Hello loves! While I haven't been writing, I have been working on updating some issues that have been hanging around on the layout! The Character change box is now at the bottom of the page, beside the up/down arrows! Green and Gold dragon flight dates have been shifted to the bottom of the page, where the (useless!) discord widget was located. Where the dragon flights were in the header, is now replaced by a Monthly Event box! This will be updated at the start of each month, with a fun mini-event you can take part in, if you want to! Thistle!
15.Mar.13, 03:45 PM
He didn't want to actually touch the egg, but only pretend like he was. To pretend that he was a good candidate who actually wanted to impress and do good by the weyr's standards. The very weyr that had stolen him like some disposable commodity. But all of his hopes, fears, dreams, and desires were washed away into silence as he waited the appropriate amount of time in his game of pretending.
There was... there was... nothing. His chest had begun to breathe a sigh of relief, subconsciously. But the nothing had a sense of silence, a lack of everything holy, good, or bad. He felt as if he were standing in the middle of a devoid desert. No, in the middle of thing. There was a sense of dread. What if he had killed the egg? But then he did feel something. It was a pang, like a singular heartbeat in his mind. But very loud. He wanted to cover his ears with his hands from the volume of it, but he could not. It elicited this feeling of energeticness. And then the heartbeat again. And again. Again and again until there was no discerning from one heartbeat to the next. It felt as if all of the emotions in the universe had been heightened into a pandemonium, rolled into one, and injected into his bloodstream.
He had removed his hand. He felt excited, but also numb, deaf, and disoriented, as if he had been standing in the middle of nuclear explosions. His heart rate had gone through the roof, and he felt weak, as if he had just run a marathon.
His other hand reached into the sand below him, to steady him, but the searing sand met his flesh and burned. He withdrew his hand. He stood, weakly. No, he didn't want a dragon. He didn't want this dragon nor any other dragon. And he didn't want to be here at this weyr or at any other weyr or even alive or ... or ... Wait, what? He didn't even want to be alive? What was he thinking? He slowly made his way back to where the candidates waited, his steps slow and dragging. Out of range of the eggs, he keeled over onto his knees and clutched his stomach. He didn't feel well. He didn't want to be here. He had to get out. He devised a plan. Not a good plan, but a plan.
He forcefully coughed. Again. And then over and over again, just like the pangs of the egg he hadn't actually touched, but had felt, all the same. He felt his stomach go into his throat. He could puke, now. But not on the sands. He rose and began a jog towards the door, holding his stomach as if it could fall off. Once out of the room, he grabbed a waste bin, and shoved a finger to the back of his throat. It worked.
Soon, the waste bin was full of a yellow, acidic smelling substance. He wiped his mouth, tied up the bag, and began to walk back to his quarters, away from all of this. It occurred to him that all of the other candidates had been there, including Isscer. He wondered how they had done, but realized he had been too selfish to look and see for himself.
Sorry for not posting that round, I was very sick and I'm still getting over it.
Not touching any eggs.
IC actions have IC consequences, so if there are consequences for this post, so be it! TL;DR: He fakes getting sick and makes himself puke outside, and then leaves.
There was... there was... nothing. His chest had begun to breathe a sigh of relief, subconsciously. But the nothing had a sense of silence, a lack of everything holy, good, or bad. He felt as if he were standing in the middle of a devoid desert. No, in the middle of thing. There was a sense of dread. What if he had killed the egg? But then he did feel something. It was a pang, like a singular heartbeat in his mind. But very loud. He wanted to cover his ears with his hands from the volume of it, but he could not. It elicited this feeling of energeticness. And then the heartbeat again. And again. Again and again until there was no discerning from one heartbeat to the next. It felt as if all of the emotions in the universe had been heightened into a pandemonium, rolled into one, and injected into his bloodstream.
He had removed his hand. He felt excited, but also numb, deaf, and disoriented, as if he had been standing in the middle of nuclear explosions. His heart rate had gone through the roof, and he felt weak, as if he had just run a marathon.
His other hand reached into the sand below him, to steady him, but the searing sand met his flesh and burned. He withdrew his hand. He stood, weakly. No, he didn't want a dragon. He didn't want this dragon nor any other dragon. And he didn't want to be here at this weyr or at any other weyr or even alive or ... or ... Wait, what? He didn't even want to be alive? What was he thinking? He slowly made his way back to where the candidates waited, his steps slow and dragging. Out of range of the eggs, he keeled over onto his knees and clutched his stomach. He didn't feel well. He didn't want to be here. He had to get out. He devised a plan. Not a good plan, but a plan.
He forcefully coughed. Again. And then over and over again, just like the pangs of the egg he hadn't actually touched, but had felt, all the same. He felt his stomach go into his throat. He could puke, now. But not on the sands. He rose and began a jog towards the door, holding his stomach as if it could fall off. Once out of the room, he grabbed a waste bin, and shoved a finger to the back of his throat. It worked.
Soon, the waste bin was full of a yellow, acidic smelling substance. He wiped his mouth, tied up the bag, and began to walk back to his quarters, away from all of this. It occurred to him that all of the other candidates had been there, including Isscer. He wondered how they had done, but realized he had been too selfish to look and see for himself.
Sorry for not posting that round, I was very sick and I'm still getting over it.
Not touching any eggs.
IC actions have IC consequences, so if there are consequences for this post, so be it! TL;DR: He fakes getting sick and makes himself puke outside, and then leaves.
