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Brigan turned to Karowen when she appeared at his side, nodding slightly in response to what she’d said. Brusque as he was, and as busy as the Hall was, though, he didn’t waste time on pleasantries.

“We’re stretched thin,” he said simply, and indicated the line still thick through the Hall and disappearing out into the tunnel beyond. “Help us go through the patients still waiting, if you will. Admit anyone who you judge to be too seriously ill to be treated elsewhere.” Those that were only minorly sick were being treated and then turned over to the care of family, friends, or superiors in the case of Candidates and Weyrlings living in the barracks. Pressed for space as they were going to be, only the most serious cases would get a bed with the Healers.

Even so, they were quickly filling up.

Spoiler for OOC:
@Jarakrisfais Sorry for the short post with Brigan. Let me know if I need to tweak anything. <3 The next person in line is T'ghen, who I posted with a bit prior in the event.

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!

The considerate Bronze had not quite crossed the halfway point of the space between eggs and Candidates when the next dragonet hatched. This one burst from his egg, leaving the speckled grey shell in shatters on the sand [15]. From it was born yet another Black dragon, this one a thick mass of muscle and eyes aflame with an acrid orange that quickly shifted to a redder hue as he spotted the Bronze before him.

He didn’t bother to roar a challenge as his older brother had. Instead he hissed, the sound nearly a snarl as he darted forward, trampling the remains of a previously hatched egg. Fortunate for his clutchmates, perhaps, that he was near the front of the grouping. It seemed nothing was going to stop him from getting to the dragon he had instantly recognized as a rival—maybe even for a future bonded.

His charge caught the Bronze by surprise, who screeched in pain as a raking set of foreclaws drew lines on his flank. Ichor bloomed against his hide, and he spun to face the Black in a shower of sand.

Their battle was brief but fierce. Though the reason for the fight escaped him, the Bronze seemed determined to give as good as he got—gouging at the Black in return for clawmarks and bites, until the Black pushed him away and now favoring one leg. The two eyed one another for a tense moment, teeth bared, until the Black seemed to catch sight of something interesting behind his brother.

Just as a Candidate stepped forward to claim the darker dragon, so too did one summoned by the Bronze’s voice as they each reached out to their riders. Neither of them had the energy to fight anymore.

Almost meekly as they were led off the sands, an pale tan and brown egg near the back began to break apart [29]. What emerged from it was a tiny thing, almost as small as some of the Reds that had been in the cavern earlier. But instead, this was a pretty Green lady, who slunk forward submissively to claim what was meant to be hers. She skirted wide around the spilled ichor between her and the Candidates, eyes whirling yellow in fear of the lingering atmosphere in the wake of her brothers’ fight.

A quasi-respectful silence fell over the Hatching for a time after the appearance of the tiny Green, as though the rest of the dragonets were reluctant to break the thick stillness left in the wake of the Black and Bronze’s fight. Eventually, though, some of the eggs began to rock again as the atmosphere dissipated. Despite the combativeness and previous tragedy of the afternoon, there were still quite a few baby dragons left to be born into the world. And no matter what their siblings might have been though, they were eager to hatch and find their own riders.

The first of them to move significantly was tucked at the back, almost enough to be overlooked. The pale, almost sickly-colored egg was a mix of pale orange limned with green, scarcely noticeable except under the brightest of lights [24]. Its hatching wasn’t given much fanfare either, as the little dragon inside broke out of the side of their shell while still shielded by some of their siblings.

Said egg had belonged to a Blue, who keened hungrily as he sorted out his legs and his wings. Both seemed almost too long for him, and it took a few moments for him to really get to his feet. Even when he did, he was wobbly and unsteady, having to make very slow progress across the sand. But with the bright, hungry orange that his eyes were, he seemed determined even if his gait was ponderous.

He brushed past Oarlen on his way, tail absently flicking against the boy’s leg—but not hard enough to any damage. Instead, he seemed to be idly touching the Candidates as he passed them, as though that might ease the bond he was trying to find. And perhaps it did, since he nosed against the hands of the rider he eventually claimed and then licked at their face when they bent to hug him tight.

Meanwhile, the next dragonet didn’t seem inclined to wait. This egg was pale and wan in its shell as well, but far closer to the front [6]. Luck had prevented it from being disturbed by the birth of its siblings, as it was wedged in a ring of sand, the base sunk deep and steady. Small spiderwebbing cracks appeared on the forward side, gradually growing until amniotic fluid leaked out to darken the sand and the clutch’s second Bronze broke through the rest of the shell.

He didn’t get a chance to move toward the Candidates before a pale pink egg broke apart, the front being punched open by the dragon within [30]. This one proved to be yet another Green, bigger than her sisters and trilling cheerfully as she shook fluid off her wings and tail. She rose fully to her feet then, but tripped on her own wings with a yelp and stumbled headlong into the soft yellow egg rocking next to her [32].

Just like that, she was joined by yet another sister. Though the egg had looked deceptively golden, its average size and Kalestath’s lack of protectiveness had proved it wasn’t special. But the Green housed inside it was still a slight yellowish in color, like bright green of new spring buds. Though she was initially startled by the unintended assistance in hatching, she chirped to the fellow Green and soon sorted out her limbs—faster than her slightly older sibling had.

She darted across the sands then, not hesitating at all before choosing the Candidate that was meant to be hers. Full of energy and graceful already, she was just excited at the idea of food!

It took the other Green a little longer, though she reached the Candidates about the same time as her brother, who had paused to watch the other two dragonets before making his way forward. The Green paused to regard Kharismene as she inspected potential riders, her mind briefly brushing the girl’s before ultimately moving on. Whatever she found there, it wasn’t for her.

Either way, the remaining Green and the Bronze found their matches nearly simultaneously—but there were yet more eggs showing signs of movement.

Hatching Sands / Re: A New Start [34.06.2590 / 10:00PM] Impression Thread
« on: February 01, 2019, 07:38:40 PM »
Halirina never knew when the eggs were going to hatch. Neither did Kalestath. Not really. She’d always wished being upclose and so near to them that they’d know, at least a little in advance. But the little Reds had made it quite apparent that the only way that anyone was going to know when they were ready was when they were hatching. And they didn’t take long at all.

One moment, Halirina and Kalestath were simply surveying the quiet eggs, and the next… They’re hatching… And they were. Her hum filled the room, drowning out the sudden cracking of three eggs as the little Reds burst into the world and blasted Halirina’s mind with their exuberance. Why did they have to project everything?! Halirina’s hands went to her temples at the sudden impact of so much excitement, happiness, thrill, and the seemingly wordless ‘scream’ that came from all three as they broke free  from their shells.

It took all of Kalestath’s considerable will and delicate maneuvering to get them away from the other eggs as they romped and played, chased and trilled. So mobile, so ready!

The Candidates couldn’t arrive fast enough! Thankfully, this wasn’t as much of a surprise now. Halirina could’ve guessed this was going to happen, O’sir should’ve been ready… Even so, no manner of preparation could stop the Reds from literally pouncing on the Candidates when they arrived. So excited, so ready, wanting to find their bondmate, wanting to play. Thrilled to just see people. Not even necessarily the person they might bond to!

As though the arrival of people was the cue for it, five more eggs cracked open and all chaos broke lose. Halirina actually stepped back, afraid she might become the target of the now sudden mess of what was now a tide of red in all varying shades and hues.

The Candidates didn’t stand a chance. If the previous three were a handful, now that there five more was just too much for Kalestath. Her eyes burned orange in irritation as she tried to manage, but their untethered minds were slippery and simply too much. More than that, she just… didn’t want to hurt them or the eggs. So, it was all the Gold could do to get them away from the eggs. So, at the behest of their mother, they went away from eggs and into the throng of white robed Candidates.

There was no chance for order. No opportunity for them to line up when the Red swarm hit them. The Reds were unaware they were dangerous, that their claws cut through skin as readily as fabric. They wanted to play, to chase and nip, and blasted the entire Hatching Sands with their willingness and eagerness to be there.

Some, especially those that weren’t used to dragons broadcasting, pressed their hands to their temples. The explosion of ‘noise’ in their minds was almost painful.

Then, screams went up. A girl went down beneath two of the reds and the tussled about on top of her, unaware that they rend her open in an attempt to get untangled from her candidate robes. A Candidate – Cheyloni! She struggled beneath the two Reds. Those closest moved to help her but they didn’t seem to know what to do, how to help. Her screams were suddenly cut short. She stopped moving as one Red tumbled off of her. The other found her unmoving then lost interest to move on to other Candidates.

More screams, more scrambling not to get in the way, not to get caught up. Others fell, others tripped up. The Reds found it a fun game.

One such Red, a tiny pale Red with little stumps for wings slams heavily into Erieen. Toppling him over. She chirps sweetly and chews on a mouthful of his robes. Thankfully missing actually biting him. Her eyes are a swirling mess of green and blue, unaware that she’d inadvertently clawed at and tripped up another candidate to get to him. That her face has some blood along her jaw.

With a jerk of her head, she tears at his candidate robes, rending the fabric easily for her small size,  and then, ever so sweetly, narrows her voice just to him. Never mind the chaos around them.

Feeding off of one another's energy as they were, the seven remaining Red dragons were blissfully unaware of what they'd done. They had no concept of what all the blood on the Sands meant, the reason that Cheyloni had gone still and stopped making noise. All they knew was that she was no longer able to play, but there were others there still more than capable of entertaining them. And by that same logic, those that continued to move were only inviting the chase. Why else would they be running!
Sayimith's Impression to Erieen had only removed one of the reverberating telepathic voices from the cacophony bouncing around the interior of the hatching chamber. But hers had been just a fraction of it, even if a strong one, and the others were still bombarding the Candidates with a confusing and disorienting barrage of emotions, sensations, impulses...
One of the Reds, somewhat larger than the others, caught sight of a Candidate some distance away that looked promising, all alone and off by himself as he was. Taking off at a run, he was heedless of what was underneath his feet--only registering for a moment the change in terrain as he quite literally ran over Ysveta where she lay, his back claws snagging at her hips and the front ones dragging in a ragged arc up her shoulder and across the left side of her face. The cuts themselves might not prove too bad, but there would be puncture wounds too as he used her as a springboard to leap toward Zondesh.
When he reached him, with his running start, the dragonet all but climbed the Candidate, using claws and teeth alike to shimmy up him as a long ago feline might have a tree. But even as the Red touched him, curiously prodding at his mind with his, he knew that this was not the Candidate for him. Which ultimately led to the bright creature launching himself off of Zondesh's shoulders at the next nearest human: with enough force to knock him to his knees in the sand.
Another, curious at Isalia's stillness, leaped up to fasten its jaws around her arm, unaware of just how sharp its teeth were--he just wanted to play! And what better way to coax her down to the same level, to chase him as he would have her if she'd been moving! The taste of blood meant nothing to him as he hung off her forearm, snapping the bone and then whipping his head side to side once he'd landed back on his feet, effectively tearing at her flesh as he pulled her down with him.
Contrary to their intent of protecting Oarlen, Colvin and Cabryn bunching around him had only made him all the more interesting to yet another of the dragons wreaking havoc and chaos on the Sands. Darting toward the group, the small ruby colored creature swatted playfully at Colvin and slipped past him, cutting open the back of his calf and even up to the back of his thigh. Cabryn, for her trouble, got a strong bite on her ankle, tiny jaws drawing blood and dragging against bone though they didn't break it, before the little female bounced up with all her might to bear Oarlen to the ground. She curled her front claws to keep purchase as they both fell, digging her talons into his shoulders, and then chirped at him happily and licked his cheek once he was down.
Not all of the Candidates were coherent enough to stand still in the wake of Cheyloni's death. And one of them, a girl named Eirsymine, had bolted in a panic to get away from where the other Candidate had died. Occupied as O'sir was with making sure Saviavi wasn't in danger of bleeding out, he could only pay attention to one injured or frightened Candidate at a time. And so one of the happy little Reds chased after her, only increasing her fear; and though the dragonet didn't intend to, it cut off her escape to safer routes.
Driving her toward the unhatched eggs.
STAY AWAY! The Gold's voice boomed out even louder than the Reds', cast to everyone there and not just the Candidate who had so foolishly drawn near her clutch. Her eyes turned as dark and bloody as the hides of her children, and she lunged forward before even Halirina could stop her, in defense of her nest. The Red that had been chasing Eirsymine skidded to a halt, eyes flashing with fear even though the clutch mother's anger wasn't directed at that hatchling individually.
But though the dragonet was safe, Eirsymine was not. Kalestath moved with a speed her size would otherwise seem to bely--and the nightmare really was repeating in sickening echoes of the previous turn. Yet where last time she had missed A'tor with her jaws and only batted him aside, this time her teeth pierced through the Candidate's body, staining the golden hide under her jaw as well as her ivory teeth.
Enraged, the Queen threw Eirsymine like the insignificant thing she was with a sharp flick of her head, and the girl went flying into the very stands themselves, landing at angles no body should. If Kalestath's huge teeth hadn't killed her when they impaled her, the breaking of her spine from the impact surely would.
A stunned silence fell over the entire proceedings. And in the eerily quiet aftermath, it would be no surprise if most missed the Impression of three more of the dragonets. The one that had launched itself off of Zondesh had found its bondmate in the Candidate it had gone after next, who sustained love bites on their hands. The one that had tackled Oarlen to the ground trilled apologetically at him and darted off to the one that had caught her eye and would forever be hers. And the one that had chased Eirsymine so playfully, unknowingly causing her death, slunk with its tail between its legs toward a third Candidate, broadcasting a mournful question of why Kalestath was so mad.

True to the routine established at other hatchings in the previous turns, a period of calm followed the initial appearance of the Red dragonets. The other eggs were active, rocking and showing signs of following suit, but it took some time before another cracked on the sands. Long enough for some of the Healers to carry Karou’s body away, though the large bloodstain beneath her was left behind, making it impossible to ignore the truth of what had happened. Eventually, the bloodied sand would be removed and dumped in the cove, but for now it would only get shuffled against the rest of the soft ground, clumped together with gore and darkening in the heat.

But at least the remaining Candidates were given a chance to collect themselves before another dragon was born. This time it was the dim brown shell of an egg off to the side [1] that cracked, rocking vigorously enough to tip over on its side and widen the spiderwebbing flaws. A chirping could be heard from within, muffled at first and then ringing clear as the young dragon forced his head through and climbed out of the broken husk that had once been his home.

A leggy Brown, his eyes whirled in a mellow teal as he beheld the world for the first time, though there were hints of orange in his gaze that spoke of the hunger running like a hidden current beneath. Content to observe for a moment, he simply looked around at the Sands, at his mother, at the rest of the eggs still holding his siblings within, and then at the Candidates before crooning, almost humming like he was considering what to do next.

Closer to Kalestath, another of the eggs hatched without much fanfare, the shell simply breaking apart and sloughing off of the dark body within. The pale, grey-blue egg [23] had divulged its contents too, birthing a Black, glinting creature with what almost appeared to be a metallic sheen beneath the lights in the Hatching Sands.

He roared a challenge, brassy and loud, to announce his presence—enough to catch the attention of his Brown brother, whose attention shifted over to the Black and then slid away again in disinterest.

Finally, the Brown moved forward from the remains of his egg and approached the Candidates, moving unerringly toward the one that he intended to claim. Well, come along, he announced cheerily. I’m sure there’s more to see outside, and I’m hungry too.

As the two of them moved away toward the feeding pavilion, the Black dragonet snaked his way forward between the unhatched eggs, like a dark shadow moving across the Bowl as the sun traveled across the sky. He wasn’t as quick to make his choice as the Brown that had hatched before him, instead inspecting the Candidates as he considered them, eyes a deep blue. He wasn’t rushed or even annoyed—just judging everyone he came across and finding them wanting.

During his slow, ponderous process, another dragonet emerged into the world too. This one slowly broke through his own shell, a pale pinkish-lavender like the petal of a delicate flower that bloomed into the form of the Blue that had been born from it. Shaking off amniotic fluid and egg shards, he flared and shook his wings, the membranes shimmering like the scales of a fish.

He wasn’t as graceful as the Black nor as decisive as the Brown, walking clumsily across the Sands with an almost rolling gait, wings dragging on the sand. Cheeping to himself almost the whole while, as though he was talking to himself, he wove his way placidly between the Candidates at the front of the grouping to one that was standing quietly off to one side—and the Impression was made only a moment before his Black-hided sibling finally looked up at one of the male Candidates with a simple statement of, There you are.

Another handful of minutes passed after the Black dragonet had made his choice, he and his brothers all exiting the Sands and leaving the clutch further diminished. But though many of the young dragons had hatched already, there were yet more clusters of eggs remaining where Kalestath had protectively kept them, gleaming in the light with the promise of what they held within. So many more chances for the Candidates on the Sands to step away as a bonded pair.

Just enough time had passed for some, perhaps, to get impatient, when the top of an egg near the front cracked off, an almost clean shear as the baby within simply pressed their head up through the weakest part of the shell. Their claws were soon to follow, crumbling the front of the muddled grey and violet egg [14] until it gave way and spilled them out in a rush of fluid.

The second Brown of the clutch—certainly not an inauspicious addition to the clutch, even if he wasn’t as flashy as a Bronze. That distinction didn’t seem to bother him any, and his large body had a certain near-predatory quality to it as he flicked his tail, shattering what was left of his former prison, and moved to the Candidates.

He stopped near Harsaia for a moment, eyes narrowing up at her thoughtfully, and then moved on. His long, thick tail left a furrow in the sand as it dragged behind him, rasping over the ground in a way that might have seemed distinctly menacing where his hide black instead. Such as it was, he simply seemed thoughtful. Zarenna, too, was considered for a moment before the Brown passed her by.

Ultimately, he selected his future rider without fanfare. The moment might even be lost as a red-shelled egg [5] tipped against the speckled blue one beside it [4], almost knocking its fellow over before slipping off and sliding against the mount of sand that had been keeping them in place. Though it was somewhat difficult to see from behind the other eggs still shielding it, a back leg emerged first—glittering with a distinctive metallic sheen that seemed rather coppery against the more golden color of the Sands. A few moments later, the Bronze struggling to crack the thick egg finally forced his way out of it, inadvertently backing up into the same blue egg he’d knocked into previously.

Peeping could be heard from within that one, an almost piteous noise like a cry for help. The Bronze cocked his head a moment as he listened to it, even glancing up at his mother questioningly. But when Kalestath didn’t move toward the egg and the distressed-sounding dragon inside, he turned his claws to the shell instead.

Perhaps a tense moment as those razor-sharp talons tore at the outside of his sibling’s home, scoring the shell and eventually peeling at it and the membrane beneath once it began to crack. The peeping had intensified, the creature within maybe sensing that another was helping them. With the Bronze’s assistance, the thick, hard outer husk was left in shards on the ground and a little Green tumbled against her brother’s legs. Her foreclaws appeared duller than his, perhaps the source of her difficulty in breaking through on her own.

Beyond that, though, she seemed healthy. The two of them shared a short, trilled conversation—and her voice rang out in the heads of the Candidates near to the front of the group: Thank you!

The Bronze simply rumbled his acknowledgment, licking some fluid from along her jaw, and then nudged her with his snout to urge her toward those waiting for them.

She wasn’t a graceful creature, exactly, but she seemed energetic despite her struggle with emerging from her egg. Wings flopping comically along beside and behind her, she bounded across the sand—her brother following along more slowly behind, as he paused to sort out his legs from his wings—and nearly bowled into Sionann on her way to her actual bonded. He helped me! I think we’re friends now.

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

As the other three of the original four Reds quickly found their intended riders, the last dramatically flopped down in the Sands between the eggs and the Candidates. They were out of the way of their siblings, more or less, having crossed that invisible line past which Kalestath was working not to let them go until they needed to. Nevertheless, whoever claimed them would still have to step forward towards them.

The Red dragonet didn’t seem interested in going any further by themselves, though. I’m tired now, they announced, still on a wide band to whoever was nearby. Will you feed me? After a moment of receiving no response, some of the Candidates glancing uncertainly at one another, they huffed and narrowed their focus. You. I’m talking to you.

Without ceremony, another Impression was made and their future rider stepped forward to scoop them up.

That movement drew the attention of some of the other Reds, though. A pair of them that had been playfighting drifted closer, curious as to what their sibling was doing—even sniffing at the already-spoken-for Candidate as they tried to extricate themselves from the jumping bodies and exit to the Feeding Pavilion, earning some scratches for their troubles.

What are you doing? Can we go with you? We’re hungry too.

The one in the now-Weyrling’s arms flared their wings, as though to look bigger than they really were. You have to find yours, they grumbled aloud, once again to all that would hear. Get away. We’re busy.

That admonishment didn’t discourage them in the slightest, though. They sprang toward the Candidates instead, evidently making a game of it as they bluntly forced themselves into the minds of those they crossed paths with. Even calling out to them as they did, testing the match and apparently finding it wanting. A fair few times they jumped around the Candidates’ feet like excited puppies, and one of them knocked a girl down—Karou. Flipping over, they were heedless of the deep cuts inflicted by their claws and wings, fully expecting her to get up as soon as they were off of her. You? No, you’re not quite right…

They didn’t seem to notice the trail of red left behind them in the sand, nor the way the girl wasn’t moving, but others would. Her blood was as bright against the Sands as the hides of the Reds, and her body was as still as they were not.

It was only a few more moments before the two bouncing dragonets did find their riders, one even chewing on the ex-Candidate’s robes in their excitement and desire for food. But as the others realized what fate had befallen Karou, blood still pumping rapidly out onto the ground, the ensuing chaos was enough to distract from the hatching of a ninth Red as their still-energetic siblings crashed into their pale blue egg and cracked it open.

The last Red that had hatched was a scrawny thing, all legs and tail and smaller even than some of its other siblings. A tiny little bolt of color against the gold and brown sand. But in contrast to its fellows, its energy wasn’t focused on playing or chasing.

Rather, it had been startled out of its egg—not too early, not in danger of Betweening, but enough that it was disorienting. The others, unaware of how their antics might endanger the other eggs in the clutch, had slammed into it while they played and sent its egg spinning, cracking and then breaking apart as the hatchling inside tried to catch its balance, claws dragging furrows in the sand. That hurt! they cried, picking themselves up and shaking their wings as though to make sure the appendages hadn’t been injured.

One of the others stopped chasing the second to turn and look at the newcomer. Sorry… And then they added more cheerfully, Hey, are you hungry? Me too. I think if we go over there, someone will give us food.

I am hungry… The smallest of the three picked its way out from among the other eggs to join its slightly older siblings.

Well come on then!

They were a little more sedate as they made their way as a trio toward the Candidates, heedless of the tragedy another had caused. One of them did even stop to sniff at the streaked blood on the ground, even lick at it. It smells good, they commented, and then spit out the grains stuck to their tongue, eyes whirling a faintly ruddy color in annoyance. But it tastes bad.

You’ll find me something good, won’t you? The next question, from the last of them that had hatched, started as a louder projection and then narrowed to the Candidate they had sat down in front of, looking up at them with rainbows blooming in their eyes from the resulting Impression.

The other two were a little slower, perhaps made somewhat lethargic by burning off so much energy while they played. But eventually even they Impressed too, the one that had licked at the sand going last and their new rider brushing at the bits that had stuck to their snout.

Other eggs were rocking, but less vigorously. Those in attendance might have to wait a little while before the next dragonet made itself known.

It seemed like the little Reds didn’t really care about the Candidates that were lining up. With Kalestath keeping them firmly away, letting the newly hatched know that people were not interested in playing, they were happy to chase, fall over one another, trill, and flail about in the Sands together. Unaware this was a special occasion, that people were there for them. Their thoughts were loud and unfiltered, like crechlings turned loose in the weyrbowl to shout and play. No one was immune. It’s not fair! You’re too fast! and Ow, ow, ow. That was my wing you stepped on! followed by the occasional Where is the food?! I’m so hungry!

There were certainly different tones, different voices and pitches, but trying to figure out what belonged to who was nigh impossible. The voices were directionless and ‘shouted’ into the cavern.

The crowd didn’t have to wait long for four more of the smallest eggs to crack open and spill their contents. More Reds. Kalestath might have been able to handle, just barely, four but eight? The Queen visibly tensed and her eyes whirled into a yellow-red as she strained herself.

Halirina actually turned to look at her Gold. //Don’t try to directly control them, just steer away the ones that get too close or become too excitable, she said, quick to stop the rising frustration of her Gold. There was no way even Kalestath could control eight dragons. But, one at a time? Maybe even two or three? That, she could do.

Kalestath’s wings flared a little more and she shifted, standing a bit more upright to do as her Rider suggested. She couldn’t keep a handle on all of them, but between herself and Halirina keeping an eye on them, hopefully they’d be able to prevent any real injury. So long as the Candidates still behaved themselves and didn’t draw Kalestath’s attention.

With the new additions, the former Reds became even more excited – if that was possible. New friends! Let’s play! Get out of the egg. Too much sand. There’s no food here. We’re not allowed to play with the people. Chase me chase me chase me! There was no reprieve from their voices now.

It was with Kalestath’s firm direction that they didn’t break eggs or, for now, barrel into the Candidates.

That didn’t stop them from hurting eachother though. Dragon claws and teeth were so very sharp, even for hatchlings. Two that were caught in a tumble were soon fighting while Kalestath was keeping a cluster from charging other eggs that were beginning to shake and crack.

You bit me, you’re mean. Get off, get away! There was no mistaking that the little Red was fine. No real harm done, but ichor splashed across the Sand as the ‘defeated’ Red dashed away from its sibling, toward the safety of Kalestath, while the angrier of the two stood triumphantly. Tiny and proud, she flared her wings – she thought she looked quite marvelous – and pranced over toward the Candidates.

Right up to one of the boys, easily knowing she was meant for him. Her dark red head peered up at him, her eyes a brilliant, bright blue, while she waited expectantly. Like he was the one that she’d been waiting on this entire time now. He said something to her, inaudible from where Zarenna was standing, and the Red headbutted him in the shin, cutting off his delighted laughter -- and the first bonded pair of the clutch were making their way off the Sands in short order.

As Hisketh made her Impression, a few of the other Reds seemed to take real notice of the Candidates for the first time. They were both from the original grouping of four that had hatched, pausing in chasing one another to study the figures steadily flooding onto the Sands. It was harder to ignore so many people now, and some of their initial burst of energy had been burned away in their cavorting. And with their mother now spread thinner over trying to keep an eye on so many of them at once, they took the opportunity to zero in on the Candidates more seriously.

Race you to yours!

What?! Get your own!

They had particular targets in mind, but one of them was a bit clumsier than the other, trying to cut a hard turn to avoid other Candidates stepping out onto the Sands, and slammed right into Oskendar’s legs. Flailing some as they rolled to regain, the Red was heedless as they left some cuts on him with their claws and wingtips. You’re in the way, they told him absently—loudly—but without any malice. Their attention was elsewhere.

The tumble had put them behind their sibling, though, and they finished trotting over to them just a few moments later. I can’t believe you won… they grumbled.

Their sibling just chirped brightly and added, We can race to the food too if you want.

Kalestath had certainly garnished a well earned reputation for being a broody, moody Queen when it came to her clutches. The fact that the Reds were a bit rambunctious didn’t mean she was about to let anyone wander around and try to corral them. Only Halirina braved the sands around the eggs, daring to put herself between the red eyed Queen who regarded the Candidates with angry distrust. Kalestath was ever convinced the clumsy children were a danger to her precious eggs.

Only their respectful behavior kept her against the far side of the Sands, wings flared, but she remained settled. It also helped that it required almost all of her concentration to keep the Reds from running directly at the Candidates to play with them. The last hatchings had been a flurry of activity and... well, messy. Now, Halirina and Kalestath were hoping to control the dragonets to a degree. So long as the Candidates didn’t upset Kalestath, then the Queen could focus on keeping her little ones mostly restricted to the Sands until they were called toward a certain individual.

The Reds loudly projected all of their thoughts, unashamed. Blasting everyone in the Sands with thoughts of I want to play! and Come chase me! Adorable, sure, but loud. To those not used to hearing dragons, it was like children screaming in their skull. Kalestath couldn’t quiet them, and she wouldn’t have tried regardless, but she was doing a marvelous job keeping the four that had hatched to themselves.

The four dragonets tumbled and played, utterly unconcerned about the Candidates that filed in. Ignoring them, as they were being made to by their mother, until they were drawn to one.

Which hadn’t happened as of yet.

Select triage Healers were lined near Halirina’s weyr. She’d escort them out onto the Sands if it were necessary. They’d been told not to go out on their own, just in case Kalestath got... bite-y. It was just better for everyone involved if Halirina was with anyone that shouldn’t be on the Sands, if they had to go out to help anyone.

Halirina didn’t really speak to Kalestath so much as continually sent soothing thoughts to her Queen. There was no reasoning with Kalestath right now, no talking her down. Just weathering out the storm in the Sands and hoping that it all worked out. So long as all the Candidates behaved, and didn’t run at the eggs, show up with fire lizards, or mess something else up.... it should all be well. 

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!

Not all of the riders that had arrived at Nabol that day would be leaving it. But those that were had been saved by their quick actions once things had devolved into chaos. No matter how brave the mob might be within the main hall of the Hold, many of them shied away from the dragons now landing in the courtyard. Regardless of the fact that the creatures were known in the Weyrs to not to be aggressive toward humans, generations of misinformation and paranoia had skewed that knowledge at the Holds.

No matter how harmless they might usually be, the dragons were still huge, armed with teeth and claws that could easily kill a person. And, as far as any non-rider knew, flame as well.

Other riders were already herding Candidates toward the dragons. A break in Thread had allowed them to remain outside Nabol, but there was no telling how long that luck would last. They would need to get back to High Reaches as quickly as possible, both to escape that danger and to treat those who had been wounded in the violence.

Within the Hall, the fighting was showing no signs of stopping. With it now spilling over into the tunnels and the deeper reaches, even Nabol’s many Peacekeepers were having difficulty containing it all.

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.

The Keepers and the riders both would have their work cut out for them, with the tides of the crowd swelling to a breaking point. Emboldened by the surge of the mob, by the first rider going down and the keen of a dragon, others rushed forward to attack. Most of them might not have weapons, but that didn’t matter. Not when a righteous sort of anger was upon them and they already had the taste of blood.

And some of them did have blades, hidden under clothes or in boots just in case things got ugly, which they inevitably usually did in the deep tunnels where the drudges lived. One enterprising individual slipped past the ring of Peacekeepers that started to coalesce around the riders, drawing a knife from under his shirt where he’d had it hidden thrust through his belt. He struck out at the closest rider—who happened to be D’rak—slashing wildly with a wordless roar of anger.

Behind the riders, the would-be Candidates were a target too. Someone shouted, “Traitors!”, though the face was lost in the crowd. But then people were rushing them too, breaking past the well-intentioned but too-small line of protection. Some further back threw things—there were no stones at hand, but as others ripped open the tithe bundles in the confusion, there were other objects—bits of ore and wood and other things that would hurt just as much if they struck, which one did across Qirelai’s forehead, the gash shallow but jagged and pouring blood down her face.

Amid all the chaos, smaller fights were breaking out among the drudges too—as they all scrambled for the goods being spilled onto the floor. And the conflict rippled outward like a stone thrown into a pond; as items were snatched from the hands of another, those further back in the crowd then set their sights on the one that had done the snatching.

And so it went. Though Viscionis pulled the bundle he held tight to his chest, someone else noticed what he was holding. They laid hands on him then, trying to pull it from his grasp. Similarly, those others who had still been holding items for the tithe were set upon just the same.

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.

Adoptables / Info Ranked NPC Adoptables
« on: January 21, 2014, 09:34:10 PM »

Important but Unranked Adoptables
This will be updated frequently with the adoptables currently running about. If you'd like one, please post your interest and fill out the remainder of their profile. We have certain requirements for some ranked characters or they'll be taken back by the NPC account. If you vanish for an extended period of time, or post an absence that is greater than the requirement and we're unable to contact you, the NPC will be taken back and become available to someone else. We ask that you try and stay true to the idea provided for them in the blurb, but you may interpret that however you like to make them your own.

     • Jr. Weyrwoman: Vanelwynne of Oriath

Requirements: Cannot be 1st character. Can only adopt/make one other ranked character. Active participation in events and possible admin guidance. Post once a week. Plot out your own Flight thread and determine winner. Create clutch threads and follow admin guide with hatchings.
Hot-tempered and confidant, Vanelwynne does not allow others to see her afraid or sad in order to prove that she is a capable leader. No matter the pain the ill-fated 9th Pass has caused her, she maintains a driving energy that has helped push the remaining weyr- and holdfolk of Pern to survive. Vanelwynne is rarely seen standing or sitting still, as there are always responsibilities to see to and work to be done to ensure that Southern Winds remains a viable settlement. While she and the Senior Weyrwoman, Halirina, often clash, Vanelwynne respects her and seeks to further her education in expectation of the day that she assumes the position. Nevertheless, Vanelwynne is loyal to Halirina despite her ambition, and is above plotting or conniving to take the title before her time. [ Vanelywnne is 34; Oriath is 21, and flies early in the 3rd month. ]

     • Jr. Weyrwoman: Eimerra of Imyth

Requirements:Cannot be 1st character. Can only adopt/make one other ranked character. Active participation in events and possible admin guidance. Post once a week. Plot out your own Flight thread and determine winner. Create clutch threads and follow admin guide with hatchings.
Spoiler for Eimerra is currently being played by Wren:
One of the youngest of Southern Winds’ Gold riders, Eimerra is a sweet-tempered and soft-spoken woman. Despite those who might underestimate her on account of her quiet demeanor, she is also brave and possessed of an iron will, unafraid to stand up for what she thinks is right or logical. Always with a smile or a kind word for everyone, Eimerra is well-liked in the weyr. She does what she can to ease the pain of her people in the aftermath of the great disaster, making herself into a stable and trustworthy rock by which others can guide themselves. Eimerra is wise beyond her years. [ Imyth is a much paler gold than many of the other Queens. Eimerra is 24; Imyth is 7, and flies early in the 4th month. ]

     • Gold Weyrling: Nalata of Minath

Requirements: Cannot be 1st character. Can only adopt/make one other ranked character. Active participation in events and possible admin guidance. Post once a week. Plot out your own Flight thread and determine winner. Create clutch threads and follow admin guide with hatchings.
Spoiler for Nalata is currently being played by Kyya:
Nalata is the latest of Southern Winds Weyr’s Gold riders, having Impressed to Minath at Kalestath’s clutch of 2589. She is a thin wisp of a girl, quiet and fairly withdrawn up until her Impression. She was Searched just before the cutoff for Candidates of the clutch where she Impressed, and was not standing for the Gold egg at the time. Despite her quietness and private nature, she is not shy nor a pushover. She will logically and confidently make decisions and see them carried out, even if others repeatedly underestimate her – and even if he is not the loudest voice in the weyr. The renown of being a Gold rider matters less to her than that she makes sure her responsibilities are done well and that she does what is best for the people of Pern. [ You can read about Nalata and her dragon here. Nalata is was born in 2574, and Minath in 2589. When Minath is sexually mature, she will fly on 30.01. ]

     • Current Weyrleader: S'bok of Neisoth

Requirements: Cannot be 1st character. Can only adopt/make one other ranked character, and cannot hold the rank of Weyrsecond or Weyrwoman. Follow Admin guide to the future events that will play out. S'bok is rather important to the direction of the site. We need someone willing to work with us. Post once every week and participate in events, to include the creation of Event Topics at the discretion of the admin.
S’bok is the first Black rider in the history of Pern, impressing Neisoth the same turn that Southern Winds Weyr was founded. While only 17, he and his dragon have successfully flown Halirina’s Gold Kalestath, making Neisoth the father of the current clutch and earning S’bok the rank of Weyrleader. Arrogant, smug, and aggressive, S’bok is known for having a quick temper and a wide streak of combativeness. He thinks very highly of himself—higher than how the rest of the weyr regards this presumptive young Weyrleader. Nevertheless, he is a skilled rider, and has earned a grudging sort of respect from the rest of the dragon riders. Privately, he is willing to put aside his pride to learn from the other older, ranked riders he feels he can trust. [ Preferred PB for this character is Gaspard Ulliel. S'bok is 17; Neisoth is 2. The first Flight that Neisoth won was Niema's Vorloruth, and it was the Green rider's advice that prompted him to fly Kalestath a few days later. ]

     • Current Weyrsecond:  B'ron of Leremith

Requirements: Cannot be 1st character. Can only adopt/make one other ranked character. Is meant to be a counter to S'bok. This means active participation in Events and possible admin guidance in regards to Event Topics. Post once a week. Open to suggestions in regards to thwarting S'bok though not completely overthrowing him. Should be noted now, B'ron will not be Weyr Leader for some time.
Spoiler for B'ron is currently being played by Inki:
Formerly the Weyrleader of Southern Winds, B’ron is a severe and unsmiling hulk of a Bronze rider. While he and Halirina were never exactly close, he resents S’bok’s recent successful flight. He fully intends to win the next time that Kalestath rises to mate, in order to snatch back “his rank” from the uppity young Black rider. B'ron had other children earlier in his life, but never kept track of them -- and the only one he had with Halirina is deceased. Prior to Neisoth's win, B'ron was Weyrleader at Fort Weyr from 2569 to 2587, and at Southern Winds from 2587 to 2589, a stretch of 20 turns. [ B'ron is 49; Leremith is 32. Preferred PB for this character is Ahn Sung Ki. ]

     • Weyrlingmaster: D'zel of Rohbarth

Requirements: Cannot be 1st character. Can only adopt/make one other ranked character. Active participation and creation of weyrling training topics with some guidance provided, if needed. Will help plot out Wing Rider assignments and work closely with Weyr Leaders, Wing Leaders, Candidate Master, Escort Master, and Scout Master. Outgoing and active - two posts a week.
Spoiler for D'zel is currently being played by Jarakrisafis:
The 9th Pass was not kind to D’zel, robbing him of his family as well as his left arm. Despite these misfortunes, he soldiers on out of a strict sense of duty. Grizzled and middle-aged, D’zel at first presents a tough exterior that hides his large heart. He considers each weyrling that passes through his care to be one of his own children, sharing in their triumphs as well as their tragedies. Reliable and calm, D’zel seeks to hold onto the traditions that made the weyrs strong in the past; an important part of any weyrling’s training under his watch is a thorough examination of Pernese history. Well-respected for his wisdom—no matter that the color of his dragon ranks him below most of the other riders in the weyr—D’zel has become a surrogate parent to many of Southern Winds’ young riders. [ D'zel is 56; Rohbarth is 42. ]

     • Wingleader [ Jungle Wing ]:  H'vier of Kadoreth

Requirements: Cannot be 1st character. Can only adopt/make one other ranked character. Active participation in Events and possible admin guidance. Post once a week. Barring unforeseen circumstances, H'vier will be the Wingleader of Jungle for the foreseeable future.
Though he fatalistically feels he may have been placed in a cursed position after the deaths of so many others, H'vier has stepped up to the role of Jungle Wingleader with all the reliability and calm demeanor that could be asked of him. A long-time rider in that Wing, he's readily familiar with its culture and Wingriders, doing his best to lead them with accompanying honesty and respect. Along with his austerity and decisiveness, he makes for a good ranked rider that has a good reputation with the rest of the Wing. Typical of a Jungle rider, he's not exactly thrilled with the new mutation colors, and dislikes S'bok's age and lack of experience, thinking him unsuited for the role of Weyrleader. [ H'vier is 44; Kadoreth is 29. ]

     • Wingleader [ Prairie Wing ]:  Z'tai of Jenrath

Requirements: Cannot be 1st character. Can only adopt/make one other ranked character. Active participation in Events and possible admin guidance. Post once a week. Barring unforeseen circumstances, Z'tai will be the Wingleader of Prairie for the foreseeable future.
Spoiler for Z'tai is currently being played by Lyndi:
Z'tai tries to live up to what he feels a Bronze Rider should be, championing justice, fairness, and honor above all. While some might mock him for being the Wingleader of Southern Winds' most inept Wing, he's taken on the responsibility gladly -- seeing it as his duty to help train and educate the newly-graduated weyrlings and riders who might otherwise be flight hazards. He doesn't see any of them as hopeless, but rather in need of a gentle hand so that they can become their best selves. Since the horror of the 9th Pass is over, he sees now as  the prime opportunity for such gentility. As a result, Z'tai will protectively defend any and all of his riders no matter their ability level. [ Z'tai is 34; Jenrath is 20. ]

     • Wingsecond [ Prairie Wing ]:  K'rez of Denoth

Requirements: Cannot be 1st character. Can only adopt/make one other ranked character. Active participation in Events and possible admin guidance. Post once a week.
Endlessly fair, K'rez is a perpetual optimist with a distaste for people who constantly complain. In many ways, he embodies the best in Brown Riders -- humility, diligence, and patience. That being said, he can be a bit standoffish and overly serious at times. Even so, he rides a comfortable middle ground between being bound to tradition and being willing to accept that might change for the better. He was promoted to Wingsecond of Prairie upon the move to Southern Winds, and very much does not see this assignment as a punishment. Instead, K'rez views it as an opportunity to have a hand in improving the next generation of riders. [ K'rez is 32; Denoth is 17. ]

     • Wingsecond [ Beach Wing ]:  Y'an of Klinath

Requirements: Cannot be 1st character. Can only adopt/make one other ranked character. Active participation in Events and possible admin guidance. Post once a week.
Y'an is a man known for his dedication, both in matters relating to the wing and in his social life. A jovial man at heart, he tries to involve himself with everyone in his wing and many of those outside as well. Rider, crafter or holder, he'll chat with anyone that will stay still long enough to listen. It's not uncommon for him to arrange more social gatherings for the wings members after training, strongly believing that a wing should spend more than just their training time together. While he trains himself hard and pushes others to keep themselves at their best, he often concentrates on others well being over his own, something Klinath is still trying to rectify.  [ Y'an is 31; Klinath is 17. ]

     • Weyr Headwoman: Lorna

Requirements: Cannot be 1st character. Can only adopt/make one other ranked character, and cannot hold the rank of Weyr Steward. Active participation in events and possible admin guidance. Post once a week.
While Lorna has only been Weyr Headwoman since the previous one retired in 2588, she's already proven herself to be a capable manager of both supplies and people. Despite being from drudge stock, she's adapted well to weyr life and prospers in it. Prior to becoming Headwoman, she spent many long years working in the Creche as a surrogate mother to so many children. Opposed to bullies, laziness, and wastefulness alike, she's an energetic and authoritative woman, if a bit of a workaholic. [ Lorna is 28. ]

     • Lord Holder, formerly of Fort: Maeron

Requirements: Cannot be 1st character. Can only adopt/make one other ranked character, and cannot hold the rank of Weyrleader or Weyrwoman. Follow Admin guide to the future events that will play out. Maeron is rather important to the direction of the site. We need someone willing to work with us. Post once every week and participate in events, to include the creation of Event Topics at the discretion of the admin.
Only through the close cooperation of Fort Hold and Weyr did the two manage to survive the 9th Pass’ extended Threadfall. Though an untested youth when he became Lord Holder of Fort shortly after beginning of Pern’s misfortune, Maeron has since proved himself to be an intelligent and capable man. Well-liked and trusted by his Holders, he has crafted a lasting connection and regard both with the remaining Craftsmen and dragon riders. He speaks slowly and deliberately—but when he does, everyone quiets to listen. When he walks into a room, Maeron commands the attention of those present without ostentation or posturing; his quiet confidence and self-possession, combined with his steady mind and inner stability have contributed heavily to the survival of his Holders. [ Maeron is 47. Preferred PB for this character is Aiden Gillen. ]

     • Lady Holder, formerly of Fort: Lhamoire

Requirements: Cannot be 1st character. Can only adopt/make one other ranked character, and cannot hold the rank of Weyrleader or Weyrwoman. Follow Admin guide to the future events that will play out. Lhamoire is rather important to the direction of the site. We need someone willing to work with us. Post every week and participate in events, to include the creation of Event Topics at the discretion of the admin and support Maeron where needed. She is not meant to work against her husband.
Spoiler for Lhamoire is currently being played by Tyriani:
Like her husband, Lhamoire is well-liked by her people. As temperate and solid as her husband, she shares a close bond with him that allowed the two of them to stay strong throughout the disaster. Though now edging into middle age, Lhamoire retains a beauty that has more to do with her vibrant personality than a youthful face. A mother figure to all she comes in contact with, she is not afraid to step in and do common work to help the survivors, no matter what rank she holds. Because of that, she has earned the respect of the remaining survivors of Pern not only for her good judgment but also her empathy. Lhamoire was offered a position on the Hatching Sands of Fort Weyr during the 9th Pass, but ultimately decided to honor her engagement to Maeron—and keep the people of Fort Hold safe. [ Lhamoire is 43. ]

     • Hold Headwoman: Xuline

Requirements: Cannot be 1st character. Can only adopt/make one other ranked character, and cannot hold the rank of Lord Holder nor Steward. Active participation in events and possible admin guidance. Post once a week.
Xuline is a demanding tyrant of a woman who has risen among the ranks of the drudges and administers to the kitchen with a strict expectation of perfection. It takes a driven, highly organized individual to be Headwoman and maintain the feeding of the weyr. She firmly believes that drudges are undervalued by the weyrfolk, and would only find a truly respected place within a Hold. She is highly traditional, hailing from a large family and having one of her own. Her promotion to Headwoman of the future Hold is her proudest achievement other than her children. Xuline distrusts dragon riders, thinking them arrogant and entitled. She has a particular dislike of them because of her half-brother, N'syn. She is suspicious of Steward Prost, and the two frequently come into conflict over differing points of view. You can read a bit more about her family here. [ Xuline is 45. ]

     • Hold Steward: Prost

Requirements: Cannot be 1st character. Can only adopt/make one other ranked character, and cannot hold the rank of Lord Holder nor Headwoman. Active participation in events and possible admin guidance. Post once a week.
Prost spent most of his life as a general laborer and handyman in Fort Hold, making a modest living for himself and his small family whilst keeping them from slipping down that last slope into the realm of the drudges. Losing his wife and daughters shortly before the end of the Pass cast him into despair, however, and for some time after the move to Southern Winds Weyr, he ended up very much a drudge. Now, however, he's determined to give back to the people who showed him kindness after the deaths of his family, and endeavors to make life better for Holders from all walks of life. He is currently Maeron's right-hand next to Xuline, though he's far less cutthroat and outright ambitious than the Lord Holder. [ Prost is 37. ]

     • Healer Craftmaster: Brigan

Requirements: Cannot be 1st character. Can only adopt/make one other ranked character. Help to organize Craft Hall events, post with apprentices and journeymen. Active participation in events and possible admin guidance. One post a week.
Brigan still recalls a time before the extended Threadfalls of the 9th Pass, making him one of the oldest survivors whose lifespan has not been lengthened by connection to a dragon. He still retains the sharp wits that earned him the rank of Craftmaster in Healer Hall. Through his efforts and those of the Healers he commanded, much of Pern’s Healing arts have been preserved. Now, though he is well past the age when some would seek retirement, he continues to teach those who wish to learn his Craft—as well as consult patients. After all, the small population that left at Southern Winds demands every able-bodied person puts in their fair share of time. Brigan is strict and intense, but not cruel. Whatever brusqueness he might possess is simply a result of his internal drive for efficiency and excellence. Brigan has no strong feelings either way about the Construction Site and, when asked his opinion, will often respond with "get back to work". The Healers are there to take care of the Weyr and Hold, not run it. [ Brigan is 64. Preferred PB for Brigan is Anthony Hopkins. ]

     • Miner Craftmaster: Castivill

Requirements: Cannot be 1st character. Can only adopt/make one other ranked character.  Help to organize Craft Hall events, post with apprentices and journeymen. Active participation in events and possible admin guidance. One post a week.
Castivill is of old Crafter stock, much of his extended family making up the workers in the Miner Hall. Still married to the same woman he has been for over four decades, he’s the father of many children and grandchildren, and uncle or cousin to even more. He’s a tough, rugged man like many in his Hall, who feels that all his Crafters are part of his family even if they’re not. Castivill might be stern and have high expectations, but he’ll always have an encouraging word and reassurance for those who need it. While Castivill has been beholden to the Weyr and Hold for a long time, he’s traditional in that he believes the Crafters should be neutral parties between them. Now that the Miners have finished their own Hall outside the Weyr, he will be more outspoken in this opinion and often be meeting with the other Master Crafters in order to make plans for building other Halls. He's also bonded to a large Brown watchwher named Castivisk, who is as gruff and hard-working as his handler. [ Castivill is 56. Castivisk is 44. Preferred PB for Castivill is Donald Sutherland. ]

     • Weaver Craftmaster: Alshan

Requirements: Cannot be 1st character. Can only adopt/make one other ranked character. Help to organize Craft Hall events, post with apprentices and journeymen. Active participation in events and possible admin guidance. One post a week.
Spending almost his entire life absorbed in the weaver craft, Alshan has stayed married to his weaver wife for the past 60 turns. Whilst some on the outside might call him scatterbrained, Alshan can simply process too many things at once for the normal person to keep up with. Promoted to Craftmaster in a time of great need for the craft, Alshan had to adapt quickly to the political requirements of the position. Learning is what keeps him going, and whilst he sometimes finds it hard to articulate explanations in words to those less intelligent than himself (which is almost everyone), Alshan would put everything down to help someone else learn. Alshan wasn’t born to be Craftmaster, but the times have shaped him into being the leader that the Weaver craft needs. When and if the time comes where a more skilled orator, leader and specialist arises through the ranks Alshan will be happy to step down. Alshan is the perfect neutrality between Hold and Weyr, his opinion is always solely based around what is best for the crafts of Pern, specifically the Weaver Craft. [ Alshan is 73. ]

     • Head Peacekeeper: Notkerric

Requirements: Cannot be 1st character. Can only adopt/make one other ranked character. Help to organize Peacekeeper events. Active participation in events and possible admin guidance. One post a week.
A dependable protector, Notkerric is the perfect example of what the Peacekeeper's should look like to the general populace. His main focus has always been upon his family, and making the best life for them doing whatever he has to do to do it. Now, as the Head Peacekeeper, Notkerric would like to extend this into creating the best life for the Holders on Fort Island. He believes that his official position is the best way to bring order and balance back into civilised society, away from the overbearing gaze of the dragonriders. Notkerric has two bronze whers, Kerrisk and Notsk. [ Notkerric is 44. ]

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