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Messages - W'thir

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1
Elsewhere / Re: Dog Paddle [ 27.4.2591; 9:15 AM ] || Open/Weyrlings
« on: October 06, 2018, 11:16:39 PM »
Despite the unfamilarity still of flying between on dragonback, Kelsameth's enjoyment of the entire journey squashed any concerns he may have had. He was already too large to be carried anywhere and struggled to keep his limbs in order whenever they had to walk somewhere, so being able to just leave the barracks, wait for another dragon to scoop him up and only having to worry about the small transition from ground to water was exactly his idea of a good time.

W'thir slid from the back of the blue that had transferred them from Fort Island to Fort Weyr, offering the rider a gruff, though polite thank you before moving to join his dragon. It had taken him a long time to find Kelsameth, and W'thir never wanted to be separated from him for very long. However could he protect the growing dragon if he wasn't nearby?

The brown offered a reassuring croon, a small waver to the tone giving it an amused quality before he nudged his bonded. He waited for his affection to be acknowledged before starting to move towards the river, W'thir keeping pace alongside him to help if he fell, an act that reassured the both of them.

With little fuss W'thir and Kelsameth were in the water, the young brown trilling his delight as the ground gave way completely and he no longer needed to use his legs... not in the same way at least... and his wings were quite useful for making up any additional push he may need.

Just need to keep your head up. The water will help. Kelsameth reminded his, his own legs moving slowly under the water to keep himself afloat as he watched W'thir wade deeper, an assortment of different noises used to encourage hin closer before W'thir was mimicing the dragon's paddling motion. It was about as ungraceful a swimming technique as anything else, he could have mustered, but it kept him afloat, and met the weyrlingmasters brief so far as their water work went.

He'd made his way back to the shallows, crouching down to keep the water covering him as he watched Kelsameth move about, smiling slightly at the happiness he shared through the bond. He should have realised there was someone else there, but it was difficult, even after so many months to split his attention away from his brown. It wasn't until Un'taigo said something that he let gis attention wander.

"Laps?" He pondered, testing the way it had been said and deciding it wouldn't be a competitive thing, though having someone to swim alongside would be useful... It would encourage improvement as well, to see how he fared alongside another. "I'd like that." He said shortly afterwards, offering his own small smile in return for Un'taigo's friendliness.  He'd wait for the other weyrling to confirm if there was anything further to note, though his attention was now fully on Un'taigo, Kelsameth's soft, delighted chirping as he swam a pleasant coubterpoint to the warm link between them that never seemed to dwindle.

2
Past and Possibilities / Re: Live a Little [ 11.6.2589; 7:12 PM ] W’thir
« on: September 12, 2018, 01:16:30 AM »
Wuarthir nodded slowly at the reasoning, trying to figure out just how someone would recognise such an... absence without knowing it was there... and then to have it filled. Such a foreign concept. But Arveli was speaking again, and his face lightened with a smile. "They will" he reaffirmed, delight at being called "sweet" muffling the words, though they would no doubt be heard. His tone switched back to something more inline with what Wuarthir was usually subject to, and he listened intently, habit stopping him from leaning forward though he found himself wanting to.

He nodded at what was said, listening to the words carefully though his attention was focused on Arveli's hands once more. He wished in some way that he had the same skill with a needle and thread, that the holes in his clothes could be tended to int he afternoons when he had some time to himself. It certainly looked peaceful enough, if one didn't think about the tiny spot of blood that had welled up when the other man had pricked himself.

On the other hand,... he wouldn't be able to justify sitting here, listening to Arveloriann talking about the weyr, almost always brushing on concepts that seemed so... foreign to the mindset his parents had. To see his face light up as he recounted his latest exploits and the way he lowered his voice when retelling something particularly scandalous not minding that Wuarthir himself didn't join in. He couldn't quite imagine not having such moments with the weaver come candidate... So he didn't try.

"I might have something appropriate then." He said, pausing as he mused over what he could remember of his clothes. "That shirt, there." He pointed at one of the last shirts he'd requested be fixed. He'd waited before asking his friend, not wanting to waste his time when he still had perfectly suitable items of clothing to wear. The shirt in question was one of his newer ones, and this would be the first time it needed to be fixed. It was lighter than most of his others, and he tended to only wear it where he knew he wasn't going to get dirty enough to stain it, so it was still rather neat.

"I have a pair of trousers or two that might go with it... " He paused, shifting uncomfortably before adding, "It would be nice to hear what you think would be more suitable." It opened him up to be criticised for the garments he owned, and had it not been Arveloriann, there is little chance he would have invited such a thing. It did matter, however, what he thought, and if it meant being appropriately attired when he watched such a significant event he'd wear any critique that may end up coming his way.

3
Wuarthir ducked his head at Arveli's smile, not having expected such a... bright... reaction. He couldn't fathom having answered with anything else. If there were no reason for him not to attend (and he trusted Arveli of all people to know if there were) then he would certainly be present to help alleviate some of his friend's nervousness.

He made a small noise as Arveli placed the first shirt down beside him, an approximation of a thank you as he listened to his reasoning. Interrupting for anything more than that singular sound seemed... rude. And he was rather curious as to just what a candidate had to be worried about.

He nodded along, trying to imagine how he would feel in a similar situation, to be left wondering if a dragon would hatch and choose him as theirs. It seemed... daunting. And all he'd managed to fathom in what lessons he'd managed to jump in on was that their bond was altogether different to that of a firelizard or wher's... Which certainly made sense with Arveli's affirmation that Gold's impressed to females and he wouldn't suit a brown... Since he had both of those in miniature form right there with them.

"He frowned, absorbing what Arveli was explaining, aware already about the golds impressing to women but the bronzes knowing something so private as sexuality? It was... unnerving almost. Though perhaps it helped contribute to how open the weyr was about such things. It had certainly been a relief to encounter little to no judgement for his own leanings. But to such an extent?

"They know?" It was awe that coloured his voice then. That the gargantuan protectors of the weyr and hold had such depth to them. He did not doubt that the bond that tied rider to dragon was of significance, but... "How can they?" He shook his head though, dismissing a response for the time being.

"If they get enough of a look you won't be standin' for long." He stated, though the words were mumbled despite his efforts. He'd much rather listen to Arveloriann speak, and he'd have time enough to get answers, he was certain.

He cleared his throat quickly before asking his next question, his own nervousness creating a lump in that made it gruffer than normal. "What should I wear?" It was a weighted question, meant to encompass any aspect of hatching-attendance etiquette. Had he been speaking to anyone else, it was likely Wuarthir wouldn't have asked, but Arveli was... safe. He had a way of clarifying things without making him feel stupider than he already felt, and even as his cheeks reddened for what felt like the hundredth time that evening he waited eagerly for the response.

He did not know who knew, or cared for that matter, about his friendship with Arveloriann, but if there were any reason to bring it into the spotlight, it would not be because he had failed to behave appropriately at the hatching. He didn't want to embarrass him, and the more he knew, the less likely it would be the case.

4
Wuarthir grunted an acknowledgement to Arveli's claim that he was fine, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat slightly. It wasn't a very approachable pose, but it was a natural one for him as he watched Arveloriann continue with his work, surprised, in many regards that he'd only managed to prick himself once with the speed in which he moved the needle. He didn't imagine he'd be happy if it happened more than once while he was there, particularly as it was his clothes he was mending and thus subsequently his fault that his friend was getting hurt, nevermind the fact that the needle was only a small, almost indiscernible weapon.

His scowl grew slightly more pronounced before Arveli distracted him, slight twitch of his mouth enough of an acknowledgement that the chiding wasn't received horribly. His chest may have tightened for half a heartbeat, but he knew there was no weight behind calling him silly, just as he understood the needle wasn't truly a threat. It certainly helped that Arveloriann continued to explain that everyone, (unless they were banned...?) could go.

"I haven't been banned." Wuarthir stated immediately after Arveli stopped talking, certain that he'd know if he had been. He'd simply not been told he could go... and if everyone was allowed to go, then surely he would have been told if that wasn't the case. Not only that, but the thought of Arvelorrian being more nervous if he didn't attend made him want to make sure he knew he was able to go.

"I'll make sure to sit somewhere you can see me then." he added with a firm nod of his head, already figuring out how to make sure he would be able to attend, no matter what he was otherwise occupied with. He'd have to anticipate the hatching occurring at any point in the day... or night. But he wouldn't disappoint Arveli but not being there.

"Why would you be nervous, though?" He asked after only a short pause. Was being on the sand that much different to watching? "Are you worried about what colour you'll impress?" He didn't quite understand the intricacies of dragon impression, firelizard's and wher's seeming to be less selective, and not having seen one in person, he had no idea that there were dangers associated with candidacy and subsequent weyrlinghood.

5
Wuarthir had set himself down at a seat that gave him a good view of Arveloriann while dinner was underway, not wanting to be the reason for any delay once the weaver-come-candidate was ready for him. He made an effort to eat at the same pace as the other weyrfolk around him, aware that wolfing down his food would only mean an extended period of waiting until his friend had helped clear the tables with the rest of the candidates. The chatter at dinner was always the most entertaining, in any case, and though his attention never really left Arveli, he was involved enough in the talk surrounding him to acknowledge anything directed at him.

It was a comfortable sort of role he'd slipped into since coming to Southern Winds. He still worked hard, but the focus had shifted as he became more familiar with how the weyrfolk worked. He had few skills to trade, but an extra pair of willing hands was rarely turned away, and he was able to trade his efforts for the necessities he required. They were rather accommodating like that. In a way he hadn't experienced while at the hold.

That's how he stumbled onto the weaverhall. Helping move bulky items from here or there in exchange for repairs to his clothing, or new items when required... and how he met Arveloriann. The younger man had a knack for making his clothes last as long as possible, so he needed to replace them less often, and never made him feel ashamed for the state of the garment he was fixing. He'd become as much of a fixture in his life as the section of the shared cavern that belonged to him, often encouraged to stick around while the work was being done, and treated to an often detailed account of the happenings in the weyr.

Wuarthir hadn't begrudge Arveli being searched, readily accepting that he would no longer be a weaver's apprentice, and curious as to what was in store for the young man now. He hadn't had a reason to involve himself in the comings and goings of candidates, Not requiring anything from them and vice versa... But now...?

He had waited until he was down to one wearable shirt before seeking Arveloriann out to fix his others, smile lighting up his face as the candidate agreed and nodding firmly at the condition. He'd given him his shirts earlier, and now only needed to wait for Arveli to be free.

He finished the meal and assisted with the cleanup. It wasn't his job, but that didn't seem to matter to the weyrfolk. You helped out where you could, and more often than not it was appreciated. No sooner had the task been finished than Arveli was there, brooking no argument as he dragged him away. It wasn't something that was easily accomplished without Wuarthir's approval, and the enthusiasm of it even managed to coax out an almost inaudible chuckle.

He slid into the booth to sit opposite Arveloriann, face suddenly very serious again as his friend's firelizards positioned themselves. He'd put his arms on the table when he sat, and was almost comically stiff as the smaller creatures sorted themselves out. Even Vanity, largest of Arveli's three was small when compared to the other dragonkind of the weyr, and Wuarthir had never quite gotten over his fear of hurting or startling the little beasts when they were close.

They settled, and he carefully removed his hands from the table, features appearing cross as he concentrated on the action. Once they were safe from unintentional injury by his hand, his attention was fully on the candidate, eyes flicking between the young man's face and the work he was doing, awed as ever by the craft.

His features softened as Arveloriann spoke about his recent experiences, thrilled, though it may be hard to tell, that his experiences as a candidate were good ones. The information about the Rider's bet was tucked away for later, more interested in the fact that going with another was often a way of making ones relationship official than the gossip surrounding the candidate master and another candidate. Arveli hadn't indicated that the coupling itself was the problem so much as their behaviour, and the affection he picked up was enough to tell him that it wasn't important as much as interesting.

"'Veli!" He scolded with a rasp, as the chatter turned to cursing, clearing his throat and half standing to get a better view if the injury before Arveli popped the finger in his mouth. "Be careful..." he added, concern softening the unusual crackle that often accompanied his words.

His frown disappeared abruptly as Arveli shifted the conversation to the hatching again, surprise dancing accross his face as he settled back into his seat and answered. "The hatching?" it wasn't very far off was it? "I had never considered being able to attend."

He looked away for a heartbeat, mulling over his next words. He was sure Arveloriann knew he wasn't weyrfolk, despite feeling closer to the denizens of the weyr than he had ever felt among the holders, he just wasn't sure how much theweaver turned candidate actually knew. "I thought it was only for riders, candidates and their family." He clarified, voice smoothing to a low, almost pleasant tone the more he used it. He wasn't upset by it, merely commenting on what he understood the rules to be. Though there was a hint of a question there, seeking clarification on what he thought he knew.

Spoiler for Tag:
  @SirAlahn  Hope it's alright. I went a little overboard.

6
With the consistency of gold flights in the turns past, there would be no further opportunity to impress.
 
This was it.
 
But it was an opportunity he would not regret, win or lose as the case may be.
 
Before him, a startling contrast of light and dark, stood this clutch's parents. The pale queen, smallest of Southern Weyr's golds if one discounted the growing weyrling, crouched side by side with the sire, a dragon with a dark hide, unmistakably void of the metallic sheen that usually accompanied a bronze mate.
 
Maelboroth was no Bronze, but it was his presence that made this hatching such a unique event. It had been speculated before, and the significantly smaller firelizards had proven that a Gold could be caught by the smaller colours too, but there was no known history of the dragons themselves being subject to the same laws.
 
It was the large brown, then who Wuarthir kept glancing back to, when proper reverence was truly due the queen and the eggs she watched with as much diligence as one would expect from a clutchmother. It couldn't be helped, but there was no doubting the circumstances brought with it some lightening of his heart. He may not impress at this clutch, with only twelve eggs and more than three times the candidates waiting beside him, but what a story he could tell. In a way he was a part of history there, on the sand, among his peers, witness to the first (and possibly last) brown clutchfather in history

He wasn't waiting long before the first egg hatched, unsurprised to see a green dragonet. Imyth wasn't known for a high rate of Bronze Hatchlings, and with a brown of the father he didn't even think it was possible. She was vibrant and energetic, and with a quick impression following suit, boded well for the rest of the clutch. There had been plenty of speculation about this particular pairing, and Wuarthir was pleased to know that the first hatchling had managed to disperse most of them.

Another green followed the first, this one less quick to make a decision, and  Wuarthir was surprised when it's inspection brought her close to him, thrusting her nose into his hand with unexpected force before moving on, an almost... frosty impression on his mind that he was not hers. It was... unsettling. He'd not yet had a hatching where a dragonet had taken such a forthright approach, at least towards him, and as he watched her, brow furrowed as she finally made her decision, he almost missed entirely the struggle coming from within one of the other eggs. The blue that eventually managed to break his shell seemed to struggle. It's eyes dull and chest heaving. A more superstitious person may have recalled the rumoured curse on Imyth's last hatching, and questioned whether it could be a curse on the gold herself. Wuarthir simply frowned a little deeper, his attention shifting to Maelboroth again as if the sire could provide insight into the hatchling's dilemma.

Another green hatched as the blue finally started to stand, sniffing at the female candidate – Cabryn? – that had moved out of line before seeking her partner elsewhere. Had he not been concerned that moving towards the hatchling would do him more harm and good, he may have done the same. Participating in yet another hatching where dragonets betweened wasn't exactly his idea of a good time. Since it was doubtful the woman was the blue's bonded, Wuarthir attempted to reach out to the blue himself, concerned that perhaps the blue wasn't moving away because his bonded wasn’t making themselves known. It was a shaky thought at best, a simple hello that garnered no reaction – if it had reached him at all. Talking to dragons in his mind wasn't something Wuarthir had thought to practice.
It was the next hatching that surprised the candidate, a dark brown bursting forth with all the energy the blue lacked. His compassion for his clutchbrother was immediate, and Wuarthir's face softened into a smile as he moved to help the blue to stand, attention now on the clutchfather to see what he thought. Dragons could feel pride? Right? And what a legacy. A brown sired by a brown. It was surely a surprise for them as well? Imyth tended towards lower ranks and there had been plenty of remarks about an influx of blues and greens this clutch.

The brown stayed with the blue until his actual bonded stumbled forward, and Wuarthir practically beamed at the new weyrling pair as they left the sands. Another green hatched before the brown impressed, finding her bonded at almost the same time. He wasn't sure he recognised the new brown weyrling, but that wasn't surprising. Two turns wasn't much time to get to know each and every candidate, though he there was no doubt in his mind that they were a good match... the candidate master had said about as much in his lessons.

There was a pause, then, enough time for Wuarthir to take note of the clutchparents and their riders, the eggs that they watched and the stands that were a little less occupied than normal – no doubt due to the late hour. All eggs seemed to have movement, and with half hatched and successfully impressed, the candidate found a knot in his chest loosening. So far, it would seem the chaos of Kalestath's clutch and the devastation from Imyth's last wouldn't be repeating itself. Another brown spilled from its egg, this one as certain of himself as a bronze hatchling, as if he knew he was special. It was an odd comparison for Wuarthir to make, considering browns seemed much more level headed than their bronze counterparts, but there was certainly something to be said for the second brown from such a rare pairing.

His impression to Cabryn was intriguing, and like the compassion from the first brown, this one's choice interested him. If he only knew their riders better, he may have been inclined to seek them out once they were settled in their new role, to try and find out what had drawn the dragons too them. There was so much to be explored as a result of this clutch, it was impossible not to be excited by what would hatch next.

After another pause, one of the eggs closer to Imyth began to crack, the dragonet inside putting up a decent fight before being joined by a green egg just beside it. The green that managed to escape the first egg started moving almost as soon as she escaped, though her eagerness didn't make up for her unsteadiness as she fell into the egg that was still trying to break, knocking it into the grey egg behind it. Wuarthir's heart lurched, unable to forget a similar situation occurring at Imyth's last clutch, amplified by the realisation that the third brown had just appeared on the sands. He seemed fragile as he chirped, staggering to his feet in a way that made Wuarthir want to go out and scoop him up, save him from falling and hurting himself as he tried to get his limbs coordinated. That woman had moved towards the blue dragonet earlier and hadn't gotten mauled, maybe he could do the same. He didn't seem lethargic at least. Just a little out of sorts...

Before he could act on his impulses, however, the brown was moving, bumping into a candidate and offering a slightly less confused chirp in response before his head was swinging down the line, turning away from the woman to whatever it was drawing him that way. He should have paid attention to the green and blue nearby as well, but the brown dragons had him enthralled, particularly the third brown. One quarter of the eggs had been brown, which had to be better than usual. He wanted to know who would impress him, who the vocal little thing would click with.

It took him longer than it should have to recognise a warmth settling against his mind in a way the green hatchling at the beginning of the night had lacked. The brown was almost in front of him by that point, the hunger that tainted his eyes lessening as the rainbow of impression took hold. He'd assumed the excited trill was for one of his neighbours, looking to either side of him to see who was going to step forward when he heard him for the first time.

W'thir? I am Kelsameth. May I please have food?

He was shocked. The stark contrast between this soft, sweet almost feminine voice in his head to the harsh brush of icy green was immense, let alone the fact the brown was talking directly to him, his mind voice accompanied by a soft croon. W'thir? he mulled over the name, checking next to him once again in case it was someone else's, but it felt right. Like the name Wuarthir was no longer him. You are W'thir, yes. Food, please? the dragon confirmed with a bubbly sort of amusement, tainted only by the harder press for food to satiate the empty belly he felt.

He hadn't thought at Kelsameth, yet the dragonet heard him.. which was surprisingly... simple considering he'd not had the opportunity to explore it previously. So instead of speaking aloud in response to this second, more demanding request he simply thought his words once again. in the feeding pavilion. I'll take you. and without worrying about whether the dragonet would allow it, W'thir was scooping him into his arms as he had wanted to do the moment he hatched, the motion almost instinctive as the brown tucked his wings close, allowing them to bend a little easier as he was turned onto his back, tail dangling for a moment before it was wrapped around the young man's leg instead, a happy rumble enough of an acknowledgement that the dragonet was as happy with being carried as W'thir was to carry him.

From there it was only a matter of stepping out to the pavilion, the comforting glows illuminating the area sufficiently despite the late hour and giving his first view of his new classmates since they had impressed (less the two eggs still waiting to hatch). The bowls of food had been placed in an easy to spot location, but grabbing one would mean putting Kelsameth down...which he wasn't quite inclined to do just then. The sight of the other two brown weyrlings at a table together drew his interest, and with no other leads as to what sort of arrangements were in place post impression, W'thir simply assumed they were to sit in colour groups for... efficiency until stated otherwise. It helped that he wanted to get to know the other two brownriders... and His dragon seemed only concerned about the meat chunks that they'd spotted.

“Excuse me, may we join you?” W'thir asked once he had approached, waiting for a lull in the conversation before interrupting. His face darkened slightly as he finished speaking, unsure about whether he had done the right thing and preparing for the disappointment that came with being dismissed. It would be a wonderful way to start his new life as a rider.

He relaxed when there was no such rejection, a glimmer of a smile brightening his face as he shifted to a spare spot on the bench, placing Kelsameth gently down on the seat and waiting until the dragonet had settled into a comfortable position before stepping aside. “This is Kelsameth, he called me W'thir" he explained briefly, before nodding towards where the bowls of food were located, “He wants some food.”

Kelsameth gave a trill of greeting to the people around him, the sound turning into a pointed creel at mention of food. Hesitating just a moment, not sure if he was being downright rood in dumping his dragon on the others and running off, W'thir darted off to get a bowl of meat before rushing back, apologising again as he settled down next to Kelsameth to start feeding him appropriately sized chunks of meat.

He wasn't sure of the etiquette now that he'd introduced himself, trying not to stare at the other brown weyrlings as he worked to calm Kelsameth's hunger. He didn't need to tell his bonded to slow down at least, each piece being taken delicately out of his hand and chewed sufficiently before requesting another with a soft chirp, despite the painful feeling in his belly that W'thir couldn't help sharing.

Kelsameth wasn't quite as lost, however, introducing himself to his brown clutchbrothers with a happy thrum. Hello, I am Kelsameth. Thank you for letting us eat here, I don't think I would have been able to go much longer without something.

Spoiler for OOC:
@Inki @RaynePOTM @SirAlahn went a bit overboard. 2,100 words. Only relevent bit to the feeding is near the end.

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