Iiateth's Flight (Clutchdaddy Signups)

[lithle]

Iiateth's first Flight is coming and it's going to be the cause of a lot of chaos. However, Iiateth's player isn't active and we will not be taking over the dragon. The Flight will not be on camera, even if the effects will be.

All male dragons of age will be participants in the Flight. All residents past puberty will be fighting a certain level of Flight lust. And all riders of male dragons will be particularly effected, though you're welcome to have them doing their best to fight it and try and help the defenders (or the outlaws, if that's what you want).

In our canon, Opals have difficulty clutching. Iiateth will not be on the sands after she clutches (she will be offscreen, feeling ill) and her eggs will be defended by the clutchfather. Therefore, we'd like the clutchfather to be RPed.

We will be randomizing to choose the winner of the flight. But we do want some sign that you'll willing to put in the effort to RP with the candidates!

So, if you want your character's dragon to be the clutchdaddy, post here with said dragon's reaction to Candidates coming onto the sands to touch the eggs. Feel free to include the rider as well. Sign ups are open until May 15th. Then we'll randomize the winner.

[nozomi]

When Yusuth notices that Iiateth can't guard the eggs, he goes grr, and sits his fat ass down next to them.

He waits.

And goes grr.

Warden is not amused.

[S'yal]

Trusith was not letting these candidates touch his eggs. Nope, nope, they were his eggs and he was sitting his fat, not shiny butt right in front of them. He'd gathered all of the ones spawned by the Opal in front of and around him, and now the young brown had spread his wings over the small clutch and was doing his best to scare away the candidates that stood in a messy line before him. A particularly brave young man edged forward, and Trusith snapped at him. He couldn't hurt the humans, but he'd scared them!

Yari stood on the edge of the sands, rolling her eyes at her browns uncharacteristic behavior. Trusith, love, you have to let them touch the eggs. Stop being so possessive. Yari scolded, despite the fact she was obviously amused by the way the brown was acting. She knew he wasn't actually hostile- he was frightened. One wouldn't know it staring at the huge brown, but Yari could feed it. He was afraid his babies would get hurt.

{Alright... i'll let them touch...} Trusith would do anything for Yari. He stepped back, before suddenly stepping forward. {If they can answer the riddles three!} Yari stared at her dragon with shock and... disbelief. She sighed, facepalming. {What's black, blue and red all over?}

Trusith paused.

{You if any of my babies get hurt. I will find a way to make you pay. Now, what came first, the firelizard or the egg?}

"Trusith, just let them touch the scorching eggs."

[tuathade]

“Right,” C’ross mused aloud. “I think I finally figured out what’s wrong with you. You’ve been a cleverly disguised queen all along, just waiting for a chance to play mommy.”

That’s not funny.

"It's a little funny."

Merceth rumbled softly. You're lucky no one else is around to hear. I do not think either of the queenriders would be amused by jokes about strangely colored dragons.

That shut C'ross up.

Still, ever since Iiateth had clutched and fallen ill, Merceth's behavior had been downright bizarre. The bronze was... he was brooding. In every sense of the word. There was just no other way to describe it. Whereas before it had taken most of C'ross' attention to keep Merceth from sneaking off to snack on an extra herdbeast, now it took patient coaxing (and C'ross' promise to watch the eggs in Merceth's absence) to get him to leave the sands and hunt at all. The rest of the time, the huge dragon spent coiled around the opal’s little clutch... or else pacing around the edges of the sands, checking temperature here, shifting a sand pile there. Every shadow, every flicker of motion was a wild feline or armed villain in Merceth’s eyes, come to destroy fragile unborn lives. The solitary human guard posted to help them had been greeted with a scream of such savage fury from the bronze, that further guards had been instructed not to set foot on the sands at all.

They couldn’t put it off any longer, though. Merceth picked his way amongst the eggs, placing each foot with delicate care so as to not disturb the little sand nests. He lowered his head to the largest of the eggs, not quite touching it with the tip of his muzzle, and blew a warm breath across the hard and gleaming surface. You’re sure about this? I don’t think they’re ready yet.

C’ross reached out and gently tapped the egg nearest to him, letting the overprotective bronze hear the distinctive sound of a hardened shell. “They’re not getting any harder ‘till they hatch. It’s time, Merceth.”

Perhaps... perhaps we could just not have a Touching, the dragon suggested, sounding doubtful. Or, and his eyes reddened to vibrant crimson, we could just not let the prisoners on the sands! That would work too.

The rider shook his head. “Cut our Candidate pool in half, with two clutches on the sand? You’d send at least a few your own children between from lack of riders.”

Merceth keened aloud, circling the clutch once before settling down to coil loosely around all the eggs. His. The breakout was still weighing heavily on C’ross’ mind… And, by extension, his dragon’s. Both of them were on the alert for the escaped prisoners to try something reckless and foolish. But, if any silver lining could be found in this situation, C’ross reflected that at least the most dangerous and rebellious individuals had been removed from consideration. Those who would stand for Candidacy now would be those who had chosen, for whatever reason, to stay at Warden’s.

“Promise me you won’t threaten to hurl anyone into the ocean?”

Promise, Merceth agreed, though his eyes stayed red and whirling. Send them in.

[Spiffy]

J'thir, dressed still in his gaudy yellow shirt, stood, arms crossed, in front of the small gathering of eggs. He was frowning, running his gaze up and down the line of candidates threateningly. And, considering that he was an ex-prisoner, even a non-violent one, this was no idle threat to many of the candidates. If it'd been up to him, he'd've been idly flipping a knife in his hand, but Tironan, let alone Warden, wouldn't allow that.

The silence was disturbed, rather unnervingly, but an almost constant hiss. To look at, the tiny grey dragon wasn't much, his size certainly wasn't threatening. Even his wingspan, large though it was for his size, wasn't all that off putting, even if it was spread guard-fashion around the clutch. His clutch. What was threatening was the way he was also watching the candidates, eyes whirling orange, running the too-long claws of one hand slowly up and down another.

J'thir waited until L'vey had sopped speaking before he said anything, though he didn't listen to what was being said. He'd heard it before, when he'd stood for the previous clutch. It didn't help that he didn't tend to listen to people anyway when he was in a bad mood, and recent experiences hadn't exactly been enlightening for the firmly heterosexual greyrider. He wasn't exactly keen on this lot touching his dragon's eggs either. Judging by the strength of the reactions Golith himself gave as an egg, he didn't want any of this lot taking a step back and crushing one of the other eggs. To be quite honest, he was taking all the fatherly protectiveness he'd held for his daughter (and hadn't used in turns) and applying it to the eggs. Golith may have been looking at them as shiny prizes that may come in useful when grown that were, for the moment, most certainly his, but J'thir was all to aware what being a father in an unruly (to say the least) crowd, and he was not happy about this, at all. Even if he'd been one of the ones everyone had been doubting last hatching.

Even when he did speak, he didn't say much. His tone of voice said far more than his words. "Touch. Be quick. Don't even think of harming them in any way. Because if anything happens to them, Faranth help you, because it's not just me you have to worry about." Perfectly on time with his rider's words, Golith flexed his claws. You could almost hear the 'shink' that they would have made if they were steel. His rider may not have been allowed knives, and for the moment Tironan had confiscated the grey's latest collection, but the dragon's claws more than made up for their absence, long, sharp and wickedly hooked. J'thir wouldn't have been surprised if Golith had pilfered Tironan's whetstone to sharpen them.

J'thir didn't step aside as the first candidate took a deep breath and stepped toward and egg. He kept a bloody good eye on him though, as did Golith, who leaned forward and growled suggestively. Let him at it, Gol. Much as I dislike the idea, I can hardly deny them the chance when I was given it for you. Golith rumbled, but withdraw. If they so much as set a toe out of like, I'll shred them.

[Zen]

Iiateth was sick. The queen could not watch over her eggs—and there were eggs—because the Healers didn’t want her near them… or something or other. T’ron didn’t know. He was certainly no Healer. Of course, as he was a guard, he wasn’t much of anything. He guessed he was a grayrider first of all because of Cabarath, but he was still only a guard. Cabarath, the wily gray, had chased Semith when she had Run but, when he hadn’t won the Run, he’d felt that he needed to up the ante and had flown—and subsequently caught—Iiateth. To many people’s surprise, she’d become egg-heavy and had clutched. The eggs were not many but were certainly wanted despite the fact that they might hold more strange colors like Cabarath’s gray or Iiateth’s opal.

All of these facts were certainly null to Cabarath. The gray cared not that Iiateth was like him, a mutation color; he cared no that he, a mutation, had caught her; and he certainly cared not for the people who thought that the mutations were abominations. What he did care for were the eggs because he was now subject to looking after them, though it was because Iiateth was not here but also because of his need to look at the eggs. He knew that the eggs might hold more mutation colors—whether the same as the previous ones or new ones he did not know—but right now they were just eggs. Right now they were just simple beings waiting to awaken their true power. Cabarath had often told T’ron that that’s how he had felt. T’ron didn’t necessarily believe him, as Cabarath’s memory was just as bad as the other dragon’s memories.

Cabarath was an attentive father as opposed to many fathers. The gray, smaller than a green, dragon strolled through the small mass of eggs, making sure nothing was wrong. The eggs were hard now and in another few sevendays they would hatch. Cabarath knew the duty he had to do today. He was looking at one of the smallest eggs as if gauging its readiness. T’ron knew he was thinking if the egg held a gray like him or a normal green.

They are as ready as they can be. Cabarath finally told T’ron, his velvety mind voice strong in T’ron’s mind.

T’ron, who stood with his arms crossed as he stood, looking out at the eggs, nodded. Better now than never, he thought, his blue eyes looking without a hint of emotion. ‘Why are you so calm?’ The man asked his gray silently.

Why are you not? Cabarath answered smoothly, his eyes swirling green and blue as he swiveled his head to look at his rider. Those who are to be candidates should know that a touching is always supervised by dragons. Touching eggs is not a new art. Besides, the dragons inside those eggs should be of the utmost concern to the candidates.

T’ron marveled at Cabarath’s calm. Most fathers and mothers were overly protective of their unborn children. Cabarath… Cabarath seemed to be protective but he was a knowing sort of protective. He was also small and fierce and would most likely stop at nothing to kill a human who might touch the eggs wrong. T’ron heaved a sigh of knowing and unwrapped his arms before stuffing his hands into his trouser pockets. His bright blue eyes were calm. “Well, tell them we’re ready.”

Cabarath nodded curtly. His svelte voice cut into people’s brains; it had a slightly calculating and precise force to it, Come, now, all “candidates” and touch Iiateth’s eggs. There was also a hint of foreboding warning laced into his tone; just let them try something. He wouldn’t outright say anything, as that wasn’t his way. He’d show them if they tried anything wrong… he’d show them….

[Lesa]

Of all the dragons on Pern. Gwynell sighed, rotating her neck, causing several sounds of an unpleasant and painful variety to come forth. Her Will had to Catch Iiateth, of course. And then decided to become a father to put her own to shame for overprotectiveness…sort of. She supposed that made him equally as overprotective as her father (who had nothing on her mother). The woman sipped at her water, watching with resigned bemusement as Willoth went about his daily tasks.

Unerringly diligent, the little gray moved lithely between his still-slumbering children, circling each egg once, twice, checking for faults and cracks, assuring the sand bundled around them was just right in height, enough of a hollow for them to rest in, and that the sand was the perfect temperature all the way around. He hummed as he went, sound shifting from a low croon to a high whistle depending on what he saw, or what egg he was around. He was a shadow, a moving fog bank as he went, a little green like a will-o-wisp following in his wake. Anatu was taken with the eggs before her, staring at them silently as was her wont, preferring to view them from perched on Willoth’s head, or on his neck where Gwynell would be, should she be riding him. Despite the pair’s diligence (and Gwynell’s combined agreeing-to-watch-eggs/shoving-Willoth-out-to-feed), things were tense. Everyone was worried about the breakout. What was going to happen now? Would those who had gone be stupid enough to come back and try for eggs?

Over my dead body, Willoth hissed, a jarring note, sour and sharp reverberating across the sand. He’d been listening in on her thoughts again, clearly. Gwynell rolled her head on her neck to glare at him over her spectacles. She had no need to reference the illogicality of his statement, that he would between first, like as not. No, both of them knew it, was just ignored for the seriousness of his statement. If it came to that, Gwynell would be fighting herself. There was a reason her quiver was strapped to her back even in this heat and her bow was leaning against her chair. The heat was killing her string, but there was nothing she could do about it. Willoth wouldn’t let her come on the sands without it, even as he wouldn’t let anyone else on the Sand with weapons.

You’re Mine, Gwynmine, he said simply, I trust you. The Harper shoved the tail end of her braid up onto the top of her head, chewing ruminatively at the tip of the tail when it dangled down to her lips, within easy reach. Her little gray had let others on the Sand, he’d even let her each her class on the other side of the sand, set aside for Semith’s clutch, when she was ready to clutch. For now it was a bare expanse of sand, good enough for her two classes of ten to sit on the ground on mats, so as to not burn their bottoms, and listen to her. If not working on their writing, the classes primarily subsisted of math (her own hated subject), or rote memorization of Teaching Ballads, what with them being so close to numerous eggs (perfect for counting!) and dragonets (the impetuous for many of the Ballads). Lessons didn’t go as well as they had while in her classroom, but they went, especially since Willoth stopped snarling at all her students.

She and Willoth had at least come to an agreement - he would not prevent the Candidates from coming forward, prisoner or not. He just had one request: everyone must sing for him. Singing, he had claimed, would let him tell if the person was trustworthy enough to be allowed a chance at his babies or not. No shinies like his mother (Gwynell had to provide those), just a song. She’d helped her students practice songs (and helped anyone else who asked for it), though Willoth snorted in dismay at the pitches and tones coming out of many of the mouths. He had yet to attempt to hurt anyone… though there was one man who had nearly lost his hand – more from sheer stupidity than anything else, and C’fael had been able to patch him right up, once they got the bloodflow stopped from his nose. Gwynell had broken it rather than Willoth try to bite the newcomer. The man was banned from her lessons, and while she had been given a warning from Warden, all knew to not touch the eggs, for fear of multiple females – Anatu had taken off an ear, and nearly took out one of his eyes before Gwynell had pried him off. The punch had actually been a mercy-blow.

Willoth looked at her, Play something for me, Mine. It is time, and I want music to usher them in. Wincing at the pain she was about to subject ears to, Gwynell lifted her heat-swollen gitar, strumming softly at surprisingly in-tune strings, beginning to pick out one of the simpler Teaching Songs on hatchings.
Be aware, Willoth called out, I will not allow you to see or touch my children if you do not sing for me, and I do not trust your song. Come, those who dare, and look upon my children. It seemed Willoth had gotten her flair for the dramatic.

[lithle]

A note on how I did this. Rolled a 5 sided die (online, where such things exist)

1. Syal
2. Tua
3. Spiffy
4. Zen
5. Lesa

I rolled it six times. Why? Because I'm weird. Whoever's number came up the most frequently would be the winner!

And this is what I got:
5,3,4,5,1,2

Which makes Lesa the winner!

Congrats, Lesa. Willoth will win Iiateth's flight. Which, obviously, hasn't happened yet. But when it does!

We'll be in contact with you about certain subjects relating to the upcoming plot later.