this egg could be, but for some savage and unknown reason, this egg's spirit creature is the remnant of a three-legged rabbit, stolen away in atrocious gore to somehow, someway grant boundless luck to the next barbarian to lay claim next to this bloody appendage.

Written In the Stars Egg
Enigmatic answers and arcane predictions are written in the celestial expanse of this egg. Tiny, fiery orbs traverse their own orbits across the heavenly blue surface, leaving a radiant white line marking the path. On the horizon, the smith and his hammer rise. In the midheavens, a dragon takes flight while the steward is descendant. The signs are all there, but can anyone besides the growing dragon inside interpret them?

Origami Cootie Catcher Egg
Over the leathery shell of this smallish egg are colors scribbled on triangles: notes of sunny yellow, grassy green, oceanic blue, and copper red. Which is your favorite? A guess by instinct or by luck may reveal your fortune, a promise of friendship forever, a secret crush, or perhaps the truest love. A whisper, a giggle. Sand sifts dryly over the egg's surface, movement seeming to reveal hidden folds as if moved by a child's fingers. Now count: one, two, three, four. Make your choice. When its time has come, this egg will crack to reveal its fortune at last.

M'noq gives Amani a grin and a hug, as the final few eggs are pushed out onto the sand. "She's amazing… and so are you. I can't wait to see the amazing babies she and Ravaith have made." But before that happens, they're going to have a few sevendays of sitting, baking in the Sands.

Thirty-five - a number for wealth, adventure, curiosity, as Zymuraith may later explain. But for now, the junior queen is going to curl around her offspring and sleep, with Ravaith invited to join her, of course. Eyes brimming, Amani squeezes M'noq tightly in turn, the worry she's been harboring for the past sevenday or two slipping away now that the eggs are here and on their way to hardening. "Me too," she says. "You are too, M'noq. Let's find some food." Now that Zymuraith is sleeping off her efforts, hunger makes itself known with a vengeance. You'd better believe the kitchen staff has been making breakfast rather grand in the meantime! Nothing like a morning celebration.

Add a New Comment