Much to the surprise of the rider who had come to summon the candidates for her dragon's clutch she found the strange green-robed man perfectly awake and fully dressed, even at midnight! He'd been sitting at a small table in his temporary 'home', writing on a piece of parchment with an eagle feather by candlelight."Do you need something?" Darreon asked, lifting his head and peering at the light-green's rider over the tops of his spectacles. "Because if you don't I would appreciate it if you would leave me to my writing." His manner was clean and actually honorable, but a bit on the...degrading side.
Tauryn was...stunned, and at the same time a bit irritated with this particular candidate. "Yes, my dragon's clutch is hatching. Sorry for bothering you, I thought you might want a dragon," she said then went off to collect the other candidates.
Darreon blinked, momentarily wondering what was wrong with the light-green's rider. No one ever seemed to mind his manner at being disturbed from his writings before. Oh well, time to see if he'd get a dragon. The seemingly young man sighed heavily rubbing his eyes from beneath his glasses then stood and changed into the white candidate's robe.
It felt...odd to be wearing something else after so long. He'd always worn his robes and--though few people knew this--the jeans and t-shirt under them. Now he was wearing a...."bowling shirt". Or at least that's what the people of the planet Earth in this realm would call it. Calmly, he took up his staff and stalked down the halls to the hatching sands.
Most of the other candidates had already gathered...a few from Earth actually remarking on the "bowling shirts". It made Darreon smile, he had known that's what they'd call it!
Eggs hatched, one by one (or sometimes by twos). All the while Darreon kept a calm composure...on the outside. With each hatching his heart sank...not very much, just a bit. And in the end he stood on the sands, with six other candidates though he felt quite alone. His manner remained stoic as ever, though, and he left the sands in much the same way as he could...until...
Woo! Wait until Dameon and Lani hear that their old grampa's standing for a dragon! Wonder what they'll think? A dark but friendly voice laughed in Darreon's head.
The Archmage's head jerked up and he glared at the black silver-marked dragon that sat on a ledge where he had been watching the hatching. Dameon's black-silver Epitath! With a huff the old mage shook his head at the imprudent young Searchdragon then stomped off back to his weyr.
Temper temper, might blow your bloodpressure.
By the elderspirits! He was an elderspirit himself in dragon form, why was he letting the young Fira-descended black poke fun at him!?