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!
19.May.14, 03:08 PM
Quennell, Retired Master Healer.
Quennell had been both surprised, and delighted, when he had been invited along to the Hatching at the newly revealed Weyr. He wasn’t quite sure why everyone else was going, but he knew exactly why he was going: to see what familiar faces he could find. The youngster that had given him a ride had clearly Impressed in the secret hideaway, and seemed unsure of what to say to an old man without any official rank. Quennell hadn’t been too fazed by that, and had indeed simply watched everything with huge and unashamedly excited expression as he took in the dragon he’d be riding on (a nice looking blue) and had stared in delight at the re-built area. They hadn’t been in the air long enough to catch more than a passing glimpse of what had once been their Weyr (he’d heard that story, mostly via the grapevine). While he would have liked to, he did not have time to ask to see it before he was being ushered into the Sands and shown to his seat before the boy was off to find someone else while eggs rocked.
He had not remembered it taking so long, though his only remembrance of Hatchings prior to that very one had been on the eve of the Plague, and so few had Hatched, or Impressed – and those who had, had succumbed quickly to the illness, that seeing the little ones die hadn’t been so shocking. He had been surprised more had not died, though it quickly became apparent by the murmurs amongst the dragonfolk that such was not the norm. ‘Too few candidates’ seemed to be the words on most lips and Quennell frowned. He had thought there were plenty of youngsters on the Sands, though he guessed that proved what he recalled of Hatchings. He would need to re-educate himself.
It was as he was mulling over this that he heard someone make a taunt, and his furrowed eyebrows were drawn to the very small woman (and he had had to squint a bit to be sure the short girl was actually an adult) who was clearly the target of the mockery. The white scars against an angry red face caused him to purse his lips, wondering what the story was there, but again his attention was demanded elsewhere before he could follow through. He hadn’t worn his knots, and was unwilling to shove himself into the healing fray of those who had been injured (nothing looked that dramatic, anyway, and Quennell specialised in different types of wounds, so why get in the way?) when the gold clearly announced the end of the Hatching by allowing the last egg to be dropped between.
He wondered for a moment why she had not done it herself, then shrugged as he was tapped lightly on the shoulder by a youngster, who asked if he would like to be shown to the post Hatching feast now. Quennell nodded, and allowed him to lead the way through the crowded Sands. They hadn’t made it far when a familiar dragon was spotted – not even all those years could wash away the sight of that dragon – and Quennell frowned at the big brown, watching as it took off, though without a rider. A quick glance around showed N’mall not far away, with a group of other brownriders. His lips pursed, Quennell wondered at the luck of the world that the questionable man would survive. He had less favourable opinions about S’kef, too, but having cleaned up the messes both men had made of his boy, Quennell did not think he would ever think much of any brownrider…
He stopped mid step, breath catching in his throat as he spotted another familiar dragon, this one a far more welcoming sight, and Quennell wondered later how he did not crumple like a delicate lady at the sight of Larrikith. Brown eyes searched the area, and he turned slowly, almost missing B’jin before darting back and watching as the greenrider exited the Sands wrapped very comfortably around another rider. Brown eyes narrowed to focus his gaze, and read the knots. A bluerider, but not ranked. Quennell rocked back on his heels and studied the pair carefully, noting with no displeasure the relaxed quality to the greenrider he remembered being round tight with fear and pain. He was not going to pass judgement yet, but the bluerider gained some points.
Then there was an ear piercing squeal and Quennell had all of a split second to balance himself before B’jin was throwing himself at him, and Larrikith was squealing in his head loud enough for the entire Weyr to hear if they were at all interested, though she wasn’t speaking a lick of sense. He patted the greenrider gently on the shoulder, feeling him tremble though not in a bad way, and smiling placidly as B’jin examined his face and tugged on a lock of his hair, before dragging him across the distance and back to the awkward looking bluerider.
Quennell noted the two young men behind them, and unlike the pair in question, did not for a moment miss the resemblance the two bore to each man, clearly their sons. His attention was – yet again – redirected for him as B’jin tugged on his hand and gushed out introductions. The hesitation before naming the bluerider caused Quennell some pause himself, wondering on the lack of title; they were clearly involved, and B’jin was clearly invested. Quennell peered down his nose at R’nd, wondering if he should retract those points, he had given him a moment before.
“I am Benjinamor’s healer,” he stated, taking pity on the confused look on the man’s face and B’jin’s euphoric silence being of no help to the bluerider. He eyed R’nd steadily, not blinking and refusing to break eye contact. “Do you take care of him?” His eyebrows arched just slightly, the question pointed. Though he did not glance away, he saw B’jin flush and squirm uncomfortably, and the flat look that fell over his son’s face. The other boy looked lost, but he was more interested in R’nd’s expression.
Quennell had been both surprised, and delighted, when he had been invited along to the Hatching at the newly revealed Weyr. He wasn’t quite sure why everyone else was going, but he knew exactly why he was going: to see what familiar faces he could find. The youngster that had given him a ride had clearly Impressed in the secret hideaway, and seemed unsure of what to say to an old man without any official rank. Quennell hadn’t been too fazed by that, and had indeed simply watched everything with huge and unashamedly excited expression as he took in the dragon he’d be riding on (a nice looking blue) and had stared in delight at the re-built area. They hadn’t been in the air long enough to catch more than a passing glimpse of what had once been their Weyr (he’d heard that story, mostly via the grapevine). While he would have liked to, he did not have time to ask to see it before he was being ushered into the Sands and shown to his seat before the boy was off to find someone else while eggs rocked.
He had not remembered it taking so long, though his only remembrance of Hatchings prior to that very one had been on the eve of the Plague, and so few had Hatched, or Impressed – and those who had, had succumbed quickly to the illness, that seeing the little ones die hadn’t been so shocking. He had been surprised more had not died, though it quickly became apparent by the murmurs amongst the dragonfolk that such was not the norm. ‘Too few candidates’ seemed to be the words on most lips and Quennell frowned. He had thought there were plenty of youngsters on the Sands, though he guessed that proved what he recalled of Hatchings. He would need to re-educate himself.
It was as he was mulling over this that he heard someone make a taunt, and his furrowed eyebrows were drawn to the very small woman (and he had had to squint a bit to be sure the short girl was actually an adult) who was clearly the target of the mockery. The white scars against an angry red face caused him to purse his lips, wondering what the story was there, but again his attention was demanded elsewhere before he could follow through. He hadn’t worn his knots, and was unwilling to shove himself into the healing fray of those who had been injured (nothing looked that dramatic, anyway, and Quennell specialised in different types of wounds, so why get in the way?) when the gold clearly announced the end of the Hatching by allowing the last egg to be dropped between.
He wondered for a moment why she had not done it herself, then shrugged as he was tapped lightly on the shoulder by a youngster, who asked if he would like to be shown to the post Hatching feast now. Quennell nodded, and allowed him to lead the way through the crowded Sands. They hadn’t made it far when a familiar dragon was spotted – not even all those years could wash away the sight of that dragon – and Quennell frowned at the big brown, watching as it took off, though without a rider. A quick glance around showed N’mall not far away, with a group of other brownriders. His lips pursed, Quennell wondered at the luck of the world that the questionable man would survive. He had less favourable opinions about S’kef, too, but having cleaned up the messes both men had made of his boy, Quennell did not think he would ever think much of any brownrider…
He stopped mid step, breath catching in his throat as he spotted another familiar dragon, this one a far more welcoming sight, and Quennell wondered later how he did not crumple like a delicate lady at the sight of Larrikith. Brown eyes searched the area, and he turned slowly, almost missing B’jin before darting back and watching as the greenrider exited the Sands wrapped very comfortably around another rider. Brown eyes narrowed to focus his gaze, and read the knots. A bluerider, but not ranked. Quennell rocked back on his heels and studied the pair carefully, noting with no displeasure the relaxed quality to the greenrider he remembered being round tight with fear and pain. He was not going to pass judgement yet, but the bluerider gained some points.
Then there was an ear piercing squeal and Quennell had all of a split second to balance himself before B’jin was throwing himself at him, and Larrikith was squealing in his head loud enough for the entire Weyr to hear if they were at all interested, though she wasn’t speaking a lick of sense. He patted the greenrider gently on the shoulder, feeling him tremble though not in a bad way, and smiling placidly as B’jin examined his face and tugged on a lock of his hair, before dragging him across the distance and back to the awkward looking bluerider.
Quennell noted the two young men behind them, and unlike the pair in question, did not for a moment miss the resemblance the two bore to each man, clearly their sons. His attention was – yet again – redirected for him as B’jin tugged on his hand and gushed out introductions. The hesitation before naming the bluerider caused Quennell some pause himself, wondering on the lack of title; they were clearly involved, and B’jin was clearly invested. Quennell peered down his nose at R’nd, wondering if he should retract those points, he had given him a moment before.
“I am Benjinamor’s healer,” he stated, taking pity on the confused look on the man’s face and B’jin’s euphoric silence being of no help to the bluerider. He eyed R’nd steadily, not blinking and refusing to break eye contact. “Do you take care of him?” His eyebrows arched just slightly, the question pointed. Though he did not glance away, he saw B’jin flush and squirm uncomfortably, and the flat look that fell over his son’s face. The other boy looked lost, but he was more interested in R’nd’s expression.
