Post by Oryen on Nov 19, 2008 11:44:23 GMT -5
Non-canon Weyr
Queens were laying smaller and smaller clutches, and no one knew why. The thinking heads of all of Pern's brightest tried to figure out why, even when Flown by the best, the strongest, and most unrelated of males, the clutches were small, the Hatchlings stunted.
No one had really noticed at first, thinking it was due to the Red Star moving away, as clutches went down in size from forty, to thirty, to twenty, but when the eggs started numbering only in the teens, and decades instead of turns began to pass without new Queens, they knew something was wrong.
There were more indications than just the breedability though... Dragons snapping angrily for no reason, becoming sluggish or more aggressive towards each other, and only more dedicated to their human partners. Hatchlings being born deformed, slight deformities at first... Merely a crooked tail fork, or too small wings, but eventually things got worse, until some of the creatures coming from the eggs looked more like the product of a mating with a wher than anything draconic. Though more than half of each clutch was normal, the survival rate was extremely low.
Then, suddenly, for a while things were okay... Though small, the hatchlings were not quite as deformed as before, the clutches ever so slightly larger. Maybe the efforts of dragon rider had been worthwhile, maybe they had healed their dragon partners. Maybe things would be allright, they thought... Maybe it was simply something small that would soon pass, something that seemed to be coming true when Rozenwyth's, senior Queen of Hathon Weyr, laid a clutch of thirty eggs on the sands. Yet, on the same day that those eggs Hatched, two things happened.
One, each and every single dragon from that clutch was mutated into an entirely new color, pale creatures that looked like Bone and Ivory, smaller than greens yet walking with the regal grace befitting a royal, two fierce red creatures, one the color of Blood and the other of Burgundy, their hides seeming to be trying to match their eyes. A small, slinking creature that looked like a gold, yet with an overlay of oily black, sinking her fangs into one girl before demanding that she carry her off the sands. Huge brutes of dragons, one nearly white, yet touched with the blue of Frost, pure black, like Darkness, slightly smaller creatures that yowled and hissed until they found theirs, yet still their hides seemed to roil like the underbellies of a Storm cloud, gold or silver flickering over their hides akin to lightning, and finally, one Amber dragoness that calmly walked to Her's, who began screaming as she suddenly began to Hear all those draconic minds around her.
Two, that was the same day when the first dragon turned against its brethren. Green Amath had noticed her mate's sudden silence, and no matter how she tried to project her thoughts to him, it was like she met a wall, and when she finally chased him down, Brown Zenryxth turned eyes that had gone pure grey at her and charged, mowing her down and trampling her until her screams, and that of her rider, rent the air. Not even the Queen's voice could touch him as he continued his rampage, colored green as his now dead mate by her ichor, splashed across breast and claw, charging about until, just as suddenly as it begun, Zenryxth fell over, twitched one last time, before dying. No one knew what to make of it, and many tried to forget the incident, until tales of the same thing happening began all over. Even Queens were going crazy, and one weyr fell in a day to her maddened rage, the dragons unable to defend themselves against one blood-raged Queen.
It would become known simply as Madness, and it spread and infected more and more dragons, reaching out to the flitters, nearly wiping them out in only two turns, taking three more for whers, and it crept upon the dragon population, a deadly plague that could not be stopped, could not be fixed. The sight of grey eyes was more than enough to send shivers of fear, and every day dragonriders would breath sighs of relief when their partner's eyes still shone and whirled. Grey was now the color of death, of Madness...
And what of the new colors? Well, they seemed even more prone than any to fall prey to the Madness, though there were those who survived, just as there were those few dragons who seemed to go untouched by the disease, no matter if they were right by one who had it or not. Natural immunity, a strange quirk of fate, a boon that no one was sure how long it would last.
Dragons were a dying species, the only bright spot that Thread wasn't to return for another hundred Turns... But as the dragon population diminished, not by ones or twos, but by dozens each day, hope was steadily being lost, there was enough dragons for ten weyrs, then seven, then five, and now, there was only enough for two, and three Queens among the whole. When Thread did fall, there would be nothing left to protect Pern, nothing left to save the Holders and the Craftsmen. It was in that time of desperation that a daring plan was Hatched.
Two of the Queens, one but barely having taken to the skies in her weyrling training, would send themselves forward with those that had been untouched by Madness, those who were naturally unable to get it. They called those few to them, and prepared to make the jump, dissapearing into the cold Darkness of Between, never hearing the ringing of the last Queen's bugle. Days later, said Queen would be touched by Madness, and would slaughter nearly fifty dragons before her own rider slit her throat.
The entire entourage landed in the same weyr they had left, out on an untouched grassy knoll, but when they looked to the weyr, they knew it was empty. One hundred Turns had it been touched only by the wind and rain, crumbling into ruin. The ghosts of the dead were all that was left, and it was something more than creepy to walk in silence where so many footsteps had once trod. They met with the Holders of the nearby Hold who looked upon them as one would look at spirits, and it took some explanation to let them know who they were and everything. Then was when they found out what had happened to their once-home, all turning to look at the place where such devastation had been.
The holders told them that some dragons remained, though very few, mostly roaming with caravans to protect them while they could. With Threadfall coming soon, many of the Holders were anxious, thievery rampant, and generally bad things. But as the call went out for those last dragonriders to come home and rejoin those that would try and start the weyr, the Queen, the young Gold, and the rest of the dragons that had come with them began trying to return life to the weyr.
Queens were laying smaller and smaller clutches, and no one knew why. The thinking heads of all of Pern's brightest tried to figure out why, even when Flown by the best, the strongest, and most unrelated of males, the clutches were small, the Hatchlings stunted.
No one had really noticed at first, thinking it was due to the Red Star moving away, as clutches went down in size from forty, to thirty, to twenty, but when the eggs started numbering only in the teens, and decades instead of turns began to pass without new Queens, they knew something was wrong.
There were more indications than just the breedability though... Dragons snapping angrily for no reason, becoming sluggish or more aggressive towards each other, and only more dedicated to their human partners. Hatchlings being born deformed, slight deformities at first... Merely a crooked tail fork, or too small wings, but eventually things got worse, until some of the creatures coming from the eggs looked more like the product of a mating with a wher than anything draconic. Though more than half of each clutch was normal, the survival rate was extremely low.
Then, suddenly, for a while things were okay... Though small, the hatchlings were not quite as deformed as before, the clutches ever so slightly larger. Maybe the efforts of dragon rider had been worthwhile, maybe they had healed their dragon partners. Maybe things would be allright, they thought... Maybe it was simply something small that would soon pass, something that seemed to be coming true when Rozenwyth's, senior Queen of Hathon Weyr, laid a clutch of thirty eggs on the sands. Yet, on the same day that those eggs Hatched, two things happened.
One, each and every single dragon from that clutch was mutated into an entirely new color, pale creatures that looked like Bone and Ivory, smaller than greens yet walking with the regal grace befitting a royal, two fierce red creatures, one the color of Blood and the other of Burgundy, their hides seeming to be trying to match their eyes. A small, slinking creature that looked like a gold, yet with an overlay of oily black, sinking her fangs into one girl before demanding that she carry her off the sands. Huge brutes of dragons, one nearly white, yet touched with the blue of Frost, pure black, like Darkness, slightly smaller creatures that yowled and hissed until they found theirs, yet still their hides seemed to roil like the underbellies of a Storm cloud, gold or silver flickering over their hides akin to lightning, and finally, one Amber dragoness that calmly walked to Her's, who began screaming as she suddenly began to Hear all those draconic minds around her.
Two, that was the same day when the first dragon turned against its brethren. Green Amath had noticed her mate's sudden silence, and no matter how she tried to project her thoughts to him, it was like she met a wall, and when she finally chased him down, Brown Zenryxth turned eyes that had gone pure grey at her and charged, mowing her down and trampling her until her screams, and that of her rider, rent the air. Not even the Queen's voice could touch him as he continued his rampage, colored green as his now dead mate by her ichor, splashed across breast and claw, charging about until, just as suddenly as it begun, Zenryxth fell over, twitched one last time, before dying. No one knew what to make of it, and many tried to forget the incident, until tales of the same thing happening began all over. Even Queens were going crazy, and one weyr fell in a day to her maddened rage, the dragons unable to defend themselves against one blood-raged Queen.
It would become known simply as Madness, and it spread and infected more and more dragons, reaching out to the flitters, nearly wiping them out in only two turns, taking three more for whers, and it crept upon the dragon population, a deadly plague that could not be stopped, could not be fixed. The sight of grey eyes was more than enough to send shivers of fear, and every day dragonriders would breath sighs of relief when their partner's eyes still shone and whirled. Grey was now the color of death, of Madness...
And what of the new colors? Well, they seemed even more prone than any to fall prey to the Madness, though there were those who survived, just as there were those few dragons who seemed to go untouched by the disease, no matter if they were right by one who had it or not. Natural immunity, a strange quirk of fate, a boon that no one was sure how long it would last.
Dragons were a dying species, the only bright spot that Thread wasn't to return for another hundred Turns... But as the dragon population diminished, not by ones or twos, but by dozens each day, hope was steadily being lost, there was enough dragons for ten weyrs, then seven, then five, and now, there was only enough for two, and three Queens among the whole. When Thread did fall, there would be nothing left to protect Pern, nothing left to save the Holders and the Craftsmen. It was in that time of desperation that a daring plan was Hatched.
Two of the Queens, one but barely having taken to the skies in her weyrling training, would send themselves forward with those that had been untouched by Madness, those who were naturally unable to get it. They called those few to them, and prepared to make the jump, dissapearing into the cold Darkness of Between, never hearing the ringing of the last Queen's bugle. Days later, said Queen would be touched by Madness, and would slaughter nearly fifty dragons before her own rider slit her throat.
The entire entourage landed in the same weyr they had left, out on an untouched grassy knoll, but when they looked to the weyr, they knew it was empty. One hundred Turns had it been touched only by the wind and rain, crumbling into ruin. The ghosts of the dead were all that was left, and it was something more than creepy to walk in silence where so many footsteps had once trod. They met with the Holders of the nearby Hold who looked upon them as one would look at spirits, and it took some explanation to let them know who they were and everything. Then was when they found out what had happened to their once-home, all turning to look at the place where such devastation had been.
The holders told them that some dragons remained, though very few, mostly roaming with caravans to protect them while they could. With Threadfall coming soon, many of the Holders were anxious, thievery rampant, and generally bad things. But as the call went out for those last dragonriders to come home and rejoin those that would try and start the weyr, the Queen, the young Gold, and the rest of the dragons that had come with them began trying to return life to the weyr.
