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Mine Hall / Event Warm Bodies, Warm Beds [ 36.07.2591; 10:45 PM ] || Event
« on: February 09, 2019, 03:18:39 PM »
‘Proper’ Holders might call them nothing but criminals, but both Haleene knew that she, Cassaval, and the others had worked hard for what they had. None of this would have been possible without it, even if some of that hard work had included bribery, political maneuvering, and intimidation. That aside, this was still an endeavor that she was proud of:  just as they had successfully started up the first gambling den since the end of the Pass, it hadn’t taken long for support to flow in and be translated to something more. Things just wouldn’t be the same without a brothel too.

And as straight-laced as the Holders liked to pretend to be in the daylight, Haleene knew that this aspect of their business would be just as lucrative as the tables were proving to be. Perhaps even more so. Men that might not otherwise sleep with some waif of a drudge would pay good marks for the ‘legitimacy’ and ‘discretion’ of a proper whore.

Not only men, she supposed. But with the state of things for Holder wives, she’d bet most of their clientele would be.

They were already doing a brisk business even this early in the night, and not only in flesh; offering lower prices for commodities they already sold—alcohol, betting, and smokeweed sticks among them—seemed, at the outset, like an idea bound to lose them money. But with patrons already feeling like they’d won something through it, they’d stay longer, drink to greater excess, bet higher, and be more easily swayed by the charming attentions of the whores moving about the betting floor.

For the moment, things were calm. Loud, but calm. And tucked away this far from the residential areas of the Mine Hall, safeguarded by Peacekeeper patrols that would keep people away from ‘unfinished tunnels’, Haleene was confident the night was already beginning. Cassaval seemed to agree, as he flashed her a smile from his place near the bar.

Spoiler for OOC:
Along with a gambling den, the Mine Hall now as its very own brothel attached. :3 Haleene, like Cassaval, is an unranked but adoptable NPC. As ever, anyone is free to make a member of their gang or one of their employees, either as an MNPC or PC. You’re also welcome to check into the OOC thread or go there for additional information!

Weyr Bowl / Event It's Just a Bit of Rain [ 29.07.2591 / 06AM ] Event
« on: January 27, 2019, 06:29:13 PM »
Riders were hardly the only people in the Weyr that started early. With the pale grey sky overhead starting to light up, turning to a faint, powdery blue, people began to leave the tunnels along the weyrbowl and head toward the beach. A light, misting rain fell - but it was warm. Almost pleasant. It'd take several hours before the mist would actually make clothes damp and uncomfortable. If anything, it helped cool down what might've otherwise been a hot and muggy morning.

As people neared the beach, crowds began to split. Some for the docks, where small boats were flipped up on the shore and the larger one was tethered to the pier. Others toward a sheltered work space where more fish would be cut up and salted, where later haulings would be cut, gutted, and prepped for the next day. Riders were landing dragonback, or walking alongside. Beach and Prairie Wing were scheduled to be present. Green and Blue riders paired up with crafters and bleary eyed candidates, helping to get nets situated and boats ready to push off into the steel grey, calm water of the ocean.

Bronze and Brown dragonpair landed in the deeper shallows, ensuring if there were snakes about their number and presence would send them slinking deeper into the ocean. It was too light, too nice a day to expect an attack. Salt water sloshed up around the dragons as they set about their morning patrol.

Another day on the beach, another morning of work starting up. Conversation started as a murmur between groups of workers or pairings of Riders amongst the shifting of boats and the occasional shouted order as the fisher's larger boat was getting ready to ship off for a day of deep sea fishing.

Spoiler for OOC:
Not every event has to be full of tragedy, right?

Bring your Candidate, your Fisher, your Beach and Prairie Rider. Time to have a nice, misty morning on the beach. As always, there is an OOC thread. <3

Past and Possibilities / Event Strike from Below [ 18.7.2587; 9 AM ] || Event
« on: October 25, 2018, 05:33:21 PM »
Despite all that had happened, a tentative atmosphere of optimism had settled over Southern Winds.  So fresh and newly established on the island, there seemed a veneer of paradise over it all. With plentiful wherry in the jungle, a wealth of fish in the Cove, and far more green, living things than almost anyone in living memory had ever seen… it was hard not to hope that the future could be better than the past. Even the recent hatching of a peculiarly dark dragon—the jury was still out, it seemed, on whether Neisoth was a new color or just a particularly deeply-colored Bronze—had little bearing on what seemed to be an inviting new way of life.

Hard work still lay ahead, but the spirit of the Pernese people had risen to greater heights than it had in a long, long time. It was so different to work toward something that seemed real and achievable, rather than being worn down by the constant struggle just to survive for what, to some, no doubt seemed like no reason.

So a large number of Weyrfolk, Holders, Crafters, and Riders alike had gathered on the beach to aid the Fishers with whatever they needed. It wasn’t practical to carry that many people into the jungle to hunt—not when dragons could do so faster and more easily—but fishing? That was something almost anyone could do, even if it was just hauling buckets of the things to those skilled enough with a knife to gut them.

It was even sunny, the heat of the summer cut with some clouds across the sky and a pleasant breeze. A deceptively beautiful day filled with good spirits and hope and chatter.

At least, until some dark shape surged up out of the water at one side of the beach, shedding a flurry of wet sand as something lunged forward and fastened its teeth around the nearest person’s leg—dragging them under and into the swirling, clouded water. It happened fast enough that the first victim didn’t have time to scream until they were already under water, when it did more harm than good.

Fast enough, maybe, that more would be caught off guard as confusion and panic and chaos impeded the effort to understand what was going on… for far more than one of the creatures had been drawn by the activity at the water’s edge with the intention to feed.

Spoiler for OOC:
You can find the OOC info and check-in here. You can feel free to pop in with any PCs so long as their history supports it, and you’re more than welcome to make MNPCs to participate with as well!

You can also read our guide to these events and our guide to Member NPCs, in addition to what information is present in the OOC thread.

With moderate temperatures and no storm brewing on the horizon, this proved the perfect day for what the Holders and Crafters at the Mine Hall had in mind. It was a rare day when work wasn’t as endemic there as it was at the Weyr, no matter what the Weyrfolk might think of Holder laziness. Most were not strangers to hard work and effort—after all, they had survived the Pass as well, no matter what it had taken from them. Though the promise of an Interval’s peace might be lamented, many were ready and determined to make of life what they could with their increased and newfound independence.

But the leaders of the Hold and the leaders of the Crafts knew that people still needed a break. Food might be a concern, and the Hunter attack in previous months had proven that life was still dangerous outside of the Weyr Bowl—but if the Ninth had one long-reaching effect, it was that it had enabled those on Pern to learn how to forget those things for a time and celebrate. A body could only stand so much worry and state of high alert before it needed to relax, if only for a little while. For an afternoon and an evening.

So the picnic had been arranged, Master Crafters and Hold leadership alike agreeing that the day would be characterized by an early end to shifts, save for those absolutely necessary to the functioning of the Hall. And with the midday sun beaming down on the grass and cleared space behind the halfway-completed wall, things almost seemed normal, if not necessarily ideal.

Families and friends alike had gathered, pockets of people clustering at various locations around the space to talk and eat, sitting either directly on the grass or on old blankets brought outside for the purpose. Whers still patrolled around the perimeter, or accompanied their handlers side-by-side, but they were relaxed, at ease. Some of the gentler ones were even playing with the children that chased and were chased around the clearing while their parents talked.

All in all, it was a pretty day. The continued struggles of life on the island aside, it seemed a peaceful one too.

Spoiler for OOC:
It can’t all be monster attacks and death all the time. In contrast to the Last Gambit event, this one is open to all Holders and Crafters living at the Hall—and any family or friends who may have caught a ride down there from Prairie Wing to celebrate too. Have lunch, relax, reconnect with loved ones, and reflect on how far things have come in the past turn.

As always, there is an OOC thread you can check in at, and it can be found here. :bird:

Mine Hall / Event Marks are worth something here [ 32.05.2591 / 11PM ] Event
« on: August 17, 2018, 11:15:04 AM »
It’d taken some bribing of a select group of Peacekeepers and Miners, and several months of work, but it’d all been worth it. To those in the know at the Mine Hall, there were certain activities picking up in popularity. Wher fights, some hidden cavern drinking spots, and even a renewed interest in gambling. Only the most enterprising of individuals were going to be able to capitalize on their newfound freedom now that they were no longer at the Weyr – and hadn’t been for some time.

Progress might moving along outside, in the jungle, and tunnels being expanded ever in the mountain, but the people needed some fun. A release.

Cassaval and his group of close friends had orchestrated the construction of the Last Gambit. A cumulation of effort on their part. Bringing the gang back together for a cause they’d all thought worthy. Getting the Miners to carve out a cavern big enough for the gambling hall deep in the mountain, dumping some marks into peacekeepers pockets to keep them from looking into the work or the tunnels that were being expanded for the place.

It might not be as elaborate as anything back at Fort, but the Last Gambit was something for the gang to be proud of. Stone slab tables decorated the interior for dice and card games to be bet on, with an actual bar running across the far end, the opposite of the entrance. With marks having a real value now, with wher fights taking place in the darker corners of the Mine Hall, the gang wanted to invest in a place to spend those marks – and make some for themselves.

Eventually, they’d have some girls to work here too. Holders needed a place to relieve the pressures of their day without their significant other bothering them too. That’d been one of the appeal of the brothels back at Fort Hold, after all.

Now complete, this would be the first night the Last Gambit was officially open. Cassaval and his gang had let the news out, through word of mouth to trusted friends and they expected the turn out to be great.

Spoiler for OOC:
Woo! Gambling Den! Now the Mine Hall has their very own. Cassaval is going to be an adoptable NPC and anyone is free to make a member of his gang, either MNPC or PC. 8D As always, we have an OOC thread for check in and all the additional info!

Qirelai’s efforts weren’t in vain. Hidden from sight by the press of the crowd, she proved herself a menace—many of the would-be attackers stumbling or pushed back as she struck at their legs. Some even slipped on the blood starting to slick the floor, going down hard and lost under the feet of those eager to get at the riders and hopeful Candidates.

But not all of them were out of the fight so easily. Now eye level with her, one of Qirelai’s victims spotted her as she darted back from her latest attack. “You!” The word came out as a snarl, contorting his narrow features into a mask of anger. Quick as a tunnel snake, he grabbed at her, fingers catching on the fabric of her clothes, and seeking to drag her closer—down and down and under the stomping, heedless feet of those moving around them.

Before she could be pulled fully under, another’s hands hooked under her arms to snake around her waist. “Let go of her!” The rider that had nearly tripped over her kicked out at the drudge’s face, and there was a sickening crunch as his heavy boot connected and broke the man’s nose.

He hauled Qirelai to her feet then, mouth twisted down in a frown beneath his thick beard. “What’re you doing, girl? You gotta get out of here.”

Her assaults on the crowd, as well as the riders’ blades, had pushed back the crowd just enough that some could retreat toward the exit. Others were already herding the Candidates out to the courtyard, to the dragons landing there, giving up the tithe as lost. But the future of the Weyr, maybe that they could save. The tall rider that had helped Qirelai to her feet pushed her toward D’rak. “Take her! We’ll cover—!”

His sentence broke off in a roar of pain; the Nabolese didn’t hesitate long when they saw the riders making their escape, and one had lunged forward to sink his knife into the bearded rider’s side. His leathers kept it from going deeper, but dark, dark blood was still flowing down his leg. Big as he was, though, he stopped his attacker from darting past him toward D’rak and Qirelai even as the Holders surged forward again, delivering the man a stunning blow to his jaw and pushing him back to off-balance others.

Across the chaotic hall, Viscionis’ flight to the tunnels came up short as he reached the entrance nearest him. Impossible to see from a distance, a Peacekeeper had taken up a spot there, he and his hulking Bronze wher set back just enough in the hallway that they could take those escaping by surprise. He sneered when he saw Viscionis approach with a bundle held to his chest.

“Not so fast, thief.”

Jungle Wing’s doubts aside, things had been organized in such a way to minimize conflicts as much as possible. In the last few turns, the other Wings had incorporated some of Jungle’s strategies into their drills—for just such an occasion as this, as well as to combat the Hunters’ growing aggression. They could no longer afford for only one of the Weyr’s Wings to know how to fight the beasts, or at least avoid them. Jungle would always be the authority on the subject, the most experienced with the terrain their Wing was named after, but the Weyrleadership had not made this decision lightly.

So it was that Jungle’s best scouts ran point for the groups, keeping an eye on the canopy for any suspicious movement. The rest of the smaller dragons—Blues and Greens—were tasked with flushing out the wherry. Even for those from other Wings, this was a maneuver they knew, since every dragon needed to eat.

And those doing the flushing would drive the game upward, into the waiting talons of the larger Bronzes and Browns, who were far too big to fit in the space between the admittedly huge trees. As each group spread out to their assigned locations, those larger dragons took up their positions like the joins of a net, waiting for the other dragons to bring the hunt to them.

As always, keeping a watchful eye out as well. Things would only go smoothly if they all watched out for one another.

Spoiler for OOC:
Purposefully kept a little vague so you can do with it what you will. 8D

Weyr Bowl / Event Blood and Guts [ 30.4.2591; 5:05 AM ] || Event
« on: July 19, 2018, 10:01:29 PM »
The rain from the night before hadn’t dissipated yet, making the Bowl a muddy mess near the well-trafficked areas more devoid of grass. The ground was soft, squishy enough that it felt spongy to walk on, but at least the rainstorm had cut out some of the heat otherwise settled over the island. There was no brilliant sunrise either, as the grey sky shielded it with clouds.

Things were quiet at first as the Herders made their way to the pens and small barn housing their livestock. Nothing seemed out of place, beyond some of the herdbeasts shifting a little restlessly as they huddled under the overhangs shielding them from the drizzle; but there was no sign of skycoursers making their way over the lip of the Bowl. Perhaps the early-morning movements of some dragons had spooked them?

The first few on the scene made the discovery as they stepped into the barn. Another Herder was crumpled on the dirt and straw, head bloodied from where they’d been knocked out cold. Their wher lay nearby, profusely bleeding ichor—still alive, but breathing only with difficulty.

There was a call for the Healers then—one for the human and one for the wher—and an apprentice bolted across the slick grass to retrieve the medics from their Hall. No sooner had they left than the heavier, thick scent of blood drew others to one of the stalls near the back of the barn.

What they found there was even worse. The floor and walls were awash with clotting and drying blood, which had been tracked out onto the straw. What little mangled remains of the runner had been left behind—mostly internal organs that couldn’t be easily cooked, and the glassy-eyed, slack-jawed head—were piled in the middle of the stall from where it had been butchered.

Hunger stalked the Weyr, and it had just turned violent.

Spoiler for OOC:
The plot thickens! We’ve deliberately left the identity of the knocked-out night guard vague, and whoever wants to claim that particular role is free to do so with an IC post.

As always, you can check in to the event at the OOC thread if you do not want to post.

Amongst the controlled chaos, Brigan was the eye of the storm. People flocked to him for instruction, Journeymen regularly stood around to further disperse instruction, and apprentices were all quick to do as they were told. Everyone was certainly doing their best but having Brigan moving around in the Healer Hall proper and treating people certainly put things in perspective. The man was generally a monolithic figure that lived amongst the other masters, who taught and issued instructions – not someone who dealt with patients.

But today was all hands on deck. Even dragon healers were being pulled to do basic healing tasks. Check temperatures, assess progression of the illness...

When a wher pushed through the organized mess, Brigan’s hard eyes caught it and issued a quick order that the creature was cleared out with so many of the others. There was already so little space in the place for people, let alone wher.

The poor apprentice that then had to deal with Tressisk... He smiled hesitantly at Tressie, noted that she didn’t exactly look well, and said in a halting voice, “C-can you send your wher outside? Then you can come with me.” He spared a look for Sionann and smiled his best apologetic smile. “Someone will be with you, too, shortly.” Taking them both to the same quickly set up area didn’t really sound like a good idea and it certainly wasn’t protocol. Instead, it was his job to get the extra creatures out of the hall – so he’d do just that – and see to the patients. So, he gestured to the flit. “Uhm, Brigan doesn’t really... uhm, would prefer if such... if you’d send your flit away while the Hall is so full.”

@Inki @Wren

It didn’t take long for Phenust to show up just as the creatures were being hauled into the Hall. Records tucked under his arms and wrapped in protected, oiled leather against the weather. Such things were precious, after all, and even now they couldn’t risk being exposed to the elements. The man looked haggard and hurried, but he didn’t stop along the beach to ask a bunch of unnecessary questions. He’d been out on a boat, like everyone else, and had rushed to collect the required information as soon as it was apparent they had a situation on their hands.

The gutting hall was cleared out of everyone but other fishers. Dragon riders and other weyrfolk need not be apart of this particular deliberation. Once they were under the roof of the hall, space was cleared out and wiped off so that Phenust could display the woefully incomplete records they had on shipfish. Some journalistic ramblings of a previous master and artful sketchings that, frankly, detailed something that could’ve just been a big fish.

Phenust made a face at the sketches and details before taking a step back so all the fishers gathered could look, should they like. Something like this would need to be discussed amongst the craft and they wouldn’t want silly rumors running around that they’d actually killed what was most definitely a shipfish.

Honestly, there was no way to tell.

Priority was granted to the journeyman, but even the apprentices were given a chance to look after they were done.

Healer Hall / Event How's Your Temperature? [ 29.3.2591; 8:25 AM ] || Event
« on: April 07, 2018, 12:56:57 PM »

After the announcement and a brief breakfast, Brigan returned to the Healer Hall. He did not look hurried exactly, because he never did—looking hounded or ragged simply wasn’t in his nature—but his eating of his meal had been quick, efficient. He was not a man who wasted times at the best of them, and certainly not now.

Nor had he gone to the Weyrleadership lightly. By and large, they left the Healer Hall alone to run itself as the Masters saw fit. Allied as they had been during the Pass, any political maneuvering had died along with Brigan’s predecessor. That sort of thing was best left to the Harpers, he’d always felt—harkening back to the days before the Ninth when their Hall had done exactly that. Healers were meant to be the ultimate neutral party, as Brigan saw it, treating both Weyr and Hold indiscriminately and thus keeping out of any more entangling affairs.

So the relationship between the Craftmaster and the Weyrleadership was one of neutral, quiet respect. When he went to them with a concern, it was a rare enough thing that they knew well enough to listen.

The Healer Hall, as he stepped into it, was a buzz of activity, though his fellow Crafters parted in his wake almost subconsciously as he moved through their ranks. With suspect patients now dutifully filing in, the place was only going to get busier. Those dragon riders who had felt ill enough had already been screened and processed. Now, though, everyone else in the Weyr would be showing up at their doors.

It was going to be a long week.

Spoiler for OOC:
Who doesn’t like having to deal with illness? 8D Just about anyone can participate in this thread, since people from all ranks and walks of life are liable to be infected. Feel free to post with any characters you want to be ill, and/or with those who might think they are but ultimately aren’t. (Or at least not yet.) Just indicate in your post if you want them to ultimately pass the screening.

You’ll all be free to arrange just how serious your character’s illness gets otherwise, unless you want to arrange something with the staff for extra tension. :love:

As always, you can check in here if you prefer.

Mine Hall / Event Hush Hush [ 19.1.2591 / 11:25 PM ] || Event
« on: December 16, 2017, 05:13:26 PM »
Properly reputable Holders would no doubt have you believe that they’d wanted to get away from the Weyr for noble reasons—to avoid having their way of life snuffed out and absorbed by that of the Weyrfolk; to prevent their children from getting dangerous ideas about how to live their lives; to get out from under the authoritarian thumb of the Weyrleadership. And for some of them, that was no doubt true; at least, they had likely convinced themselves that it was. If nothing else, they had certainly deceived themselves into believing that all of those who backed their cause felt that way for the same reasons, had the same motivations as they did.

But what looks like the most appealing, polished truth is not always so. Perhaps that was true of the Holders most of all.

Those in the know had no doubt seen the move to Mine Hall as a step in the right direction. Crafters could hardly bully them around as much as the dragon riders did, particularly given that so many of them came from Holder backgrounds or had married into Holder families. That, and they could only be so many places at once; with the back tunnels having been widened to accommodate the new flood of people, and construction continuing on the area beyond the Hall that would eventually be the site of First Hold, there were small, hidden nooks and crannies where the illicit could once again begin to take place.

It started slow, almost agonizingly so for those who eagerly awaited a return to how things had been at Fort. A few underhanded deals here, exchanges of alcohol there, maybe even some enterprising individuals looking to once again start up the market of drugs, wherfights, and flesh. So when a quiet ripple had passed through some parts of the Mine Hall, passed in hushed tones via word of mouth to those who could be trusted, who had been involved before…

To many, it would feel like coming home.

The cooperation of some of the Peacekeepers was key, looking the other way and perhaps even keeping their patrols a bit truncated this evening. Things were quiet, it seemed—normal—save for the scattered, unobtrusive trickle of people and whers going about their business. But that was not so unusual, and who was to say that they were all going to wind up in the same place?

But they did. In one of the rearmost tunnels, deepest into the mountain and away from the residential caverns, they gathered. Ringing the walls, people and whers had congregated to exchange bets and pass around wineskins. Yet the real draw, the real action was just about to begin. For it, there had been a rough circle marked out on the floor, in chalk that would easily be washed or smudged away when the night was done.

And as the small crowd swelled to its final numbers, the first two handlers led their fighting whers into the ring.

Hopefully the ichor would be as easy to clean up as the chalk.

Spoiler for OOC:
Wher fights are usually among the same color—but exceptions can be made for those who overlap in size categories. Queens are the only ones strictly adherent to that rule, given that they could simply use their will to dominate a lower ranked color. Beyond that, live your dreams! Whoever jumps in with their whers first will get the first slot. :3 But don’t let that stop you. Carry on with as many fights as you want. Our only courtesy reminder is to avoid powerplaying another player’s character; double check with them if there’s a certain way you want the fight to go.

If your character was involved in the seedy side of Hold life back at Fort, odds are they heard about this gathering; old gang members and previous wher fighters were prioritized, but it’s fair game beyond that. And, as ever, you can check in at our OOC thread here.

Weyr Hall / Event Greeting the Future [ 37.10.2590; 6 PM ] Event
« on: November 23, 2017, 01:55:25 PM »
Clouds had been crowding one another across the sky all day, making the world seem soft, muted, and even muffled with the mist that hung over the island. Only when the sun began to descend past the horizon did it start to clear up, the cloud cover dissipating even though the mist did not, shrouding Southern Winds whilst revealing the stars that began to peek out from the blackening sky. Pern’s moons started to rise too, casting their own pale light down onto the world.

It had been an unusual day for the Weyr in that beyond those support staff needed to keep the place running, and those preparing for the evening’s revelry, most had it off. The eve of the new turn was famous for it now—a marker of the new era that Pern had entered, since during the Pass it wasn’t a celebration that all of them had been able to afford. Now that they could, the Pernese looked forward to both this day and the next, since chores were largely suspended for the first day of the turn as well.

With ample food prepared and the Brewers making available their stores of alcohol, the Weyr was ready to get the celebration underway. Even some from the Mine Hall had made the journey for the night’s celebration, leaving those behind to have their own much quieter festivities. And, per the norm, the night would begin with a feast—maybe not one by the standards of their ancestors, but certainly one to the residents of Southern Winds. For this day, at least, the rations had been relaxed enough for all to enjoy themselves.

Though it didn’t directly celebrate them, this was an exciting time as well for those who had newly graduated Weyrlinghood to become fully fledged riders. With this meal, they would first join their assigned Wings and officially meet their Wingmates.

The Harpers, too, were prepared to give everyone a show; working in shifts so all had the chance to enjoy themselves, groups of them were scheduled to serenade those gathered in the Weyr Hall—and, once dinner was over and some of the long benches were pushed more toward the side of the room, to provide music for dancing to.

One thing was no doubt shared among all the disparate Pernese this night:  that the next turn would be better, and brighter.

Spoiler for OOC:
Next week, we’ll be in a new turn! :shock: It’s hard to believe we’ve come so far. We hope you’ll enjoy the festivities and let your characters mingle with one another. As ever, you can check in at the OOC thread too.

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