Welcome to Gaia! ::

This dark cavern beneath the handler's barracks is one of many, with careful excavations extending the system of pipes from the hot springs out to warm the sand from underneath. That said, it is a particularly prime cavern, and competition for it is fierce. In the dark these eggs were laid, and in the dark they will remain, lit only very dimly by mostly-shaded glows.

It is, after several heated weeks, finally time for prospective handlers to approach the clutch. Forgetting to bow to the gold who has laid these eggs may be a major mistake, so candidates would be wise to keep a level head on their shoulders.

Egg Descriptions

Sugar and Spice - Taken by Burem

This golden egg sits happily in the centre of her siblings, as if she has gathered them around her. There is a smell of cinnamon around her and a tang in the air, almost like firestone - this wher seems like she'll be ready to get to work right out of the shell...

Smokey Breath - Taken by Kebarra

This mid-sized red egg thinks it is Hot Stuff, and seems to be hot to the touch one moment and cold as ice the next... something that no doubt will stress out anyone worrying about keeping the eggs at the right temperature, though it might equally be all in your head.

Never Fear -

This large egg seems to be propping up Sugar and Spice a little - or is it lording it over it's smaller siblings? Either way, it seems like it might roll away at any moment: there's an air of impatience about its brashly patterned shell, which seems to have all the subtlety of a child's play set.

Final Frontier -

This medium-sized egg sits upright almost by itself, a little way away from the rest of the clutch - although not *too* far from their mother. A pattern of stars plays across its shell, mapping out galaxies and constellations as yet unknown.

Lavender and Lemon -

No, no, no. This egg has had enough, and it is *happy* to make that clear if you try to pick it up. It huddles in the shade of Final Frontier, as if seeking out it’s sibling even within the shell. The pattern on its pale grey shell looks almost like a lavender bonnet.

Bitter Dregs -

There’s a morose aura to this egg, and it seems to be watching you. Can an egg watch? It definitely doesn’t have eyes. Well, it’s watching, anyway. Its shell is a deeply dark brown, only getting darker towards the base so that it is almost black. The top of the egg looks like it has bite marks in it.

More Than Gold - Taken by Shalira

This large egg is splotched with mottled red patches, in what's almost a camouflaged pattern. It stands almost in the midst of its siblings, close to it's mother, in an almost protective way. It is not going to stand for any mischief today, especially directed at it's clutchsibs, and woe betide anyone who messes with them. It'll remember. You'll see.

Long Way Home -

This tiny egg sits securely in the middle of several of its siblings, nestled up close to the Sugar and Spice egg as if it belongs there in the company of the gold. The colors of the shell are pale and icy – the washed-out blue of a wintry sky, mingled with the colors of shadows on snow – but to the touch, the faint impression one gets from the mind inside is warm and sultry and inquisitive.

Mountain Peak -

This largeish egg is is also brown, like Bitter Dregs, but where that one is almost black this one is a rich amber hue. It’s almost caramel-colored, with deep red undertones, and the surface is glossy and unmarked. This is an egg that invites being touched – wants to be touched, even – and doesn’t seem particular about the company that it keeps.

Twisted Honey -

This egg has no subtlety or style. None. At. All. It is ridiculously brightly patterned in primary colours, though it seems to think it is the best of the clutch, standing a little aloof from them. No-one's slick as this egg, no-one's quick as this egg...

The Rules of the Game

1. Sign your candidate up in the sign-up thread before eleven GMT on the 25th of April. After this, the event begins!
2. We will roll for precedence on approaching the eggs. Ex-dragonriders automatically get the first shot, followed by wherhandlers who have lost their partner, followed by first-time handlers.
3. There is a 10% chance that your candidate will be rejected outright by the mama wher, which we will roll for.
4. If your character successfully approaches the gold wher, they may walk away with an egg of their choosing. Please note that only characters with masterhandler status may take a gold egg.
5. When all candidates have approached the clutch, then we will reveal the profiles of the eggs chosen! Any eggs left over will be put up for NPC adoption later through the marks shop.

The boy - no, Feragall was not a boy anymore, he should stop thinking of himself that way (he was twenty-five, he was a man) - stood near the back of the crowd, which made him hard to pick out. Very few handlers were shorter then him, though it meant he would have made a champion jockey. He would perhaps have pushed his way to the front of the crowd but his foolhardiness did Not Extend To Doing That Here And Now.

Besides, he knew his turn - and his turn wasn’t for a while yet, if it even came. He wasn’t going to object to there being people in front of him, even if he was twenty-five now and… well, he wanted to stop being a kid, someone’s squire, another candidate. He was sick of it.

“Has anyone actually ever had their head taken off by a mother wher at one of these things…? I heard a rumour” he murmured to Porthan - they made an odd pair, being large and small and dark and pale, but Feragall trusted his old master to have his back. "That sometimes candidates just... don't come back out"

Okay. This looked bad.

Well, not really. Actually, it mostly looked...dark. The only people who thought it looked bad were two of the other candidates, who were hanging back and muttering to themselves about people getting their heads bitten off and arms ripped open and things. Keb was fairly sure - fairly sure - that Natask wouldn't eat him. Since she'd been really specific about him picking first, and all.

Then again, he still had the scars on his arm from the last time Natask had lost her temper. He rubbed them a little unconsciously while he stood and waited for a go-ahead, and while everyone else gathered (and Faranth, would those guys behind him please stop with the doom-and-gloom because it was starting to get to him and he didn't need to be worrying about it right now). Wait - wait, could he go? Okay. Time to go? Right. Okay, right. Go first. Approach Natask. Pick an egg.

Right?

He was pretty sure Natalya was glad that he wasn't Master-ranked, because Faranth forbid Natask have given him first pick and access to the gold egg. Not that Kebarra would have taken it anyway. Natask was too big and also kind of terrifying, and Keb was really starting to regret this decision - okay step forward, bow, try not to make eye-contact because Natask was Natask and he really didn't want to suddenly get on her bad side - okay. Okay, just...bow and approach and...

...Eggs?

Eggs. They were...eggs. He uh. What did he do now? He understood the theory of wher hatchings, but somehow the fact that he just...what, strolled over casually and picked up an egg? That was what he did? It seemed kind of wild now that he was actually experiencing it. He'd spent most of his time with Talya and Natask even when the gold was on the sands, and had more or less gotten to know the clutch in the time it had been out, but...well, they had been Natask's eggs. Not his. There were some he thought he might like better than others, but...

"Uhhh," he said softly, unaware he was even making noises out loud. He looked helplessly from egg to egg. He liked some of the big ones, but some of the little ones were okay, and there was one that was always kind of weird, and he liked that one, too...Faranth. He liked the eggs! They were all neat! How was he supposed to pick one.

Did he just...sort of...um. Approach? Like...uh. "Talya, help me out here," he muttered, and that one he was aware he had said out loud. Glancing over at the goldhandler, he met her eyes imploringly. Which egg do I take?

He really did like the weird hot-and-cold one, and his hand hovered over Smokey Breath while he waited for Natalya's (and Natask's, he supposed) approval.

Natalya watched, unconsciously holding her breath as Kebarra stepped up, and she didn’t let it out until she felt the rush of warm recognition through her bond with Natask. By rights, it should have been Porthan or Burem first, both of them being wherless former handlers selecting new partners. Tradition dictated she ought to let them have first pick of the clutch. But Kebarra was her squire, he knew Natask best, and somehow Natalya doubted that any of the subsequent Candidates would object to the gold’s overprotective mood being mollified somewhat before it was their turn to step up.

Indeed, her rumbling growl of warning turned into a deep croon as Kebarra approached, and she butted her blunt head briefly against his arm in greeting. Or perhaps in reminder of the scars she’d put there while she’d still been just a wherling. One or the other.

He was doing fine, right up until he had to pick an egg and get out of there, Kebarra, you idiot. He glanced back at her imploringly, and she responded with a wink and a brief, almost imperceptible nod. In the dim light of the cavern, it’s possible that the others wouldn’t even see her move.

They would, however, see Natask step forward and very deliberately nudge Smokey Breath into Kebarra’s hand.

“…alright, but what about our Honoured Huntleader?” Feragall whispered back, keeping his voice low. He didn’t reallllly want to draw her ire, because, well, he was hoping to keep working in this hunt, hopefully with a wher. If Natask didn’t decide she didn’t like the way he smelt or something, which was a distinct possibility as far as he was concerned. He wasn't usually quite so... gloomy, but he was just nervous. This was what happened when people gave him time to think, and it wasn't a good thing. “D’you think she’ll bite?”'

Alright, so she hadn’t bitten the head off of Kebarra, at least… at least, not yet. It was still a possibility, and having stood through his share of dragon hatchings he didn’t hold out much hope for the possibility of there not being at least a little blood - sure, the worst of them had been a decade ago, but… well, the memory kind of lingered, right?

This meant a sigh of relief, though, as he did Not In Fact Die. That just left... everyone else.

Just watch Burem Feragall said, which made Burem feel particularly self conscious. He already felt like something of an awkward imposter, having worn the new, shiny title of 'Master' for only a short time before the plague had cost him his partner, and made the whole title feel bent and tarnished, a bit like he looked.

He just hoped the new candidates learned as much from his scars as they did from his title. Even a Master title didn't exempt you from being bitten.

He rolled his shoulders a moment, trying to compose himself and mentally polish up his battered title as he glanced over the eggs, trying hard to resist the urge to clear his throat lest the gruff edged sound be mistaken for a growl by Natask.

Shaff it felt like it had been another life time since he'd done this last. It almost was, and it didn't help him feel less like an imposter as he stepped forward to bow to Natask. Don't act like a threat... don't act like prey. Sounded easy enough until you thought about everything that covered.

Last time he'd been here, the title of Master hadn't even been a glimmer on the horizon, and that just made him feel more like an imposter too. Like maybe someone should have revoked his permission to approach the gold egg in the mean time.

But she'd be a good strong partner, and maybe clutch strong children of her own someday, and by Faranth... she wasn't an opportunity he was likely to have again.

Her color wasn't an issue. She could come out of the egg the color of a new leaf, in spite of the color of her shell, and he wouldn't give a shard. He wanted a partner again and he reminded himself he deserved the chance to be here, and that while he was the only one in this group that could bring her home, he didn't know who might have their eyes on the others.

He could handle her, if she'd have him.

He reached cautiously, and respectfully for the Cinnamon and Spice egg.

"Fine job, Natask." He sighed, almost inaudibly. Fine fine job. fine clutch Good Wher. Good handler. Good clutch. They must be proud.

Good. Kebarra took the egg and moved off with it promptly; that was him settled, at least. One down, four to go.

As soon as Kebarra retreated with his egg in hand, Natask resumed her ominous rumbling, faceted eyes going a deep ugly red as she surveyed the remainder of the Candidates. Burem in particular got a particularly intense staredown from the golden clutchmother as he approached. Natalya had offered her a warning in advance, that this was the one who would be permitted to approach the gold egg, and no other.

At the sound of that barely-audible compliment, however, the wher huffed a sound that might have been approval, and turned her head away dismissively. Yes, he could have that one. He was acceptable. Now for the rest of them.

As for Natalya, her attention had turned to the two who persisted on whispering to one another throughout the entire affair. She slipped up behind Porthan and Feragall, nearly silent, and then leaned in and cleared her throat. “Gentlemen,” she cut in at a normal volume. “If you have questions about proper Hatching procedure, you should have asked them beforehand.”

Feragall squeaked, surprised by the sudden noise behind him - and then his pale skin went a deep embarrassed red, particularly evident at the tips of his ears.

“Sorry, sir” he muttered, inspecting his boots like a weyrbrat who’d been caught with his hands in a jar of sweets.