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RP #2
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Solo #1
505

It was an odd feeling, to have time again after the stretch of months they'd spent racing against it. Not that there weren't still things to do - on the contrary, it was neverending if you knew where to look! Recovering and rebuilding would take a very long time, and a lot of effort. And there was training to fight, as well, as Harmodius had requested. Regardless, he couldn't resist taking some time to himself, during which he liked to explore areas both close to and far from the Pantheon. Things were much different now, and there was much to be seen, and even admired. Mortals could be astonishingly industrious, and he liked to watch their progress...and occasionally help them.

As he flew along in his dragon form, several hundred miles from home, he scanned the landscapes below for anything of interest, never expecting that that something of interest wouldn't be on the ground, but up in the air with him. He didn't notice that he wasn't alone until he heard it, a loud and alarmed vocalization that was vaguely reminiscent of a baying hound. And then, in his mind like a distant voice, half of a conversation that wasn't intended for him, Mine, look! It's huge!

He turned, hanging in the air, and saw the source: a dragon! It was a little blue dragon, and there was someone riding it! Away from him, in quite a hurry.

"Wait!" he called reflexively, and the creature obeyed, to the clear consternation of its rider. "Please, do not be afraid," he implored them, though he was aware his current appearance was not necessarily lent to that. "I am no threat to you. On the contrary, I am anything but."

Commanded and now face-to-face with the god, the smaller dragon was no longer fearful - it recognized him on a core level, as all mount-creatures did. Zhijian heard it speak to its rider again, I...I think it is the truth, Mine. I like him. If the rider responded, he didn't hear it.

"Come, follow me to the ground," he requested, though this was no formal command - he'd used that up for this particular encounter, "We can speak there." So saying, he found a suitable spot with ample room for his length, and landed. The dragon and rider pair did not immediately follow, and he could hear the dragon attempting to convince the rider - Lyla? - that he wanted to follow. He lost the debate, apparently, because the blue form soon retreated.

No! Zhijian's ears and overall posture drooped with disappointment at the sight. He'd wanted to meet them, talk to them, find out who they were and where they were from. They were essentially his, after all, even if they didn't know it yet. A mount-creature and its rider, and not just any creature, but a dragon! He considered trying to follow them, but didn't want to spook them further. Instead, he decided to stay where he was, to wait and hope that they would return to the area.

Solo #3
1152

It was a long day indeed, full of explaining and re-explaining Everything, searching for the words and concepts that would even begin to bring these humans and their dragons to a better understanding of him. It was made exceedingly difficult by the fact that these riders - these dragonriders of Pern - had no concept at all of gods, or of any supernatural entity for that matter. Most societies had at the very least a concept of gods, whether or not they had left belief in them behind; for most of the returned gods, it was simply a matter of convincing mortals that gods were in fact real, and that they who had returned were the True Gods. He had been through it, to a much lesser extent, with the Tenquistel, who had worshipped him of old, and had required proof that he was Ying Long.

But to explain the very concept of gods, much less prove their existence, or his rank as one of them? It was an immense task, particularly for a god such as he, who prized action over word, and as a consequence did not wield his speech as well as some others did. This struck him as an undertaking far better suited to his brothers Tian Yue or Shuo Huang Zhe. Those two loved to talk. He considered, briefly, that he might fetch one of them to help him with this conundrum, knowing that where he was vexed they would be delighted, but...no. A very selfish, very stereotypically draconic part of him vehemently brushed aside the idea. These mortals were absolutely his, whether they knew it or not, and he was not willing to take the risk that, if he brought one of his more charismatic siblings in at this early stage, the riders might choose to follow them instead. He had fewer concerns about the dragons themselves, for they knew on some instinctively level that he was Lord of them, but the riders needed to be convinced.

It seemed their dragons' thoughts and feelings on the matter would hold significant sway, however, if what he garnered from their behavior was accurate. The dragons and their riders most definitely had a telepathic link, and he suspected that the conversations they had with each other (and that the dragons had with their fellow dragons) in such a manner were typically private; he could only hear the dragons, not the humans, but it was fairly clear that they did not realize that he could hear them without being directly spoken to. He felt no qualms whatsoever about his 'eavesdropping,' as it was a source of potentially useful information, as well as more minor things that, while not of great importance, were intriguing. He was quite charmed by the dragons' habit of calling their riders 'Mine,' with a feeling behind it that he knew well. He might not share such a direct link with Harmodius, but the adoration, the need for him...these were things he knew very, very well, and added to the rapid-growing fondness he felt for these children who were hitherto unknown to him, and about whom he had so many questions!

But he was good, and exceptionally patient, and spent his words on answering their questions, rather than asking his own. The most vital thing to begin with was that they understand him; a deeper understanding of them could wait, difficult as it was to squash down his cat's curiosity. Once they had some semblance of an understanding as to what a god was, then as to the Twin Crown, then he could better explain his own nature and role to them, and thus why the dragons felt connected to him, Lord of Beasts, greatest of all creatures to ever bear a rider, fashioned for that purpose by his own Lord. Once they knew gods, and knew him, it was a matter of explaining all that had happened, from the Beginning to the Fading (these presented only vaguely, as he knew little of them in his new life), to the giving of new life to old gods in the form of gems set in mortal hosts, to the Age of Destruction, to Gehenna and the heroic efforts that had stopped it.

It was a lot to take in, he knew. It was a lot to explain, after all. He could tell that they didn't always fully grasp everything that he was saying, and countless times he had to stop and find different words, different ways to say what he needed them to know and have them understand it, which of course they all did to different degrees. O'ri of blue Mazamath was the most openly curious, a font of endless questions despite not always being the quickest to understand. That seemed to be Niran of green Zambreth who said little but had a sharp, attentive air, and never once did he lose her, no matter how convoluted his explanations became. K'ren of green Hlavath was similarly quick on the uptake, but more obviously skeptical, spending much of his time in debate with his dragon, arguing back and forth about what Zhijian was or was not. Lyla of blue Bayeth, if anything, seemed annoyed, in addition to having the most trouble understanding him, but he got the impression that that wasn't what annoyed her; hearing her dragon's half of the conversation between the two of them, he could gather that they were both concerned, but gave him no discernible clues as to the real source of her annoyance. Set'al of bronze Pipith was...very fidgety, and clearly had a great deal of trouble paying attention to the god for any length of time; most of what he heard from Set'al's dragon were reminders to pay attention or stand up straight. Apparently this was a chronic problem for the bronzerider, but he did seem to grasp what Zhijian was saying, even if his dragon did occasionally have to repeat it for him.

Interestingly, it was the restless bronzerider who looked to be the leader of the group. Though he didn't carry himself with any such air, his heavily-muscled dragon did, and the other riders deferred to him as 'Wingleader.' That title joined the growing number of things Zhijian intended to ask about when it was his turn to ask questions, which would unfortunately not be today. These five pairs, it turned out, were part of a larger group, and there was yet a higher-ranking pair than Set'al and Pipith: Talka and Chehaveeth. The others would need to hear what they had, and the Queen would need to meet him for herself.

His curiosity gnawing away at every fiber of his being, Zhijian offered to wait for this 'Queen' dragon and her rider. From the way the other dragons said it, he didn't think it was just a title, so he was eager to see firsthand, and finally have his own questions answered.

Solo #5
1170

After that meeting, there had been another, an accepted invitation to follow them back to the rest of their group, which he used as further opportunity to support his claims of power by speeding the journey for them all, a trick by which Likoth was particularly impressed. He had alighted after them, eager to meet the rest and see again the ones he had already met, to touch noses and rumble pleasure at being surrounded by his children, for they were surely his regardless of their descent. As before, the human halves of the pairs ranged from accepting to skeptical, but now that he had the approval of the Queen and Hers, there was at least a willingness to listen, to learn the truth of the gods and of him...which was good, because he was positively sick to death of explaining it all.

He bolstered his words with display of what power he had, bidding volunteers to fly and speeding their flight for them, briefly granting them even greater fleetness and agility than what they already possessed. It was Zambreth who volunteered first, and most of the rest of the greens and blues followed after, save for one of the first blues he had met, Bayeth. The pudgy blue, it seemed, was the opposite of adventurous, and fretted about the dangers of flying so fast. He remained content on the ground with his rider. When they had had their fill of races, he shifted his shape away from his dragon form, letting it give way to his more humanoid countenance. This was marveled at by O'ri of blue Mazamath in particular, who remained as enthusiastic and curious as she had been at their first meeting, and he could tell that she wanted to touch him. It was only an amused reminder to be respectful from her dragon that kept her from doing so.

She kept a semi-respectful distance with obvious difficulty, twisting her hands together behind her back and biting her lip before she - and others - spouted off with more questions, this time about his shape. Why was he so like a feline? Could he be anything else? If he was a dragon, why didn't he look like their dragons? How could a beast so long, covered in fur and with wings feathered like a bird's be a dragon? How could he be both green and blue at once? He had laughed, and with greater effort and concentration than he had needed when changing from his natural dragon-shape to his 'true' form, changed again - this time willing his features to arrange themselves in a more similar way to those of his newly-discovered children.

The general shape he achieved was much the same, but with distinct differences unique to the god, though some of what changed and what did not was a surprise even to him. He retained his two pairs of antlers, his erect ridge of mane, his feathered wings and soft coat of fur. His color changed, shifting to a coloration fitting the odd biology of these Pernese dragons, for whom certain colors belonged only to certain genders. The uneven blue that worked its way down his neck from his nose and then down to its back remained, as did the color of his wings and mane, while all that was green jade on him became gleaming bronze. His size far surpassed that of Chehaveeth, and from nose to tail he gussed that he was larger than her by at least twenty feet, if not more.

Fascinating. He turned over and examined his clawed forefeet, which had a five-fingered shape that allowed for surprising dexterity, and looked back to three-toed hind feet and a forked tail, while his followers made their astonishment and approval clear with a cheer from the humans and a thrumming from the dragons. He was one of them, and more of the suspicion that yet lingered bled away as they looked upon him in this form. They did not love him yet, but they would; he would make sure of it.

Over the days that followed, he kept to his new form, both because he so enjoyed the novelty of it and to reinforce that they were indeed kin. He asked of them all the questions that had been percolating in his mind, learning everything he could about the world from which they came, this 'Pern,' learning that they had done so entirely by accident. They had been travelling from one Weyr to another, but something had gone awry, a consequence of what they now knew to be Gehenna, and found themselves on this world and unable to return to theirs, which sounded as though it had been a rather inhospitable place to live even before the Age of Destruction had begun (though that had made it even worse). He learned of the deadly Thread, and that the dragons had been engineered well over a millenium ago to combat the threat of it by burning it from the sky. He learned that greens and golds were always female, and that blue, brown, and bronze were always male, as well as that golds had inherent command of the other, smaller colors, which was what made them Queens - and only they were fertile, and greens sterile. He was told that upon hatching, newborn dragons sought the rider who would be Theirs and theirs alone, a life and soul the perfect fit for theirs, and if they did not find what they sought, they died. The mere thought of it was heartwrenching. He learned these and many other things, and his appreciation for these endlessly fascinating dragons continued to grow.

He wanted to give them something, because he loved them and wanted them to love him. It was apparent that they needed a place to live, better-protected than the open field in which they were currently camped, a place to stay and call home instead of continuing to wander aimlessly. He would find them a place to make one of their Weyrs, he decided, and set to the task with Set'al and Pipith to aid him. Together, they canvassed near and far to find what they were after. Traditional Weyrs were, evidently, housed in volcanic calderas, but those they found to be in short supply, and not necessary besides. Shelter from Thread was not required here, so cave systems in which to shelter, while familiar, were not needed.

They surveyed countless options before deciding upon a place roughly two days' unaided flight from the Pantheon, near to necessary resources and butted up against the base of a snow-capped mountain; fortunately, the climate below was quite pleasant, and would be an ideal spot for a settlement. There would be no shortage of work involved, from planning where and what to build, where to seed farms, where and how to do everything, and they would need more than just the dragons and riders. Beginning a village from the ground-up was going to be a new and interesting adventure for all of them.

Solo #7
1067

After that chat with Set'al, Zhijian had resolved to find out as much as he could about the bond between dragon and rider. He was aware of the basics: that dragons, upon hatching, sought out and bonded to the person who was meant to be Theirs; they shared not only a telepathic link, but could get caught up in each other's emotions and instincts; the bond was lifelong and, from the sound of it, soul-deep; a dragon could not live without its rider, while a rider could but would essentially exist as a miserable shadow of what they had been. But what determined whar rider was right for a dragon? Why were some, as Set'al and Pipith were, so different? A laidback human with no ambition to speak of chosen by a dragon obsessed with being the best. Were they meant to balance each other out? But if that were the case, there would be no pairs like Lyla and blue Bayeth, both habit-driven pessimists averse to change.

Much as he suspected he would never have a solid answer, he intended to have similar conversations with all the dragons and riders of the Weyr, and some days after his initial several interviews, he returned to finish (and ostensibly to check on the progress thus far, but it was his dragon's curiosity that truly motivated the visit). He was especially curious to speak with Talka and Chehaveeth; given that golds were born to authority, what effect did that have on how they chose? And were all golds natural leaders by default, or did they sometimes not fit the mold? There seemed to be huge variations among the greens and blues of the group, but for brown, bronze, and gold, he had only one example of each. Set'al assured him that Pipith, at least, was almost perfectly stereotypical for a bronze in everything but his small size, highly driven and motivated to seek power. He had yet to approach J'lah and Likoth, but he did know the brown to be polite and generally agreeable, though he got the impression that there was more to him beneath the refined surface.

Chehaveeth, at first glance, was well-deserving of the title of Queen, carrying herself with cool aloofness and observing with a critical eye while her rider took care of whatever needed doing, whether she delegated a task or did it herself; Talka seemed equally adept at either, but more inclined to the latter. They were also among the oldest of the pairs among the group, having spent close to three decades together, and he suspected they had influenced and evolved with each other in that time. What had they been like in the beginning, and how had they changed?

Wearing the bronze-and-blue dragon-shape he now favored when walking amongst his newest followers, he sought them out while they took a few moments away from overseeing repairs on a broken beast-pen, but he was quickly distracted from his original purpose and questions. Chehaveeth was different. The golden sheen of her hide, pleasing enough on any other day, was somehow brighter than before, and she held herself poised just so, with a pleasing arch to her neck. And she seemed...warmer than she ever had before. Attractive? That was...hmm. Well. Unexpected, and a feeling filed away to be further considered later.

"Greetings, Chehaveeth," he rumbled deeply, forked tail curling about him as he sat. "Talka."

Zhijian. Her mindvoice, too, was warmer, and he found it didn't bother him that she didn't refer to him as ZhijianLord the way the other dragons did. He was so very glad none of his brothers were here, and even gladder that his eyes did not shift color the way these dragons' did. That would have been exceedingly awkward, to say the least, if Chehaveeth and Hers could see the feelings that stirred. He had admired her before, but not in this way. He made himself look to and focus on Talka instead.

"How go the repairs?" A good, inane question.

"Well enough," Talka answered, thankfully ignorant of any of the god's discomfort. "The heardbeasts - sorry, cows - got spooked and took it out on the fence, but we caught them all and none of them are any worse for wear."

"Good." He dipped his head, then glanced back to Chehaveeth before inquiring in as nonchalant a tone as possible, "If I might ask, your dragon is..."

"Glowing?" The Weyrwoman laughed. "She does that, once in awhile. It means she's getting ready to Rise."

Zhijian cocked his head in silent question, and Talka clarified, "Mate. She starts glowing a few days before, then when all's said and done we should have a clutch. It's usually quite a spectacle, but this time?" The human made a vague 'who knows?' sort of gesture. "She only has two males to choose from."

Again, the god was perplexed. "Two? But there are-"

Talka interrupted him, shaking her head. "The blues don't count. It's almost always bronzes who Fly golds, although some browns give it a try now and then. Blues just can't keep up with Queens long enough, they don't have the stamina for it. That leaves Pipith and Likoth, and that's anyone's guess. The bronze should have the advantage, but he's practically small enough to be a brown himself, so if a brown were ever going to have a chance, it would be Likoth. Either way, it will be interesting to see. You should stay for a few days and see for yourself. It won't be as thrilling as a whole pack of dragons trying to outfly each other, but I don't think they're going to come away unscathed, either."

"Unscathed? Are injuries common?"

Another laugh. "Very. A lot of them are accidental, just a result of flying too close together, but there can be fights, and I've seen Pipith start a few. He's got a bit of a reputation for it. I don't know if he'll be better or worse with fewer competitors, but we'll see."

"So we will." No question about it, Zhijian would be sticking around to see for himself what happened, though he might be sorely tempted to do more than observe...but it was very possible that that would not go over so well as he liked, particularly so early into his relationship with the Pernese and their dragons. Still, it was a possibility he couldn't help but consider.

Solo #9
662

Even if it hadn't been accompanied by so much worry, waiting the five weeks between clutching and hatching was immensely difficult for Zhijian, compounded by how desperately he wanted to touch the eggs, inspect every inch of them, to satisfy both his curiosity and his dragon's desire to have things. He would have been more than happy to curl himself around them and speak to them, but that was not his place. That was Chehaveeth's duty, and one she took quite seriously. She allowed no one to touch the eggs but her rider, though she did permit both Zhijian and Set'al close enough to get a decent look at them. The presence of other dragon's nearby, but not on the sands, was tolerated, but she would very quickly become irritated by any visits that went on for too long. She was, as Talka put it, 'broody.'

Those who had seen clutches before were satisfied with the results of the Flight, but not impressed. Fourteen was considered a small clutch, gossipy bluerider O'ri was delighted to inform him, and the Weyr was rife with speculation as to why such a small clutch had been produced. Some - a certain brownrider in particular - theorized that it was because Pipith was so small, while others blamed the oddity of the Flight...could the scarcity of suitors, the reduced competition and resultingly shorter Flight be the culprit? Or could it be something else entirely? There was no way to be certain, which lent itself well to many rumors. There was also, much to Zhijian's amusement, betting as to the contents of the eggs. Theoretically, larger eggs were more likely to hold larger dragons of 'higher' colors, while smaller eggs were more likely to contain greens and blues. There was actually a fair amount of debate as to which eggs might contain which colors, as the eggs themselves were apparently a bit smaller than average (another topic ripe for discussion). The only thing everyone readily agreed on was that there was no Queen egg - disappointing but not surprising, as they were the rarest of the colors to be hatched.

Once they had collected all the prospective Candidates they could, there was nothing to do but wait and see. To fill his time and further sate his curiosity, Zhijian often attended the lessons given to the Candidates in an effort to prepare them for the upcoming Hatching, and what would happen if they were chosen by a dragon. Without a 'Candidatemaster,' the duty was shared amongst all the riders but the Weyrleader and Weyrwoman. The first lesson, given by Lyla, was predictably grim, emphasizing everything that could possibly go wrong, leading them to rethink their choice and attempt to balance her out with O'ri, who was maybe a little too far on the opposite end of the spectrum from her fellow bluerider. Niran had the best knack for it, after she got past her initial trepidation, and she ultimately took over most of the teaching, watched over by her unendingly patient green, Zambreth. She, along with O'ri's Mazamath, allowed themselves to be used as teaching aides, so that the Candidates might better familiarize themselves with dragons, from basic anatomy to how to care for them, especially as fast-growing hatchlings.

Caring for a hatchling entailed a great deal of work on the part of the new rider, ranging from cleaning up after their partner to feeding it to keep its hide clean and oiled. Every need was covered, and in the process, they became more comfortable with being in the presence of dragons. This was vital, as they would need to maintain cool heads when faced with young dragons: unbonded, they were fully capable of harming and even killing humans. If a Candidate made a mistake, froze or panicked, they might pay with their life. Seeing dragons at their best - playful and relishing attention like Mazamath - would go some way towards helping.

Whether it would be enough, only time would tell.

Solo #11
1029

He wanted to be sick. Fourteen eggs, and only four dragonets to survive. Worse still, he had been the one to kill the rest, to put them out of their misery because they couldn't do it themselves, because the sky was yet empty. And he was the one who, when the riders were unsure of what to do with the bodies, suggested a pyre. The idea of it seemed right, or as right as anything could be in such a situation. After the Weyrfolk had constructed the pyre, he had gathered the bodies from the Sands and placed them upon it one by one, his sadness as great as it had been when he'd snapped their necks to end their misery. Once that was done, it was Talka who spoke, words he half-heard and now could not recall, and lit the pyre.

Even now, a hundred miles away, he could smell it burning in his nostrils. He couldn't fly fast enough or far enough to rid himself of it, or of the weight of the grief. He had grown to love his Pernese foundlings, was deeply invested in their success and future - not because he needed them as followers (though he did), but because he felt such kinship with them, dragons so inextricably bound to their chosen riders that they could not live without them. Perhaps he even envied them a little, their constant presence in each other's minds, the deep need they had of each other. He loved Harmodius with every fiber of his being, would rather die than suffer a life without him, and yet it was not quite the same. It was not the absolute and all-consuming need for such a soul-deep connection; when his Lord had created him, he had been given more autonomy than that, and he knew that it was better this way. And yet, seeing such a bond between dragon and rider, a part of him craved it despite knowing that that was not how he was meant to be.

He was meant more freedom than that, the ability to build and live his own life, separate from his rider with no ill effects for either of them. He could be away from Him for days, for months, for years, even for an Age, but while he would miss Him with all his heart and soul, he would endure, and love him all the more in their absence from each other. Though he loved Him without question and could not fathom, much less remember, a time when he had not, he had a choice in the matter. Was that not powerful in and of itself? Perhaps even more so, than to be born with the mandate that one must find their rider, one who fit into very certain specifications, or die. As beautiful as the dragons were, as much as he loved them, they had been engineered with a few truly baffling flaws that made him want to wring the neck of the one who'd made them so. Why require that they must find a rider to live, then limit their choices?

He didn't understand, and even worse, there was nothing he could do to fix it, not that he was aware of. It was not only frustrating, but outright maddening. Just as his followers had predicted, the handful of hatchlings who had Impressed at all did so only within specifications: to young humans in a narrow range of ages. They'd had twenty-three Candidates for the dragonets to choose from, twenty-two when the elven boy gutted by the green was removed from the tally: half the Candidates human and in the accepted age range, and the other half not human or outside the traditional ages. Only Candidates from the latter category had been chosen, but Zhijian wasn't yet fully convinced that that meant non-human riders were an impossibility. Maybe it was just chance that none of them had been suited...

Next time, they would be better prepared. They had had a limited window of time in which to scrape together a group of youths for the newborn dragons to choose from, which was why when he returned to the Weyr, he would see to it that they begin Searching now, high and low and as far away in every direction as they could possibly fly, to cover every inch of the world in pursuit of potential riders. He would not suffer the catastrophe of this first Hatching to be repeated, not ever. He would not hold his children in his arms only to break their delicate necks. It was not meant to be this way, and he would not allow it to happen again. They were too few and too precious.

It was possible that these had not been the only dragons and riders to survive Gehenna, but if one were to assume the worst, then this last handful and any children they produced were uncountably valuable. He would see to it that they had every chance possibly to not only continue to survive, but thrive. What would they have done if there had been a Queen egg in the clutch, and the gold within had failed to find Hers? What if one of the necks he'd snapped had been a golden one? To think of it only further upset him, because no one of the dragons should be inherently more important than the others, but to lose a fertile female with a population already so critically low would have been an especially difficult blow to take. He had known from the reaction of the riders present that a majority of them had found the death of the bronze hatchling more disturbing than that of the rest, and that bothered him. The brown, the blues, the greens, he felt the loss of each one equally. Each had been full of life, each suffering for want of Theirs...

He was far from a sentimental creature where anyone not his Lord or siblings was concerned, not easily moved to most emotions, but the day's events had struck him a blow he would not forget, and that would take a long time to recover from.