Egg-Touching upon the sands


Southern Weyr

OOC Date


Hatching Sands

Nevik is wandering nervously upon the sands with the others. Each step towards an egg is mirrored by a glance towards the parents to see if they show any sign of displeasure. Bailey's words of caution about 'no falling' or 'flailing' has him just a bit on edge. The eggs, however, draw his attention in someways and unnerve him in others. As some people turn this way and that to find those eggs that draw their attention so too does the rusty-haired youth. He draws closer and closer to the egg some have said seems as happy and hopeful as a Snow Day. Tentatively, nervously he reaches out his fingers and ever-so-lightly he presses flesh to shell.

Expectation lies heavy on your tongue, dusting over your brain like the faintest flurry of snow. You're waiting for SOMETHING. Something vital. Something AMAZING. Looking out the window, listening to the snow-muffled beats of Harper drums in the heights above. A particular candace starts. Wait. Is that -! YES! FREEDOM! And suddenly you're running, bounding, racing for the door, for a winter wonderland beyond, so starkly different from the hot HOT Sands… and then the image fades. But - just for a second - there's the faintest remaining flicker in your mind. The cool sting of snow.

Nevik pulls back from the egg he was touching and staggers a second. The hopefully, happy-as-a-snow-day spheroid does not so much as vibrate at the apprentice-healer's fleshy touch. It simply is. The rusty-haired youth steps back from the shell and has to take a few deep breaths to pull his mind back from the momentary break. "Whoa!" he exclaims in surprise and wanders about a bit. In time, only a moment or two he heads for another with an eager curiosity. And then he spies it; The Black, Blacker Blackest Egg.

Black, blacker, blackest! You've heard of this, you know: this feeling of nothingness. It surrounds you, it encases you, the Void coming to perch upon your shoulder and laying its icy cheek to yours. It wants to embrace you. It wants to KEEP you. Black, blacker, blackest! An image flickers in your mind of Southern, of warmth and GREEN and sunlit life, and you cling to it like a drowning man. Black, blacker, blackest! All at once the Void recedes, leaving you on the Sands - but not before it has a chance to give you a flicker of a glimpse of its depths. Wow. That's a whole lot of dead dragons floating in a whole lot of dragon dung. Huh.

Nevik shivers and recoils his hand from the Blackened egg as though he had been burned by it. Yeah. No more of that one. He can't help but rub at his hand nervously and walk away from it with the occasional glance over his head. Eventually he finds himself in the approximate middle of the clutch of eggs and seems nervous once more. Not all eggs are filled with the happy and warm feelings of his first. Paused there for a bit and chewing at his bottom lip in contimplation. Seeing Kultir head for the black one he calls out, "I wouldn't…" and heads for one that would seem less disturbing. For now, he trods across the sand towards another - shaking his head as a few others head for the last, lonely egg. For him, he would avoid it for now and head towards the shell that's covered in frozen fractals; the Let it Go egg.

LET IT GO, LET IT GO! This song will never leaaaaave your heaaaaaad! LET IT GO, LET IT GO! Even after all life is deeeeeead! HERE YOU STAND! In the LIGHT OF DAY! In - well, actually, you really do have to give this egg credit: it really knows how to work those frozen fractals that are expanding all around, backlit by crystalline hues of purple pink blue white. Higher and higher they expand, faster and sleeker than ever ice was in real life: creativity long-suppressed (be a good boy, Nevik, be the good boy you always have to be) now let loose in a burst of pent-up extravagance let loose like an icy river cracking its way past a dam. LET THE STORM RAGE ON! The cold never bothered this egg anyway.

Nevik is positively vibrating with excitement as he lets his finger-tips press onto and against the shell as the sensations crawl out and up his arm. Brightness fills his eyes as a smile cracks through the nervous apprehension. A storm within his mind swirls and then suddenly breaks down a small corner of the icy wall of doubt built over the years. The burn of the Black Egg is gone. The hope of the first egg has returned. If permitted, he would have hugged the egg before him but that would definitely get the attention of the clutch-parents. For now, he wanders off and continues to glance back for a few more steps. One more. Which would it be? To risk ruining his mood and potentially find something on the terrifying side or play it safe. Fah! Let the doubt go…and so he wanders to the Last, Lonely Deviled egg.

Sulfur. Sulfur and mold. And… a dash of paprika? What the blazes, egg. There's something growing in your BRAIN, Nevik. You shouldn't have left it in the back of the candidate barracks for so long! Don't you know brains have a shelf life of under five days? You've gone RUBBERY, Nevik. Rubbery and (as previously stated) moldly. And… paprikay. Do you like paprika? I hope you like paprika, because that's the only part of your brain that might still be usable. Seriously, Nevik. Just toss it out. This egg is bad news. You'll get food poisoning. Just order pizza.

Yeah. Nevik should have stuck with his wintery-themed eggs. The last, lonely egg should have been left alone. The scent, if such a word could be used to describe the sensation that came to him from touching the egg, still hangs in his nose as he walks away from the egg. Two for four and he's left with a bad taste in the back of his mouth. Paused in the approximate center of the clutch he looks around for another egg to sample.

Ok, last one - hope it's a good one. Nevik walks, nay - he marches towards an egg that drew his attention while standing and searching for something to help pull his mood out of the mold-ridden memory of the one before. Wintery eggs seem to do good things for him so he heads for one…they one…the first one; the Unthawed Ancient.

It was not a good one. Suddenly you're running, running, RUNNING. Something sharp and awful is in your shoulder - you glance at it in haste - it's an arrow. Run, run, RUN! Up the mountain you race, the crunch of pursuing feet in the snow behind you. Your eyes are swimming with pinpricks of light - that can't be good - there seems to be an awful lot of BLOOD streaming out of that arrow wound - you've twisted your ankle - you're falling - black edges in. Time passes. So much time, Nevik. Can't you feel your flesh turn to jerky, to leather, to dust? Your bones are all that is left of you, Nevik, hidden beneath an oppressive mantle of snow. But now it melts! You melt. What awaits you, Nevik? And what will you do to those who have dared disturb your ancient rest?

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