The Day the Music Died

[Desert]

ooc; if you can identify from what song the title came, i will worship you. hint: Weird Al did a spoof on this song.

there won't, of course, be a Touching, since Dea will eat anyone besides Di who comes near her eggs. she will give in when they're ready to hatch, but until then, this'll be locked, methinks.


Medeath crooned softly, lovingly, as her forepaws worked through the fine sand and gemdust carpeting the floor of the Grounds, piling it in a pedestal shape around an egg. The rest of the clutch, now that she was done laying, were sheltered in the protective curve of the magma's spiky tail. The fourteen eggs were mottled varied shades of different colors, all different sized ranging from large to tiny. The one she was paying special attention to was far from the largest, but it was the only one with a metallic gold sheen over the still-soft shell.

Medeath finished scooping hot sand around the queen egg and took a step back, scanning the Hatching cavern keenly with suspicious eyes before letting her gaze drop to her clutch. Fondly the magma queen gazed upon the next generation of unborn dragons. A touch of pride leaked into the spinning colors in her eyes, especially for the glossy egg situated between her paws. Now she, Medeath, was the only clutching queen in Crystal Cavern; as if to prove her superiority to that fool Daisyth, in clutch just after the senior queen's sterilization, there sat a gold egg, laid by Medeath herself.

Diardi couldn't help but chuckle at the smugness radiating from her dragon. "Don't let your head get too big, love, you won't be able to get off the ground," she called teasingly. She had to put some force behind her voice to project it, since the ears she was trying to reach were smack in the middle of the roomy cavern, and she was sitting in one of the lower tiers of the stands. Diardi, being the magma's rider, was the only one allowed in the Grounds between the time Medeath went there to clutch and the eggs hatched. Even so, for her dragon's peace of mind (and therefore her own), she kept a respectful distance from the broody queen's clutch.

Medeath turned her head to fix her rider with a reproachful stare. Hush, you. My head will stay the exact same size as it has been my whole life. I am simply enjoying the opportunity to have an advantage over Daisyth, other than the fact that I could easily kill her and her rider -- and most of the Weyr, if I had a mind to.[/i][/color] It rankled her typical magma's resentfulness of authority that Daisyth, a mere gold, had authority over her. But now, Daisyth would not be Senior much longer. Granted, another gold -- perhaps Dea's own daughter, still safely encased in her leathery egg -- would soon replace Daisyth, but no matter what, the new queen would be young, and as the only mature clutching queen in the Weyr, Medeath would have the chance to revel in the lack of a superior for at least a little while.

Diardi chuckled again as she ran her hand absently over Tatsune's silky-skinned little body. However wary all the Weyr's myrrs and flits were of Medeath when the magma had a clutch, Tatsu knew she was relatively safe to be in the Grounds, so long as she stuck with Diardi. The sociable, impish little jewel couldn't bring herself to stay away for very long, so as soon as it seemed like Dea was distracted, she took the chance to sneak in and curl up in her human friend's lap. Tatsu burbled an uncannily good imitation of Diardi's laughter, head cocked to look in the direction of the broody magma.

Medeath snorted at the mirthful pair, adopting a regal air as she curled herself possessively around the small clutch, wrapped around so that the tip of her tail almost reached her muzzle. She spread one orange-toned wing over the eggs, enveloping them with its folds, shielding them from view. Diardi rolled her eyes at this precaution; usually Dea wasn't this obsessive, but given the trouble stirred up by Black Sands recently, the magma was taking no chances.

Still grinning at the proud queen, Di shook her head, thinking back fondly over her dragon's unusual level of care for her eggs. Dea's first clutch had been an experience for the entire Weyr, who to a man were all accustomed to the destructive tendencies of the magmas before her. A gang of several kings and some of the bigger, tougher emeralds had stood by as the young queen deposited the last of her eggs onto the sand, waiting vigilantly for the moment when she would turn to savage the clutch. They knew the drill well: if the magma looked placid enough after the last egg was laid, advance slowly so as not to goad her into action prematurely. Safely out of range, standing at the entrance to the Grounds, was a pair of springs eager to take over care of the eggs once Medeath was pulled away from them.

As the group warily edged forward Dea crouched low over her clutch, eyeing them with muddy reds staining the facets more with every step the males took. They had barely gotten a third of the way to where Medeath had taken up residence, tucked against the wall as far as physically possible from the entrances, when the broody magma suddenly charged them, snarling and screaming bloody murder. Get AWAY! Don't you even THINK of touching my eggs, you bumbling fools! The idiot who tries laying so much as a claw on my eggs will wish he'd never been born![/i][/color] The males promptly fled from Medeath's fiery wrath; she continued pursuing them until the last was safely a dragonlength beyond the exit and swaggered aggressively a few more paces, wings mantled and teeth bared. The message was clear to the Weyr then, and everyone gave the Grounds a wide berth while Dea was brooding.

It was only when the riders of those dragons held a puzzled conference within her hearing that Diardi became aware that Medeath had laid her clutch. Upon hearing from the slightly shaken topazrider who'd been in charge of the operation, she stalked off toward the Grounds in high dungeon, insulted that Dea would lay her eggs and not even tell her own rider. The magma growled sharply at the movement at the entrance to the Grounds, though Di snapped right back at her broody dragon, which at least settled her down enough so that Diardi could approach. She kept a wary eye on Medeath as she drew closer, monitoring the magma's levels of agitation as indicated by her twitching tail and wheeling eyes. Naturally, Dea was willing to let Di come very close, though a nervous hiss trickled past her teeth once Diardi got within about half a dragonlength from the eggs. Di gave in to the inevitable and backed off so that the broody queen could relax.

Medeath lifted her head enough to pin a young spring hovering hopefully just outside the Grounds with a baleful glare, snapping her teeth together sharply around a hiss. The spring took the hint and scampered off, unsatisfied. Di was glad that, after several Turns' experience, Medeath had become marginally more easygoing. She still didn't let anyone but her rider or Tatsu into the Grounds before the Hatching while she had a clutch, but by now Diardi was allowed to come up and touch the eggs. Her myrr had to stay safely in the stands, and if there was a queen egg Di had to keep a respectful distance from it, but at least the fierce queen wasn't in danger of snapping at her rider.

Di scooped Tatsune up in one hand and brought the little jewel up to look into her glittering eyes. "Fidget, can you go get something for me to nibble on from the kitchen?" she asked solemnly. Tatsu chirped a cheerful "Ay ay" and jumped nimbly from Di's leg, winking between in mid-air. She only had to wait a few minuted before her snack was brought; a sweetroll clutched in Tatsu's forearms, which Diardi accepted with a fond stroke over the myrr's flattened head.

A cavernous yawn, laden with the sulphrous reek of firestone, escaped from Medeath's maw as the magma settled in for a light doze, still coiled protectively around her clutch. She commented absently that she was a bit peckish herself, though Di's biting retort that she could grab something from the feeding pens if she bothered moving her great scaly hide brought a rumble of laughter bubbling up from her chest.
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[Desert]

Medeath's Eggs

Sweet Child o' Mine: This, the queen egg covetously held between Medeath's paws at all times, is rather small for a gold, but don't let that fool you. The shell is swirled with bright gold and copper that dances crazily across the shell -- here and there, wisps of a darker bronze or lighter silver peek out from between the dominant colors. This queen will be a flamboyant creature, if her flashy shell is anything to go by: indeed, the dragonet inside gives off the feeling of being a charismatic beast, and a shameless flirt.

Foreplay: This egg has a rather restful look, compared to some of its clutchmates: ranging from royal blue to light silver-gray, hues fade hazily between each other in diagonal streaks across the shell. The infant inside seems to mirror the laid back look of the shell, with its own twist: if one were allowed to lay a hand on it, a chuckle might inadvertently bubble up, for this dragonet will have a magnificent sense of humor and a silver tongue to match.

Somber Elimination: This egg seems... boring. Truly, for its shell is has a very simple color scheme: shades of beige, from a pale tan found in parchment paper to an earthy sepia, mottled over the egg randomly. The attitude the dragonet inside possesses is not much better: it is a quite serious, stern creature; not one to suffer fools lightly.

Ten Speed: Many think it likely that this egg contains a topaz, for not only is it of an appropriate size, but its shell mirrors the mineral after which these kings are named. The bottom of the egg, the end resting against the sand, is a dark navy blue: the colors range up through lighter blues, into a thin band of a purpleish color, then up into a muddy ocher until the very top is yellow-gold. The egg's attitude reinforces this: the dragonet is blindingly intelligent, a deep thinker, but very literal-minded. This one wouldn't understand a joke unless it was explained. The dragonet also seems quite the arrogant know-it-all.

Attack: This egg can only be described as mulishly stubborn. The color is mostly a dull black, with grayish-brown patches scattered randomly over the shell; it even has a rough, stone-like texture. It gives off the sense of being not a very bright individual, and one who would prefer everything to be done for it; a potential bully, perhaps?

Face Down: This egg blends well with the sand around it, being a dull yellowy-gray color; it has markings of a darker gray-black in staggered chevrons over the shell; somehow, these odd markings camouflage it well among the rest of its clutch, hiding it from immediate notice. The dragonet inside likes this well; it is an unobtrusive creature, misanthropic and shy. If it doesn't want to be bothered it will lash out ill-temperedly, but otherwise it is placid, and gives the impression that it would gladly doze the day away.

Don't Tread on Me: The bottom of this egg has jagged streaks of green and black, while the rest is a fairly solid yellow; that is, where there is not a few streaks of black spiralling up the shell. It is not the largest egg on the sands, but it has enough attitude to fill up several of itself and then some. Even standing close by, one can tell that the dragonet within is feisty, and would gladly take part in a scuffle no matter the cause. One could easily imagine this dragonet to be one to incite a riot or something similar: rebellious and independent, this dragonet is very much an anarchist.

Sons of Plunder: This is the largest egg in the clutch, and thus has a rather intimidating appearance. Its shell is largely a dark, bloody red, with jagged streaks of black scattered across the shell; every here and there, one can see similar stripes of several shades of orange. This egg gives the impression of being a petulant brat, and one that is bad to cross: vain and proud, with an ego the size of an amber, this arrogant creature does not tolerate any slight real or imagined.

Court Jester: This egg, in both appearance and attitude, lives up to its name: it looks like the gaudy garb of a court jester, bearing alternating diamond-shapes of blue, purple and green; sometimes, where the individual shapes touch, one can see touches of a coppery color, like embroidered edging. The egg exudes an irrepressible, quirky humor: this is a bardic dragon, and will certainly be fated to dispense bad puns that one can't help but laugh at.

More Than it Seems: A brassy gold color, though lacking the metallic sheen that denotes a queen, covers the shell of this egg. In some places the brass gives way to a darker goldenrod, and even some patches look greenish. The egg gives off the impression that the dragonet inside thinks very highly of itself -- more highly than it is in reality. Though obviously no queen or king, the dragonet inside already has a regal bearing, and seems to possess a charisma that would make it a good leader, but sadly it would probably never be given a leadership position.

Beast and the Harlot: The smallest egg in the clutch, but like Don't Tread on Me, this egg has snark to spare. One can tell immediately that this dragonet is a daredevil, bold and independent: don't restrict this feisty creature, for it will do as it pleases no matter what anyone says. The shell is a cinnamon-colored brownish red, with dark gray streaks layered horizontally across it.

If Everyone Cared: This egg is barely bigger than its cinnamon-colored clutchmate against which it rests, and has a similar coloring: this one has more of a powdery-looking magenta, with broad streaks of a lightly indigo-tinged medium gray in vertical stripes across its shell. The creature inside is a gentle, loving being, but a bit absorbed in its own little narrow world.

Hollywood Whore: The base color on this egg is an intense yellow-green; a rather sickly shade, some would say. Small markings in pure black dot the shell, almost like someone sprinkled ink over the egg; indeed, they are more dense on the top of the egg, and sparse at the bottom. If one were to touch this egg, one could easily imagine the dragonet inside crying "MINE!" This creature would cling jealously to whatever catches its eye, and there would be no such word as "enough" in its vocabulary. This dragonet exudes arrogance, as if all the world was its oyster merely because it exists.

Gilded Dawn: This egg possesses a shell of a delicate rosy pink hue, and the bottom is gilt with a gold tinge, as if from the glow of the rising sun. All across the shell are thin strips of gold coloring, almost like wire embedded in the shell, curled into fanciful abstract designs. Like its shell, the infant inside is a creature of quiet beauty. Patient as a rock, gentle and kind, this creature doesn't have a mean bone in its body and only wants the best for everyone. Sometimes it may pry a bit in its drive to make everyone happy, but who could hold that against such a sweetheart?

Secret Smile: This egg appears, at first glance, to be sitting on a pad of steel wool, but that is only an optical illusion made by the gray markings on the bottom of its shell. The rest of it is a fairly uniform shade of sepia, but it is a warm brown rather than boring. One can tell that the dragonet inside is a loving creature, if no-nonsense.

[Desert]

It never failed that, the closer it got to Hatching time, the worse Medeath got. She had been stuck in the Grounds for far too long; she was hungry, fed up, and worst of all, a bunch of human whelps would soon invade her Hatching Grounds and think themselves worthy of looking upon her offspring.

A balefull hiss sizzled from the magma's jaws as Diardi trudged through the sand up to the eggs, completely ignoring her dragon in the process of checking the eggs. The tuned out the mental scolding she was getting for interfering, and instead ascertained for herself how long the eggs would be until they broke shell. Medeath had a habit of lying - or trying to anyway - and telling her that they would be a few days more yet, in order to keep the kerfufffle of a Hatching out of her Grounds.

"Medeath, you can shut your spiky mouth this minute. You've been griping and snarking and generally getting on my nerves for the past sevenday, telling me over and over how ready you are to get a good meal in your belly. We have done this enough in the past few Turns that I really wonder why you get so hissy over it. These eggs will hatch tomorrow at the latest, and if you don't get that through your thick skull, you're getting no sympathy from me when the Weyr kicks you out for killing our candidates," Diardi snapped, whirling to glare daggers at the weaving, spike-rimmed head.

Medeath reared back. Her tail curled around aggressively, wings mantling, and her jaws gaped open. After holding herself in this pose for a beat, ensuring that if any springs were still lingering around they would be sent running by this threat-display, she slammed her forepaws on the ground and thrust her head forward. Her head was inches from her rider as the great queen released an ear-shattering scream of defiance that rattled the very stones of the Weyr and alerted everyone to the fact that Medeath was very displeased with something.

After wiggling a finger in her ear to clear out the ringing, Diardi raised an eyebrow at her dragon. "Very nice, Dea. Now, I'm going to alert Llaina and everyone else that your eggs are going to hatch within twenty-four hours - that is unless they didn't figure that from your little tantrum just then - and give you a while to get the last brooding out fo your system."

With that, the magmarider turned on her heel and strode out of the Grounds with a businesslike demeanor, leaving her dragon to her own mental grumblings. Once she had tracked down Llaina, the Candidatemaster and Weyrlingmaster, as well as sent a drudge to let the Lower Caverns staff know that the feast would take place very soon, Diardi grabbed herself a breadroll and some klah and made her leisurely way back to the Grounds. Wisely, Tatsune was still in Diardi's personal weyr, since at this stage of the brooding, Medeath hadn't the patience for even her rider's pet.

When Diardi entered the Grounds she stopped at the edge of the sand, her expression dropping into a dead mask that meant she was trying very hard not to throw something at her dragon.

All that could be seen of the magma and her eggs was a great balloon of wings arcing over the clutch, split in half by a spiky dorsal ridge and rimmed by an equally-spiky tail coiled around a bank of sand that Medeath had hastily piled around the eggs. Medeath's head was partially hidden under a fold of wing, but her mouth was dropped open, emitting a growling rumble that nevertheless had the deep, pulsing undercurrent that would carry the sound throughout the Weyr.

"You oversized pincushion of a watch-wher!" Diardi yelled, storming over to her dragon despite the tense constriction of her mantled wings, and the way the hum-growl sharpened into a snarl. "Get off those eggs! By Faranth's first fardling gold egg, Medeath, remove your scaly hide from that clutch before you kill them!"

Medeath wasn't moving. She was tolerating Diardi's proximity, but her spines were rattling in agitation and her eyes darting suspiciously. Only at her first clutch's Hatching had the magma ever been this overprotective of her eggs, and it was all due to Black Sands' attack. It would take a battle of wills fiercer than the blooding-battle at her Rising to make Medeath move, and there wasn't the time for that now.

Throwing her hands up in frustration, her snack forgotten, Diardi turned right around and ran out of the Grounds, finding once more the people she had just visited and alerting them that the Hatching was happening now fortheloveofFaranth and they had better get the candidates and guards ready. For Medeath's Hatchings, there needed to be a few emeralds and topazes on the sand to protect the candidates from Medeath.

That done, Diardi sprinted back to the Grounds, for Medeath's growl had become a true hum now, though her lips were still peeled back to bare her teeth, and the hum had a rough, threatening edge. Diardi marched right up to the magma, heedless of the agitated display, and grabbed one of the spikes that jutted from Medeath's eye ridge. With the magmapair eye-to-eye, Diardi set her jaw and devoted all of her focus to getting Medeath to move herself.

The sight that greeted the candidates as they were ferried in by their emerals and topaz bodyguards would be this: Medeath still curled and mantled over her clutch, with her head sticking out from the front of the barrier, eyes spinning wildly, with Diardi standing right next to the queen's face, her expression stony and muscles tight. With Medeath sufficiently distracted, the candidates could arrange themselves properly, though at a distance, and the guardians could take up their posts without being molested. Traffic flowed in and out as usual, ferrying guests into the Grounds for the Hatching.

No.[/b][/color]

Yes.

No.[/b][/color]

Yes, you are.

I will not.[/b][/color]

If you do not you will ruin the Weyr.

None of these whelps are worthy. None of them have a chance. My children will become corrupted and weak.[/b][/color]

If you don't let them out onto the sand and give them a chance they will die.

Medeath suddenly flared her wings up and lashed her tail, spraying scalding sand far and wide. Rearing up on her hind legs, she shrieked to the sky and leaped forward, charging toward the candidates. The guardian dragons came forward, but Medeath stopped after only a body-length out from her clutch. Mantling, she darted her head back and forth, as if seeking for a weakness in the line of males. Behind the wall of dragonflesh, the candidates shrank back in trepidation.

Medeath slowly backed up, stepping delicately over the clutch until she took up her stance behind them, wings still held out as if in readiness to launch her into the air. Now everyone could get a good look at the eggs, and most of them were rocking enthusiastically, several showing significant rifts in their shells. One of the smaller ones, Beast and the Harlot, was wobbling precariously as the cinnamon-colored shell looked ready to crumble.

As the emeralds and kings stepped back to allow a path between the eggs and candidates, Medeath hunched over the clutch and hissed a warning. Come not a step closer, whelps. These brutes cannot protect you the way I protect what is mine.[/b][/color] As she spoke, her tail coiled loosely around Diardi's ankles, providing a ring of wicked spikes around the magmarider's feet.
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