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Messages - Inki

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It didn't take long for H'riel to join the rest of his wing in the bowl, though when the news first broke that Beach Wing would be joining Jungle in the Weyrbowl he had needed to take a few moments to assess whether his preparation the night before would be adequate for the new assignment.

This will be a good opportunity for us. We will be able to see how well we fly with Jungle. Dwalath rumbled as H'riel settled himself into position, the rider tense with the uncertainty of what lay ahead. He was interested, of course, and understood that they were being called to join in so as to increase the food they would be able to bring back... but it's not like they'd flown with Jungle Wing before.

They'd been fully fledged riders for almost five months now, and he felt as though he was well suited to his position in the wing. The few weyrlings that had made it into the wing with him had given him some semblance of familiarity to ease him into it... Jungle wing was another level entirely.

Saissith and hers have managed it. Dwalath interrupted, reinforcing the sense that it was a good opportunity as he landed. And we'll have our wingmates with us as well. He added, though his attention was all for the Green dragon that had hatched the clutch before his. Had they been sunning themselves while their riders did drills, or otherwise free to socialise, the Brown would be asking all sorts of questions, both in preparation for his own maiden voyage to the Jungle, and to know just what Saissith had been doing since her wing placement.  Perhaps afterwards there would be time to catch up. He'd been rather occupied in getting to know his wingmates, that he'd altogether forgotten to enquire about the other rider's that had been part of his classes for nigh on three turns.

H'riel gave Dwalath a gentle stroke to acknowledge his words, breathing deeply before is attention focused outwards, to the other riders in the group he had been assigned to. He hadn't been late, though other beach riders had certainly managed to beat him there, which meant only a few more moments of uncertainty before they were being signaled to rise, and then, given order to go between.

H'riel shivered as they reappeared, this time above the bright, deceptively calm greenery that was the jungle proper, the fierce cold followed by the return of the almost stifling humidity, disconcerting. Trill and Chirp will be joining us. Dwalath warned quickly, the words immediately followed by the appearance of the green and blue firelizards, their own bubble of cool air dispelled quickly as they situated themselves on the saddle.

It was a testament to the work he'd put into training the two young flits that they did not cause a fuss, flattening themselves as much as possible as Dwalath angled his body with the rest of their group. H'riel had needed to make sure that the firelizards could be trusted to work in tandem with he and Dwalath, without the constant reinforcement that other flits may require. It meant he could trust them to disappear when things got dangerous rather than sticking around and trying to help, minimizing the possibility that H'riel may become distracted trying to protect them.. not to mention that helping may cause more harm than good.

Spoiler for OOC:
Tag for @SanctifiedSavage because I mentioned Saissith (hope you don't mind) and I haven't specified which group H'riel is with because I suck at decisions. So do with that information what you will.

Tadriath stretched out in the sun a little more, lounging on the heights and observing the organised chaos gathering below with interest. J'ken wasn't much better, sprawled as comfortably as he could be while wearing riding straps, along his dragons neck. They'd volunteered to give a hand, it would have felt wrong just sitting on their ledge and watching, but neither of them were feeling up to a full hunt out in the jungle.

A moments distraction out their could lead to your death, or worse, a wingmates death. He yawned, stretching again as they waited. And that was why he was just hauling stuff. They were both still tired from a long and fruitless jaunt into the North. Not tired enough to compromise their flying, they'd fought thread while worse off than this. But a hunt wasn't thread. Not taking part wouldn't have such potentially dire consequences.

How long will they be?

“Depends what they find, I guess.”

Tadriath huffed out a long gust of breath and turned his attention back to the Weyrbowl. J'ken chuckled and slapped the soft hide under his hand. He agreed entirely - waiting was boring.

One dining hall was the same as any other really when you're hungry. That thought was something that Kyrrin would rue as a scuffle started a few bodies behind her. I mean, she'd been thinking in terms of food provided and places to sit. In terms of civility and calm here should have been, well, calm, when compared to some of her other haunts. Seriously though, is eating in peace too much to ask for? She huffed, overtly ignoring the fight, although her body was turned to keep them in sight and her hand rested on her belt knife.

Kyrrinsk snorted, sitting back on her haunches, wings flaring along with a mental sending of concern/surprise/anticipation at the same time as somebody stepped back with a scream. The belt knife was out of it's sheathe in a moment as Kyrrin put her back against the wall.

She didn't expect a small blue wher to barrel into the fray but she had to give his handler credit for such a speedy response and for accurate targeting as the knife wielder went down.

The brown joining in was what did it. Rule one: don't bring a knife to a fistfight. Rule two: Don't attack a smaller wher that's doing its job. The sharding browns handler is an idiot, the blue had everything under control. Kyrrinsk growled and Kyrrin didn't even have to speak, the green had already worked out what her handler wanted, lunging towards the brown to help the smaller wher get free.

Kyrrin was left behind by a few steps and had only enough free time to register the irony of the situation: the blues handler was a sharding peacekeeper, and possibly more important; did he just punch a wher?

There were a few things that separated Nalata from the rest of her peers, things that reinforced the difference between her future role in the weyr and theirs. It was somewhat easier to ignore originally... she had extra lessons, of course, but it could be brushed aside as extra curricular, a not uncommon practice for many weyrlings. As Minath reached maturity and their lessons became more specific, however, the gap between herself and her classmates were getting larger. It had reached a point where Nalata felt as though what drills and lessons she attended with the rest of the class were purely for her benefit, called away to other duties whenever a lesson did not relate directly to her's, or Minath's own development and future role.

Times like this it became even more apparent. Along with other clutchmates, she had been allowed to assist in the hunt, by cleaning kills as they arrived. For other classmates it was potentially a glimpse into their not too distant future, particularly when some of the beach riders, and even jungle had gotten there right after weyrlinghood... But it wasn't a future she would share. It was a sobering realization, though one she had experienced many times before.

All thoughts for another day - perhaps some she could voice to A'lori that evening. Right now she would need to simply wait for the first batch of riders to return, prepared to assist wherever needed and not at all concerned about getting her hands a little (or a lot) bloody in the process.

Minath herself had found a sunny patch nearby to settle down in, close enough to observe her bonded but far enough away that she wouldn't be underfoot once the hunting wings returned. It was possible she may be asked to assist innweyrling drills or the like, but with Nalata occupied, or soon to be occupied, chances were she would be able to simply enjoy the sun while the weyr worked.

Haithen would never get used to going to the Jungle. He was still new to Jungle. Months had gone by and he was still fresh to the Wing, but that didn’t make him any less determined to show that he could, and would, be a vital member.

Saissith too. So when it was time to go hunting with the others, Haithen felt the thrill of nerves tingle down his spine. Not only would he be hunting with his wingmates, but Beach as well. While he knew that not everyone was watching him, he still felt some added pressure. Like he was being watched.

He was trying not to be anxious, so he fiddled with his straps for something to do while he waited on the others to arrive. Checking and rechecking the leather he checked the night before.

It’s ok. We’ll do great, just like we always do. she cooed with the aim to calm her Rider. Haithen grinned at her, rubbed her shoulder, then climbed up onto the saddle. When the signal was given, they lifted up into the air and went Between with the rest of their Wing.

Coming up and out over the jungle was always a rush. So much green and life that just didn’t exist over the rest of Pern. Coming from Fort, it was beautiful and vibrant. It felt like enough vegetation and life, surely enough, that they could last however long. Could sustain the Weyr and Hall.

Now, though, it was time to hunt. Saissith thrummed, happy, before she dove into the jungle.

K’eeda quite liked hunting. It was new and different. A change in the normal routine of fishing and net hauling. It was exhilarating going into the jungle and flying around, snatching at wherry from the air. Aeleroth certainly got a kick out of it. So when news reached them that they wouldn’t be joining the fishers on the beach but that they should gather in the weyrbowl with Jungle, K’eeda was right as rain and perky. Gearing to go.

Strapped checked twice over, K’eeda was on Aeleroth long before the others. Waiting for the rest of the Wing to gather up, get in position, and prepare for the entire mess. Some were nervous, some, like K’eeda, were eager.

When the signal went for them to go up and Between, K’eeda did just that. Aeleroth launched himself up and the cold darkness of Between was a rush. Especially bursting out of Between over the very green and vibrant jungle.

Time to go to work. At least this was fun.

J’dan liked hunting. He was an active man and he enjoyed his place in Jungle Wing. The fact that there was some massive weyrwide hunt had him bristling though. It wasn’t like Beach Wing had any idea what they were really doing. They belonged where their namesake was. Literally on the damn beach.

Not that he was about to snub the hunt when his Wingleader and Wingseconds were expecting them to represent Jungle though. So he strapped up Brynioth and arranged himself in the weyrbowl near his dragon like a proper Bronzer – dressed in his leathers and waiting while everyone else figured out where they were going and who they were going with. Organized chaos.

Or just a mess of people doing things they shouldn’t be doing.

J’dan never the less climbed up on his dragon when he was told and they lifted off to go Between at the signal. At the end of the day, they were all Riders and if need be, he supposed they’d save the others from a Hunter if he had to.

Quenneca supposed that it would be really hard for a Rider to see an end of Thread. Especially when they lived and breathed it every day. Quenneca had always been so far removed from it. Beneath it every day, but she’d never seen it or fought it. Not like the Riders had. She’d certainly appreciated what they’d done and didn’t believe, as some did, that the Riders were the cause of the whole mess.

That just didn’t make sense to her.

Quenneca smiled at Jo at her answer, and that they’d get to figure out what the ‘Interval’ was. That really was the truth. Having no idea what an Interval was but ‘no Thread’ and now, a dead Pern, all they really had was eachother and the island. Quenneca hoped that the planet would eventually recover.

“What do you want the Interval to be, for you?” Quenneca had no idea what it would be, for her.

Mine Hall / Re: They Do Move in Herds [ 14.02.2591 / 06AM ]
« on: July 12, 2018, 06:41:02 PM »
It had been almost a full turn since he’d lost part of his arm. A more sentimental man might have looked toward the day with some degree of regret or bitterness, but N’syn wasn’t the type. What was done was done, and no amount of wishing or whining would change it. Really, the only reason he’d even realized the “anniversary” was approaching was because one of the Healers had mentioned it during his last follow-up. They’d grown further and further between with time, as his arm healed and he got accustomed to only having one hand—but of course, they wanted to make sure he was doing alright.

He was. Sometimes the loss of his hand annoyed him, or frustrated him when things were harder than they’d once been… but life went on. Both he and Tasuroth knew they’d do the same thing over again if they had to. That was just the nature of the life of a rider.

But the pit of his stomach still sank when the alarm went up through the Wing. Not out of fear or cowardice, but hatred. A feeling of helplessness. This couldn’t keep happening. There had to be a better way to fight or keep at bay the monsters that prowled the island.

Too bad he wasn’t smart enough to come up with it.

There was no hesitation in him or his dragon as their Wing went to the aid of those that had been attacked. No matter their differences of opinion on certain matters, it was the duty of riders to protect those without dragons. It was all happening so fast, and it was so damned hard to see anything with the thickness of the fog—but when another dragon’s voice blared through Tasuroth’s mind, no doubt broadcast in a short burst, radiating outward from the other Brown’s location, he went.

N’syn held tight to the straps as his dragon drove, flaring his wings out at the moment that felt right—they knew the height their Wingleader had projected when they Betweened. Close to the ground now, they could only see within a small pocket of activity, but they’d made their goal. A Hunter was attacking a Brown, the rider nowhere to be seen on his back… But if the dragon was still fighting, surely they had to still be alive.

Putting all of his considerable momentum behind the action, Tasuroth rushed at the Hunter from the side, barreling into it with all the speed and force he could muster. Just enough to knock the creature off balance, he hoped—and he brought his jaws to bear on the thing’s neck, biting and snapping and ripping, and N’syn could taste the phantom of ichor in his mouth.

“Are you alright?” he shouted, hoping the rider was still conscious, that they would know he was addressing them. Tasuroth was too occupied to reach out to another dragon, much less another mind whose location he couldn’t see.

Spoiler for OOC:
@Inki You rang? 8D (And if another Jungle rider wants to have heard too and help, feel free to jump in.)

For their number, uh… 16.

The Jungle / Hope for a Good Hunt [ 24.4.2591; 6:10 AM ] || Event
« on: July 12, 2018, 12:43:24 PM »
Having the Weyrleader change their schedule for any reason was not something that anyone in Jungle Wing relished. In many cases it was just the principle of the thing—having that upstart Black rider tell them what to do didn’t go over well with more traditional riders. But this time, N’syn had to admit that it made sense. The Weyr’s supply of fish was dwindling rapidly, especially with the lingering shortages after the Fishers’ stockpiles had been ruined. And they could hardly rely on Beasthall for all their food; the Herders might supply what meat and other goods they could, but the populations of animals were still small.

So there was only one thing to do. Many in his Wing, he knew, bristled at the idea that S’bok was implying they weren’t doing their jobs. Or that they weren’t doing them well enough. But N’syn didn’t think that was it, really. More the simple fact that if they had more people in the jungle, they could catch more wherry.

Also potentially draw more Hunters, but that was a risk they all knew they had to take. It was that or starve.

Which meant he, at least, wasn’t one of the ones grumbling as both Jungle and Beach gathered in the Weyr Bowl—together for once, and not apart. Prairie was just about to start their ferrying service for the day, but N’syn still spied some of their number breaking away from the rest of the Wing to join the formations that had coalesced together. There were even some Mountain riders, if he wasn’t mistaken, and reserve riders from all four Wings that were setting up the cleaning stations they would be working throughout the day.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, as his two flits helped him check Tasuroth’s straps for tightness. In the many months since his injury, the pair of young firelizards had settled into the routines of helping him with tasks that normally required two hands. Tiaris, bigger and stronger, was good for bracing things for him or providing leverage. And Tialden, all tiny and delicate, was well-suited for finer work that required finesse.

The two of them settled at the front of Tasuroth’s saddle to wait as N’syn climbed up, his Brown patiently waiting for him to buckle himself in. Are you ready? he asked at last, as the Wingleaders and their ‘Seconds indicated that it was time to go.

//Yeah. Let’s go.// As one, the separated formations rose into the air and blinked Between in staggered rotation. With a ranked rider leading each one—L’ale, in his case—the groups were meant to hunt in different sections of the jungle—both to avoid having so many riders gathered in one conspicuous place, and to avoid scaring each other’s game.

The icy effects of the teleportation relieved some of the humidity already sweltering through riding leathers, but only temporarily. As their group angled one way to begin the hunt, N’syn just hoped it would be a plentiful one.

Spoiler for OOC:
The Weyr needs fed! It’s time for another hunt, and this time it’s not so voluntary. You can read more about this event, and check in, at the OOC thread.

@SanctifiedSavage cause I mentioned L'ale

Spoiler for OOC:
Oh my I failed completely at responding to this one! Apologies for the delay guys!
Spoiler for Spoilerception:
Aitorith is.... 10.56m long, 2.1m tall (wow) and has a 16.5m wingspan (4 mth)

Four months into weyrlinghood and Aitorith was growing at a pleasing rate. He asn't as big as some of the other dragons, but that didn't matter. He was towering over most of their clutch, and while he never seemed fully capable of getting from point A to point B without stumbling in some way, shape or form, T'vye simply took it as the dragonet coming to terms with the rapid speed with which he was growing. It would be difficult to cope with growth spurts so close together, and Aitorith certainly had a lot of growing to do yet.

Unfortunately... it was starting to slow down his ability to be the first person out of the weyrling barracks... Or anywhere really. Which, together with the Bronze's request to sit near one of the smaller dragons instead of next to a more appropriate bronze, or perhaps even a brown had landed the pair of them next to Galve and their red.

Need the extra room, and she is not using it. the bronze justified as he stretched out between T'vye and whoever was next in line, forcing T'vye to stand that much closer to Galve, while simultaneously blocking his line of sight for the person on their other side.

It could have been worse... They could have ended up next to one of the black weyrling pairs. He didn't altogether trust the small red's ability to relay the correct message to Aitorith, but it was a sight better than what he assumed would come from the mind of one of the blacks. The less interaction between Aitorith and his mutant brothers the better. Besides, the weyrling next to him, was most likely thrilled to be graced with Aitorith's. Bronze weyrlings were outnumbered almost two to one in his clutch group, so it was always a good idea to mingle with the others - remind them why Bronze dragons were the best match for the golden queens.

Not that he'd cared much about who settled in beside he and Aitorith, too occupied with glaring up the line at the mutations that had managed to get in before him. Poor T'rel had managed to get a place near the start... but so too had many of the mutation pairs, and with so many between the two of them, T'vye's doubts about the message that Aitorith was going to be receiving shortly.

Will be fine. Just need to wait for Weyteleth to - Aitorith's reassurances were cut off by the touch of the unfamiliar mind, the connection between he and T'vye almost cold with the speed at which he'd pulled away to listen to the message.

T'vye frowned at the feeling, not at all comfortable with being excluded from Aitorith's mind, no matter how brief, relaxing only when Aitorith rumbled an acknowledgement and allowed his mind to be open to T'vye once more.

Exactly as you were told Aitorith. We won't be the one's to ruin the message. Had he been next to T'rel or W'lleni, T'vye might have announced such a thing for the benefit of the rest of his group, but the red dragon cast a shadow on his usually infallible confidence, and he didn't want to give anyone the opportunity to say that he was the one to ruin the message.

Yes, T'vye Aithorith rumbled as he turned to see who it was that was beside him, not unfamiliar with inviting other dragons to join his conversations in general, and perhaps slightly more at ease than others in his class at the unfamiliar brush of another's mind to their own.

Are you ready? He asked first, his mind voice as bright, and perhaps overwhelming had the dragonet next to him not experienced it before. Compared to Weyteleth's voice, Aitorith's was rather high pitched, though the message he sent once given the OK from his sibling would be unmistakeable... If perhaps not at all like the original one Liramyth had started with.

The moment he was given the go-ahead, he reiterated, word for word, what Weyteleth had said, not aware that some of the words should have been ommitted and rather pleased with himself once he had managed to do so.

Ummm, Okay. The wher on the beaches. Is proceeding, within the Jungle... No... Yes... Okay.

T'vye's features darkened slightly at what Aitorith passed on, wishing for the first time that lesson that he could see who the bronze was addressing.

Was that not correct? At his bonded's uncertainty, Aitorith had swung his head around to look at his bonded, eyes whirling in concern as he sought clarification.

No, Aitorith T'vye said, speaking for his bronze alone before adding aloud "Well done. You passed it on perfectly" . He didn't need to know what Weyteleth had said to know that Aitorith had done well. His dragon wouldn't fuck something up that badly.

“It’s a whole lot different seeing them this way.” Jo agreed with what Quenneca had said, and tore her attention away from the other woman long enough to stare up at the sky too. It really was a gorgeous thing, with both Belior and Timor hanging low in it, surrounded by a swathe of stars that glittered like grains of white sand against velvet. Jossekayne didn’t catch herself cringing when she looked up at it all now, able to enjoy the sight of it and even get lost in the milky sweep of stars that passed like a belt across part of the night sky.

When Quenneca rolled onto her side to face her, she returned her smile and shifted a bit closer. “I always hoped it would too,” she confided, voice soft and a little husky for the volume of it. “But I don’t think I ever really thought that it would.”

Sure, she’d done her best to remain optimistic. To think that maybe someday, Pern would be a better place once again—different than the place that had taken her mother from her, and so many friends. That she and her family would be able to be happy, even carefree… and this new Weyr was looking like it could be that place. Even for the new dangers that they’d discovered there, it was alive. That in and of itself was a reason to be hopeful about the future.

“I suppose now we get to figure out what an Interval is all about.” So many of the other riders she knew hadn’t thought they’d live to see this day. And Jo suspected that after so long of constant Thread, adjusting to a new way of life like this was going to take some doing.

But she, at least, was more than happy to try.

Rinokan had been antsy since the Candidate Master had announced that Kalestath was laying her eggs. He knew he had to be patient, but that had never exactly been his thing. Far more at ease when things happened quickly, and very much a fan of instant gratification, it took all his self-control not to just march over to the entrance of the Sands and wait. But there was no point—he didn’t know how long the wait would be. At least this way he was doing something in the meantime, between some errands and then eating dinner.

Besides. After watching Kalestath kill a Candidate before his very eyes only a turn ago, he didn’t exactly want to get on the Queen’s bad side.

As Saibrasoth’s announcement was broadcast to them all, Rinokan practically bolted from his seat to take care of his plates and then make his way toward the Sands, shooing Scoria away so the flit wouldn't follow him. Had she still been a Candidate, he probably would have sought out Droissa… the idea of sitting in the stands and just looking at the clutch, thinking about the future, had an appeal. Rinokan didn’t mind doing things by himself, but it was yet another thing that reminded him that he missed her.

Which was stupid. It wasn’t as though she’d gone anywhere. Just Impressed. And he snorted at himself then. Just Impressed. But she was still living in the Weyr, just… busy with her young Blue. In a very different stage of her life than he was.

He didn’t begrudge her that. But it was a little bittersweet.

Entering the cavern in O’sir’s wake, Rinokan bowed to the Weyrwoman and her dragon but didn’t address them beyond mumbling a formal greeting he fully expected to have ignored. And then he made his way over to the stands, taking a seat in the front row so that he could lean his arms on the metal railing that sat before it, and really looked at the clutch.

It was so damn big. The sheer amount of eggs was a source of both hope and worry. There were—he counted them quickly—thirty-two more chances for him to Impress. To find the dragon that was meant to be his, no matter what color it ended up being. But that also meant more chances to get hurt, to be killed by the Reds he guessed would be hatching, based on the clutch father.

Maybe it should have, but that didn’t really scare him. It was something to be aware of, sure, to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid once the time came to actually Stand for the clutch. But Rinokan wasn’t afraid of the dragonets. Not really. Whatever happened, he was just determined to find his dragon.

And if it ended up being an aggressive Black or an excitable Red… he’d be okay with that too.

Saibrasoth’s nosiness is what alerted him first as to the fact that Kalestath was laying her eggs. The Brown was lounging on their weyr ledge as O’sir taught, just watching the activity in the Weyr Bowl as he often did. Long since no longer required to participate in Wing drills, Saibrasoth spent much of his time basking in the sun or napping unless he was needed. But that also meant not a lot that observably went on in the Weyr escaped him. And particularly not when the glittering senior Gold made her way into the Hatching Sands.

There was only one reason she would be doing that.

O’sir didn’t tell the Candidates right away what was happening. It would only have served as a distraction from their lessons for the day—and he was thankful that Kalestath had made her way onto the Sands before it was time for him to lead his students out to the Bowl in order to tend the small crop of cotton reserved for their robes. They would be none the wiser that the Queen was laying her eggs.

Once that was over for the day, though, and before he dismissed them to their errands and remaining chores, he did gather them briefly again just at the entrance back into the Weyr’s tunnels. “Kalestath is laying her eggs,” he’d told them, just this side of smiling. It was an exciting time for them. “Once I know you’re invited to go see them, Saibrasoth will announce it.”

They would know better than to try to enter the Sands before then. If nothing else, the unfortunate mishaps at the senior Gold’s last two Hatchings had brought them a healthy respect and fear for her more than they’d already had.

It was three more hours after that before Saibrasoth confirmed the end of the clutching. They had all just finished dinner, and O’sir felt the Brown perk up as he received word that the curious were now invited to see the results of Kalestath’s labors. And at instruction from his rider, Saibrasoth reached out to the Candidates with a bright kind of excitement. You can view the eggs now. Just remember to be respectful.

O’sir himself brought his empty plate and klah cup to the kitchen, and then made his way the short distance from the Weyr Hall to the Hatching Sands. Quite a few of his students were headed the same way. And to set a good example, he bowed low to Halirina and Kalestath as he entered the Sands. “Congratulations to you both.”

It was a big clutch again. A surprisingly large one, given that they were now a few years into the Interval—enough so that both of the other mature Queens were laying smaller and smaller numbers of eggs. But Kalestath herself, for whatever reason, was still producing nests large enough for the Pass.

Despite himself, O’sir couldn’t help but wonder how many of them held mutation colors. And how many Candidates or dragonets would die on the Sands in a few months.

He hoped none… but he knew better.

Absences / Re: Coming Week
« on: July 06, 2018, 05:17:11 PM »
I hope you both have an awesome time! That sounds so exciting. ^_^

Hatching Sands / Hardening Eggs of a Broody Gold [ 19.4.2591 / 7PM ]
« on: July 06, 2018, 12:42:39 PM »

Halirina and Kalestath had been paired together for so many turns now that, when it was a certain time for her dragon, Halirina knew. Kalestath didn’t have to announce anything, words were rarely shared between the pair. Rather, it was a sense. A passing of feelings.

This time, Halirina knew when her Queen moved to the Hatching Sands. Chased off Neisoth for the duration. Wanted her space. It was like she could feel the hot sands herself even though she was tucked safely in her own, breezy weyr.

Halirina informed her aides that her Queen was clutching and they dutifully helped her gather her things so she could be moved to the room near the sands – when Kalestath could tolerate humans near enough the eggs. S’bok was used to the move by now and, without complaint, got his own things gathered up as well.

It took marks for Kalestath to lay all of them. It wasn’t until the sun began to fall behind the mountains that Halirina could call for her aides once more and actually move to the room near the sands. Most of what she brought was work. Setting up a mini-office near the clutch so she wouldn’t have to be far from Kalestath who sort of took on a different personality when it came to her clutch. Mothering and protective of the eggs, she loomed over the mass of them. Only allowing Halirina near the fresh batch to count and congratulate initially.

Thirty-two. A huge clutch. Her Gold was still throwing eggs like it was a Pass. Was it in response to the dangers on the island? As much as she’d like to say that dragon riders didn’t die anymore and they could all relax, that wasn’t necessarily the case yet. Was it? Halirina glanced at her Queen after she’d counted the eggs then ran a hand along Kalestath’s jaw. //Think you can allow them to see now?

Her Queen’s red tinted eyes watched Halirina in kind. Seriously considering the question while her great body was partially coiled around her clutch. Protective. One wing fanned over some of the bigger eggs. I suppose. was the eventual answer.

Halirina laughed a little and moved away from the hardening, glistening eggs and toward where Neisoth and S’bok waited at the hatching sands entrance, where it opened up to the weyrbowl. “He can take a peek now, and others are welcome to come.” Now that Halirina was sure Kalestath wouldn’t attack them.

Spoiler for OOC:
Kalestath is so cuddly. Now her eggs are on the sands and all is well.  As always, there is an OOC Thread here. <3

Rider Weyrs / Re: Ride The Wild Wind [01.02.2591 // 5am]
« on: July 06, 2018, 09:06:40 AM »
It was akin to chasing a wherry. She was wild and quick, nigh unpredictable, but she invariably became his. Brynioth thrummed his delight when she neared to him and quite literally snatched her out of the air. She could fight him should she like, but they both knew that he was the winner - that she was where she wanted to be - and that he would give her the long, lasting Flight that only a Bronze could.

J'dan didn't have the presence of mind to be annoyed that they'd won. To a male riding a Green. Never his first choice, but what did he really care right now? Caught up in the blood rush of Brynioth's win, he tossed his clothes off as eagerly as he might on turn's end celebration and grabbed at J'sen because they had won and this was their prize.

He could huff and puff about it later. After. When he wasn't one with his dragon and such human, petty things mattered.

Spoiler for ooc:
8D Shall we close it here or did you want to see J'dan being a whiner?

Absences / Re: Coming Week
« on: July 06, 2018, 07:01:31 AM »
That sounds amazing. Have a lovely time.  :love:

The quick little Blue wasn’t even aware of the presence of bigger whers in the vicinity at first. His only attention had been on the man that his handler had identified, intent on bringing him down and subduing him—even if he wasn’t really old enough yet to understand just how important that was to Ophy’s job. All Onisk knew was that he liked getting physical. Had he not been wearing his muzzle already, he surely would have bitten the man he landed on, bearing him to the ground with a growl that was just as challenging as it was happy.

He didn’t know Vlcarsk or any other opponent was nearby until the Brown quite bodily hauled him off the man he had downed. With teeth tearing through membrane and puncturing the fleshier arm of the wing, he actually screamed then—not just a sound of pain, but of anger too, as he rounded on Vlcarsk with the intention of fighting a where he didn’t know was several times his size.

No matter that he was still only a few months. The tiny little thing just knew it was time for a fight.

Another one of the things that Onisk had trouble with was filtering what passed between his bond with Opyhonis. So as the unfamiliar Brown wher latched onto his Blue, Ophy growled through the flare of pain that erupted in his shoulder and upper arm. It didn’t matter that the injury hadn’t actually happened to him; with Onisk’s pain and rage (but conspicuous lack of fear) on full blast, that got transmitted to.

His original trajectory had been for the man with the knife. But as things truly started to break off into a fight, just as good and messy as any that had happened back at Fort, Ophy’s priorities changed. No one would accuse him of being soft, but the things he’d bonded to held a certain importance to him. And no matter how much trouble he might get in later for not moving to break up the fight right away… he didn’t care.

As he reached Onisk and the Brown wher, he waded right in with no hesitation. Likewise, there was no reluctance in his effort to disentangle them—grabbing Onisk by the harness and punching Vlcarsk as hard as he could right in the snout, where they were more sensitive compared to thicker, more muscled areas. Hopefully it would make the Brown let go, but if Onisk ended up sacrificing a wing, so be it.

Whers didn’t need them to fly. He could live without it.

At the back of his mind, Ophy could tell Ophysk had gotten to his feet, a growl seeming to rise in his own chest just as it did in the Bronze’s. But that wher at least listened, and when his handler wordlessly told him to stay put, near Domni, he didn’t move. Even if he was reluctant not to get involved.

Spoiler for OOC:
I never thought I’d get to have a character punch a wher. XD I don’t want either of them fatally injured, but bring it on otherwise. I’m not anticipating either will leave this unscathed.

Weyrling Barracks / Scrubbing away the guilt [ 01.08.2590 / 2:27PM ]
« on: July 02, 2018, 10:32:52 AM »
Spoiler for Info:
@RaynePOTM for Nishi - and for anyone reading - this thread directly follows events from The Death Keen, in response to Nishi's last post.

No. I did not get hurt. Dwalath hummed in response to Xasheyth's question, mood lightening ever so slightly as they moved away from the crowds. He was still concerned about H'riel, and would be happier once his bonded's mind had calmed. The action they were taking offered it's own sense of comfort, and while usually happy to spend time with other dragons, having just Xasheyth and hers for company seemed right.

You were nearby. You also, were not hurt? He continued, eyes whirling slightly faster at the possibility that he might have been mistaken. If Xasheyth had been injured, however minor, by the same flame that had caused the other dragon to between, it would mean he hadn't been in a correct position after all. He had been so certain of it when reassuring his bonded, but was already struggling to recall specific details.

H'riel had forgotten about the wind and rain until it was no longer present, the shelter provided by his ground weyr more than enough to block out the brunt of it. He relaxed slightly once he was home, not quite so stiff in his back now that he was somewhere familiar. Nishi wasn't far behind, with Dwalath and Xasheyth making an obstacle of themselves on the ledge - a simple way to minimise intrusion into the brown weyrling's "safe space".

He moved to his chest instantly, the scrap of cloth easy to find due to how frequently it was retrieved and placed on his cot, followed by a larger cloth, and finally two changes of clothes. He didn't dawdle in giving himself a brief drying off before changing into one of the clothing sets, stepping so the bed was between him and Nishi for some modicum of privacy before turning back around and catching the green weyrling's eye.

"I'll start on Dwalath. You can borrow my clothes if you like. I am more comfortable when I am dry." He stated, indicating the extra change of clothes on the bed before retrieving the kit he kept nearby for oiling Dealath, and the cloth that served as his instructions for how exactly to do that. She may choose to duck over to her weyr and get her own clothes, or just dry as much as she could for the moment. H'riel did not mind.

He needed to reset.

Oiling Dwalath together with Nishi and Xasheyth present wasn't unusual, and the physical work that went into rubbing away the Brown's itches would do wonders for his own mental state. He moved to Dwalath's shoulder, urged on by the insistance of a particularly nasty itch as the dragon bent down to accommodate the size difference. The instructions were placed on the ground, not needed, but comforting in their own right, and the container of oil was placed just next to it, an extra rag available for Nishi.

He paused for a moment, the hand with his own rag pressed against Dwalath's hide, stepping into the dragon for a moment and taking a long, steadying breath as he pressed his forehead against him. Who was to blame for the death of R'sin, Ny'la and their dragon counterparts didn't matter.... the guilt existed, and it was something he would need to live with. There and then, with the odd scent that was uniquely dragon and uniquely Dwalath's surrounding him, H'riel found some modicum of calm.

Dwalath was still his. He had not been taken from him. He had not been reprimanded.

The brown rumbled in response to H'riel's touch, allowing his bonded a moment to himself before he urged him to start tending to his hide. I still itch. He stated, though he was not uncaring.

H'riel nodded and started the process of oiling his dragon, his free hand always seeking out a bit of dragon hide for comfort even as he used his other to properly address his bonded's needs. His dragon came first, and would continue to come first no matter what happened.

He stopped briefly when Nishi joined him, a small smile crossing his face at her presence. He directed her to a rough patch a little way away, nodding when she managed to reach it before resuming his own section, enjoying for the moment the quiet.

"Were you in danger?" He asked softly, strokes slowing for a heartbeat as he did so. "Dwalath said Xasheyth was where she was meant to be. You weren't as far away as some of the other greens." he added, concern lacing his tone. Zilanie and Weskath's interruption earlier had negated the opportunity for him to check, but the question had persisted, and so needed to be asked.

Spoiler for ???:
@RaynePOTM Did you want this to be open or private? Also.... hope it's not horrible. Assumed a bit with Nishi and if I've taken it too far please let me know.

As U’thar praised her, Tilioth nearly toppled over with how much her chest swelled. She’d always had affection for the rider because Ewonth was one of the more spectacular Blues, in her opinion. His spots had intrigued her from day one, and now as she grew older it had become something more affectionate. Tilioth had a crush. Thoughts of the Black dragons felt far away now that the Blue was in such close proximity. C’dus could’ve sworn he saw a feline curl to her dragon lips, as if she was very pleased with herself.

As much as he would’ve liked to tease her, C’dus was still determined to put his best foot forward with the day’s lesson. He didn’t miss U’thar’s lack of greeting toward Nishi. They might be the same age, and if C’dus recalled U’thar was even a bit older, but there was a huge gap between their statuses now. Nishi’s position basically made her something like a valedictorian. The best of her class, a promising rider whose abilities were enough to catch the eye of much more experienced riders. She was a god. Still, he flashed the bluerider a grin for familiarity sake, “Sorry bud, too slow. You’ll have to be quicker next time if you want to be paired with us pretty greenriders.”

He turned so he fully faced both Nishi and the now introduced Xashayth. Tilioth continued to preen and primp but maybe a little less so, a little more subtle. C’dus knew that asking questions was a key to learning, but his mind drew a blank. “Nothing comes to mind, but please don’t hesitate if I look like I’m lacking somewhere.” That was a given, that was Nishi’s job today after all. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling sheepish.

He didn’t say anything further unless she prompted him further. He was eager to get in the skies.

//Alright Tilly, you ready?// His excitement was palatable. His Green straightened her posture and flexed her wings, but then extended a leg out while angling her back to the side so that C’dus might climb up easily. I was born for this, she responded with cool confidence.

Spoiler for Hidden:
reaaaal late. @RaynePOTM @Red

Rider Weyrs / Re: Bright as a Mirror [ 7.4.2591; 5:16 AM ] || Event
« on: June 30, 2018, 04:41:05 PM »
Good flights were a little more... intense than other flights, and the chance of winning was slim to none. But thread be damned if Wa'by and Vicith weren't going to give it a go anyway. There wasn't quite the same chill that came with green flights, many of those ending with a gleeful romp in the sack win or lose, but Gold flights brought with them a unique brand of lust that could take an entire day to work off... and when else did the bluerider get the opportunity to coax bronzeriders into bed. It was a rare occurance at best. But flightlust made bedfellows of everyone, and he was nothing if not someone willing to bet on the absurd.

All thoughts he could address later, of course. First he'd have to get to Eimerra's weyr. "Ready to give it a go, mate? See if Immy's gonna letcha catch 'er? Bet we'd give ol' Halibutt a shock and a half'vwe Pulled it off... Might be the last straw for Hairy Mclairy though. Poor bugger's heart'd give out trying to spread the word." He was chattering incessently at Vicith, struggling to pull pants on but not quite as keen as usual to ride Vicith to Eimerra's weyr with certain... appendages... exposed to the elements.

She'll kark it before you get there at this rate. Vicith rumbled, his rising lust giving a little more sting to his usually dry mental voice. He didn't move though, already in position to be mounted and old enough to be able to put aside the lust long enough to take his rider where he needed to go, irritation aside.

"Yeah yeah. she'll be right." Wa'by grumbled back, getting the second leg through and dashing on over to get in position. "Goarn and fuck off ya little bastards" He added with a wild swing of his hands, copping a nick on the hand when Grog decided she didn't like being spoken to like that.

The gold firelizard may not have been helping herself but she'd had her servants trying to assist him to get ready the moment they realised he wanted to leave, and the rude dismissal was decidedly uncalled for.

"Ahh stuff ya. I'll swing on back when I'm done with some nibbly's. C'mon Red. Time's a wasting." The hand he waved to dismiss the firelizards, pain in his hand aside, quickly turned into a firm thump of Vicith's hide, gripping tightly as the blue left their ledge and moved towards Imyth's.

Vicith said nothing, but his mental touch got decidedly colder as he noted all the other dragons waiting for Imyth to officially start the flight, clearly unhappy with the delay. He dropped his rider off with an annoyed huff, before swooping up to join the other males, trying to position himself in a way that could let him catch Imyth early on. The length of the flight was important for golds... but Vicith only wanted to claim her, and he would lose his opportunity the longer the flight went on.

Wa'by didn't waste any more time, stepping in and standing near a few familiar riders from his time in Mountain Wing. Most were already with their dragons, but he managed to catch the eye of one or two before he let Vicith take over. At least there wouldn't be as many acrobatics in this one... He didn't know if his stomach could handle it this early in the day.

Spoiler for OOC:
@RaynePOTM B'lye is Hairy Mclairy. Just in case you didn't catch that ;)

Rider Weyrs / Re: Bright as a Mirror [ 7.4.2591; 5:16 AM ] || Event
« on: June 30, 2018, 03:58:25 PM »
X'kis didn't begrudge what was to be his last moments as a weyrsecond. The circumstances around Maelboroth's capture of the smallest queen should never have happened in the first place, and as the fog of flight lost started to distract him, X'kis was pleased by the sheer amount of Bronzes who began to chase. Maelboroth should not catch Imyth again with so many larger dragons in the mix, though the urgency with which he chased after the gold said it would not be for lack of trying.

He glanced at the young weyrwoman then, not stupid enough to reach out to her, but silently wishing her well. The weyr was getting crowded, and he offered a brief nod to any who caught his eye. She would be in good hands, he had no doubt. With one final, steadying breath, he let Maelboroth have his head, chuckling at the browns self-assuredness. He'd either catch Imyth, or give the bronzes enough reason to push for a good flight. Win-win in both their minds.

As much as a dragon could enjoy trivial things, Maelboroth had enjoyed the past few days with his mate. When he was chased from their ledge, his eyes flickered between anger and sadness, before the realization of what was to come turned them a brilliant purple.

He was in the sky already when Imyth finished bloodying her kill, warming up his wings in lazy circles when she took to the sky herself. Any advantage he had for the early start dissipated when she made them wait, rumbling his annoyance as male dragons of every colour rose to join them, bronzes returning the sentiments as he tried to maintain his minor lead.

He was determined to catch Imyth. He hadn't been grounded after catching her the first time, and he'd proven it could be done. The only way these others would succeed was be outlying him... and he planned on mking that as difficult as possible. She may have run him off the ledge, but she was his until another took her from him. It was just a matter of keeping up with her now.

Once Tresrissa had sent her wher away, the somewhat apologetic apprentice nodded emphatically. “You can come with me, actually…” A spot had opened up with one of the Journeymen, and he was quick to direct the woman to the next available Healer. Far better that she be tended to soon instead of vomiting in the middle of the hall. Aware that she was not doing so well, he even offered to steady her as they made their way over to the cot where patients were allowed to sit while they were seen.

As Tressie settled, that same apprentice appeared again at her elbow to hand her a bucket. And then he was gone once more, returning to the task he’d previously been assigned.

Niphredon barely acknowledged the young apprentice. Having just finished the last patient, with Elrethra aiding him, he was already on to the next. There was high color in her cheeks on top of a pallor, and the fact that she had been handed a bucket certainly indicated she was experiencing nausea as well. He would bet that this one actually had Flush Fever, rather than simply showing up with a mild but unsymptomatic headache and hypochondriac tendencies.

“Name and occupation?” The information wasn’t really pertinent, but it was the sort of thing he’d been trained to ask before he got started—both for the purposes of the Healer Hall’s records and the fact that people were more likely to listen to his instructions if he used their name.

The line in the Hall proper wasn’t diminishing any, it seemed, and Niph took the wax tablet and stylus from Elrethra as he indicated the next patient that was waiting. She was no green and untested apprentice, and the quicker they could get through those waiting meant the quicker everyone could be treated. “You should take the next one.”

Spoiler for OOC:
@Inki I jostled things a bit so that you don’t have to post back and forth with your own characters if you don’t want to. And that way @Wren can keep posting as well rather than waiting. If either of you want me to change anything about my post, just let me know and we can figure something else out. ^_^

Weyr Hall / Live a Little [ 11.6.2589; 7:12 PM ] W’thir
« on: June 30, 2018, 01:40:31 PM »
Strictly speaking, mending clothes was no longer one of his responsibilities. Though it was a common enough chore for Weaver apprentices, he hadn’t been among their ranks for… a little over a full month, now. Just long enough that he was actually going to be able to Stand for the Senior Queen’s upcoming clutch! It had been quite a surprise to him when he’d been Searched, chosen by a Blue dragon he didn’t even know and deemed worthy to present himself for those amazing little creatures that would hatch out of the eggs. Sometimes, it still seemed like a dream—a flight of fancy he had no right having even if there were other dragon riders in his family’s past.

Arveli had never entertained anything for himself other than being a Weaver. Since he’d turned twelve, it had been his calling—throwing himself into the Craft first as a balm for his sorrow and grief, and eventually because he was good at it. Because he enjoyed it more than anything else he’d ever done. His aunt and uncle had certainly been pleased when he’d taken up their profession… and perhaps been relieved that he didn’t show signs of gallivanting off back to the Weyr like his mother had, or becoming a rider like his father. His had always been the stranger side of the family, a little less grounded though still loved by the extended Holder sides of the clan:  even if they hadn’t understood his mother Avelori’s desire to go work in the Weyr and be weyrmates with a dragonrider.

In his youth, like his brothers, riding a dragon had seemed like the most gallant thing. Even though they’d understood Thread was dangerous, it had all paled compared to the vivid and wonderous stories they heard throughout their childhood. And growing up helping their father oil and tend to Kanelath certainly hadn’t diminished any.

That had changed nevertheless—first when their father, T’ver, had died in Threadfall, and then again when their mother was killed too. For Turian, it had been the final straw; that an errant dragon’s flame had killed Avelori just as dead as Thread might have, he couldn’t forgive. Arveloriann and Tuveliann had been more forgiving… but hat had never been their older brother’s way.

But even with that forgiveness, their lives had changed irrevocably. Sent to Fort Hold to live with their aunt and uncle, they’d been exposed to an entirely different side of Pern. Holder life was so very, very different… and with time, Arveli’s hopes for the future had faded to more mundane things. Even if his younger brother’s never had.

Now, though, his dreams were once again buoyed on dragon wings, rather than more down to earth in seeking a promotion to Journeyman sometime in the next several turns. Aunoria and Vemmoki had been disappointed, he knew, though they’d never said such to him. Simply asked him if he was sure and then given him their blessing. But after T’vain, after his accident… he knew they must have been scared too. He certainly was, not that he’d ever admit it. And certainly not to Turian, with whom he had argued viciously after accepting the Search.

So though he’d moved out of their family quarters and into the Candidate barracks, Arveloriann tried his best to reassure his surrogate parents. A fair amount of the time he was assigned to the Weaver Hall for chores anyway, since his experience there made him more valuable than another without a Weaver’s background. And even if he got given menial tasks that were more suitable for junior apprentices, he didn’t mind—surrounded by those who had been, and he hoped still would be, his friends and working with both aunt, uncle, and his cousin Annera.

Having someone inside the Weaver Hall had meant he didn’t need to give it all up, too. There were a few friends who he still repaired things for from time to time, including some other Candidates that weren’t good hands with a needle. That would have to change when they Impressed, of course, but Arveli appreciated having something to do with his hands in his down time. It kept him from getting fidgety.

Like now. Wuarthir had approached him to patch a couple shirts, and he’d been more than happy to comply for his quiet friend—under the condition that Wuarthir had to keep him company while he did so. Odds were good Arveli would be doing most of the talking, but he didn’t mind that either. Perhaps that was even one of the things that had contributed to their friendship in the first place; Wuarthir didn’t get tired of listening to him ramble about gossip, or news, or hypotheticals, and Arveli didn’t force him to say more than he wanted to.

After dinner was over, he’d dragged the man into one of the side booths once all the plates had been whisked back into the kitchen and the surface wiped down. With his small sewing kit open on the table, Arveli sucked on the end of a piece of string to flatten it, and then threaded the needle. Most likely, Wuarthir would have to replace one of these shirts within the next few turns—there were only so many times they could be patched before there was less original fabric than new. But it was a matter of pride to the ex-Weaver to make them last as long as possible.

Thriftiness was one of those things that had been drilled into him from a young age, and making do with what they had was a skill all Weavers had to learn in an environment where new textiles were not especially abundant.

So he’d snagged some old scraps from someone else’s discarded garments that matched in color and texture and material as best he could. From a distance, hopefully the mends wouldn’t be very visible. Wuarthir might not care especially much, but Arveloriann certainly did. They might be practical things, but there was no reason they couldn’t look a little nicer either.

His three flits were arrayed on the tabletop, lazy and watching as he started to sew. Poppet had tried to sit on his shoulder initially, but Arveli had shooed him off so he didn’t have to accommodate both flit and task. The Blue meant well, but his not inconsiderable weight would just make it all the more difficult to stitch.

Sometimes, he wished Wuarthir had been Searched too. At least then he might have had one friend in his Candidate classes that was from the previous period of his life. Of course, Arveli had no issue making acquaintances with new people… but there was a certain comfort to having an old friend that he found himself wistfully wanting.

As he sewed, he began by chattering away about the Touching and the Rider’s Bet a few days before. He hadn’t been able to go to the latter, since there was no rider he knew well enough to invite him—and certainly not that way. But the Touching had been its own kind of excitement:  his first! It had inspired a roiling mix of emotions in him far more powerful than he’d anticipated—anxiety and doubt and hope and joy all muddled up together like badly-made dyes. With others, he might have felt self-conscious talking about it all to someone who wasn’t a fellow Candidate. But Wuarthir had never seemed resentful or upset that his friend had been Searched and he hadn’t.

It was a relief, sometimes, to talk to someone so practical. What was, simply was.

And all of the thrill of the Touching didn’t compare with the strange illicit excitement he felt in hearing the gossip from the Rider’s Bet. Apparently his friend Sethunya had gotten into an argument with O’sir… It still felt a bit scandalous that the two were together, which he loved it all the more for. Sethunya was brave and knew what she wanted; and as far as Arveli concerned, deserved it. The romantic in him wanted to believe that they could survive and endure whatever Pern threw at them, no matter the lovers’ spat they’d apparently had in public.

Had it been anyone else, Arveli would have latched onto that gossip and not let go, speculating on what had started it and why, and what was going to happen next. But out of respect for his friend and her privacy, he skipped over it to simply wish aloud that he’d been able to go.

Maybe someday, when he had a dragon of his own…

If he had a dragon of his own…

He realized he was getting distracted—that his nervousness about the approaching Hatching was affecting him more than he wanted to let on—when he accidentally pricked his finger with the tip of the needle. Swearing far more heatedly than he meant to, he lifted the injured digit to his mouth and sucked off the droplet of blood that beaded on his skin. And then, to direct the conversation away from what was a rather embarrassing fumble, he glanced at Wuarthir and asked, “Are you going to watch the Hatching when it happens?”

Spoiler for OOC:
@Kyya I hope you don’t mind that this post took on a life of its own. :para:

1530 words

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