The following is a log of roleplay on Threadfall MUSH, logged by Z'vind.
All references to the world and characters of Pern based on Anne McCaffrey's fiction are copyrightę 1967 by Anne McCaffrey, all rights reserved. The Dragonriders of Pern« is registered U.S. Patent and Trademark Office, by Anne McCaffrey and used here with permission.
Conclusive perfection is depicted in every mottled nuance of this divinely crafted brown dragon, his form a complete depiction of the verdancy of a newly born world. Raw earth drifts in darkened crevices across the landscape of his back, broad and deep with the bluish shadows of networking subterranean caves tinged only faintly with the stubbornly clinging fingers of finely dusted emerald lichen. Curving wingbones arch with finely honed precision to support the chaotic imagery of his nearly translucent wingsails, themselves animated to depict the fiery flow of amber-touched lava across the mahogany of virgin soil, rich tresses of curling bubbles that erupt into splattered droplets of illuminated gold. Trickles of these more livid hues creep along the sinuous line of his belly, slowly hardening into duskier hues of obsidian that flicker with mirror-like polish over the warm cinnamon of his heavily muscled hindquarters, a powerful compliment to the chaotic vortex of creation. Thick fronds of burnt sienna billow along his extremities, swirling as if caught on the first breeze of existence to envelop the elegant spade of his tail, the fierce curve of his talons, and the gentle slope of his muzzle in the warmth of a newborn embrace. The crest of the surf clings to his forelimbs, paling the jungle of silvery cedar where waves might lap against a seaward forest, the soft azure dappled with milky brown shadows of a thick canopy's web of overhanging branches.
Kealath is approximately 1 Turn, 7 months, 24 days, measuring 35 metres in length, with a wingspan of 52.5 metres.
Southern Bowl - Ista Weyr(#69RJ$)
Spread out along the larger end of the caldera, this end of the bowl is significantly larger than that which lies just beyond the small inlet of two feet of craggy mountains that creep down to form an incomplete partition. The walls of the ancient volcano, long-since slumbering inactive, spread upward with sheer cliffaces that reach into the sky, their outlines reminiscent of four pointed fingers and a thumb. Activity bustles in this area at nearly all hours of the day with dragons or people coming and going throughout the bowl on various errands.
Tucked into the southernmost wall are the living caverns, the gaping tunnel that leads within illuminated by the glowbaskets set within; just beside this is a larger entrance that leads to the dragon infirmary. The Hatching grounds are found in this area, with a tunnel a ground level just large enough to allow passage for an egg-heavy Queen and a larger, gaping entrance in the side of the mountain for draconic spectators to enter. Numerous weyrs dot the mountainside and the ground in this area, some darkened and some illuminated from within.
Infirmary Caverns Tunnel Ground Weyrs Hatching Grounds Northern Bowl
Taking a hold of umber straps, you launch yourself off supple crevices and slide down -- to the ground and whatever lurks beyond.
Didarath heads over from the ground weyrs.
Iskandith goes home.
Kassandra is currently in the bowl, giving Didarath a rubdown with a soft brush. "Z'vind! Just the person I wanted to see," she says with a huge grin.
Statuesque, well-proportioned, with a face so full of character that mere beauty becomes superfluous. Thick amber-gold hair tumbles to mid-back when not confined in a tail or braid of some sort. Lean, athletic figure, with enough curve to display gender but not enough to be considered buxom, could be that of a runner or dancer of some sort. Brilliant cornflower-blue eyes, shaded by long sandy lashes, glitter at you from a face of smooth ivory porcelain. Pinky-mocha lips are quick to smile, and a hint of humor lingers around their corners. Her carriage is distinctly aristocratic, her demeanor refined and gentle--every inch the lady of nobility she was born and bred to be. She appears to be 17 Turns, 8 months, 16 days old.
Kassandra is dressed for the day in a simple outfit not altogether unlike those she wore as a weyrling. Shorts of black wherhide mold to her lithe, muscular legs, showing off the tan she has acquired while at Ista. A short-sleeved, V-necked tunic of soft, creamy ivory, fitted enough to her form to provide definition without being skintight, laces shut along its sides. Sandals of black wherhide complete the ensemble. Her hair, now growing longer, is braided back into a simple French braid. Slung around her slim waist is a tooled belt of black wherhide, boasting a beltknife sheath. Her knife reposes therein, its gleaming handle comprised of shards of Didarath's egg, gathered after the Hatching. Looped around her neck is a slim gold chain, from which depends a small pendant of translucent green jade, carved artfully into the shape of a jumping shipfish, with a tiny black diamond chip set in each eye.
Attached to Kassandra's shoulder is the elaborately woven knot in orange and black of a Wingleader at Ista Weyr, shot through with a blue ribbon in homage to her lifemate, Didarath.
Peruth watches people curiously, hunkering quietly with his long tail curled next to him. You've got to ask yourself.. do I feel lucky? Well.. do ya'.. punks?
Z'vind arrived with Kealath, of course-- he swings himself carelessly over the brown's back now, drawling with casual stride towards Kassandra. "Wingleader," he affords courtesy; smiles. "What's the matter?"
Stubby, short but stubbornly black hair sprouts scalp-close from generally clean-shaven features, boyishly tanned with a frail line of stubble to demarcate chin from cheek. His face is highly angular, jaw etched with sly lines of woe or laughter. Grey eyes and clipped chin straggle casually together with the rest of this youth's sturdy, rangy form, long legs claiming a wide stride as an obscure slur marks alto voice.
Ragged mahogany-toned leathers clutch possession at the lank shoulders, mid-length leather trous reaching to his calves. The hide boots on his feet are the same though, as is the Istan Weyrling with its earthy brown thread woven through.
He is 16 Turns, 0 months, 13 days old.
Kassandra shakes her head, but not before grinning over at Peruth. "Nothing at all the matter, Z'vind. Just needed to talk to you for a bit. How old are you now, out of curiosity?"
Peruth flickers his lids slightly in a mimicry of sleepiness. Mm.. humans. Crunch, crunch, slurp, crunch. Er.. wait. I didn't mean that. Eh.. heh. Peruth bugles softly to the arriving brown before shifting forward a little to rest his head down next to Kassandra, looking upwards at her with all the curiosity of a small dog - just much more intelligent.
Z'vind stops short of his next step, shaking his head. Age? "Would you believe I didn't know?" he wonders, mockingly, then glances at the pair of dragons a moment. "What is it to you?"
Kassandra eyes Peruth, and grins. "Curious, are you?" she asks the blue with a grin, before looking over to Z'vind. "Just wondering, y'know. Wondering mainly if you'd hit sixteen Turns yet."
Z'vind grins too, at Kealath, at Peruth. The brown merely snorts derisively, huddling over claws that splay, crisscrossed, on the bowl's floor. "Oh, all right." He looks back, regarding her steadily. "Of course I'm past sixteen turns. You can check the records. I'd never lie, would I?" It's rhetorical; trust him.
Kassandra crosses her arms over her chest, and regards the brownrider with an even look. Finally, she relents, and grins. "Oh, I don't at all think you'd lie, but I'd hate to get in trouble with T'rrent for this if you -are- under sixteen." She grins, and fishes in her pocket for a second, withdrawing an orange-and-black-and brown knot. "Since, you know, you can't fly for me unless you're sixteen."
"One drill to another, but a less painful one--" Z'vind thinks it over, head assuming a slight cock as his eyes glaze accordingly. Conversation with the intent dragon nearby, and he nods again. At her. "I wouldn't mind flying in your wing. Not at all, in fact. And that is the truth. You can ask Kealath." The mouth relaxes from his grimace, and he smiles, more genuinely, even wistfully. "Thank you." He holds out his hand: expectant.
Kassandra holds the knot teasingly just out of reach for a long moment...and then grins, and slaps the tangle of cords into his hand, chuckling. "Welcome to my wing, then. We'll be glad to have you in the ranks. And we've got drills in the morning, just so you know." Her grin turns faintly mischevious.
Mally comes out of the narrow tunnel from the living caverns.
Peruth leaps aloft, finding a thermal to help gain his
From the sky over the bowl, Peruth wings his way over to the northern sky.
Talk about dangling the carrot. Z'vind closes his fingers over the knot so undecorously slammed into his palm, and quirks her grin back at her. "No, I don't know. I've just seen the rest of you flying overhead every day." He winks, relenting, and hefts the load experimentally. "So. Has wingleading been hard so far?"
Genevrath leaps aloft, finding a thermal to help gain her
From the sky over the bowl, Genevrath wings her way over to the northern sky.
Kassandra nods politely at Mally, then answers Z'vind with a rather emphatic nod. "It's really really hard. It's one thing to know the drills, and the formations, and stuff like that--but quite another to try and lead it."
J'sen heads over from the ground weyrs.
Mally has disconnected.
Z'vind says, bluntly, "Wouldn't know," but softens it slightly with a wave of that palm he still holds the cords in. "It's all about giving commands. Raising your voice, or something."
Kassandra chuckles softly. "Hey, neither did I...Heyla, Weyrsecond," she breaks off to call over to J'sen, with a smile. "How goes?"
J'sen strolls over, his hands stuffed absently in his pockets. "Oh, it goes pretty well, thanks." He eyes the knot in Z'vind's hand. "I see congratulations are in order."
Standing close to six and a half feet tall and well-muscled from turns of riding, J'sen can appear intimidating at first glance. But a glimpse of his little-boy smile and a twinkle of his deep blue eyes usually prove quickly disarming. Ruggedly sculpted but handsome features frame those engaging eyes while sandy blond hair is kept cropped close, in defense of its tendency to curl around his nape if left untrimmed.
Well-worn, golden brown riding leathers seem to be his clothing of choice on a regular basis. The jacket fits his broad shoulders with a bit of room to spare, a thin white tunic showing through, while the trous fit close, but not tightly. A pair of dark brown boots encase his feet.
Z'vind isn't paying much attention to the knot, now that he's holding it. "Weyrsecond," he calls too, and adds, "Before you do, thank you. This appears to be a late turnday present."
Kassandra chuckles wryly, and leans up against Didarath, who's behaving himself now that Peruth has gone. "I think that's everyone, J'sen," she says with a smile. "And a belated happy Turnday to you, Z'vind," she adds, grinning.
J'sen nods. "That's great, Kass. And yeah, happy turnday, Z'vind. What a gift, huh?"
Z'vind won't even show his discomfiture. Perhaps a slight flickering of the eye to Kassandra on her latest revelation, a faint smile to J'sen on his arrival, a muttered word or two... "Hrm." He spares a glance for Kealath then, that dragon who's eyeing the humans, old and new, passing the bowl in their ones and twos. "He's been restless lately. -- A nice gift, yes. I'm sure thanks is due, to the both of you."
Kassandra looks over at Z'vind, and smiles gently. "No real thanks needed, Z'vind. I've been trying to track you down for weeks, but you always eluded me by this much," she says, holding thumb and forefinger apart about a centimeter. "I'm sure glad to have you in the ranks."
J'sen chuckles. "And no thanks needed here, either. You and Kealath did all the work to get through weyrlinghood. I just showed you the ropes."
Z'vind shifts his foot. "You're too polite." From one to the other and beyond, he looks, and his next words are speculative. But deliberate too. "How about if I treat you to a drink? Pick anything you like and such." An invitation, uttered with staunch stance.
Kassandra arches an eyebrow...and grins. "You don't really need to do that, Z'vind, but if you insist, I'll take you up on it." She chuckles. "Though it won't be anything too strong, I don't think."
Z'vind agrees with Kassandra, and says so indulgently. "Well, anything you like. To the caverns, then. And you, Weyrsecond?"
J'sen shrugs lightly and smiles. "I can always go for a drink," he says. "Especially with a new rider. Quite fun on my part to see that you lived through my training."
Kassandra laughs lightly at J'sen, and thumps Didarath on the shoulder before pushing away from the blue and heading in the direction of the caverns. "Sure you can always go for a drink," she teases cheerfully.
Z'vind jerks his head in the appropriate direction. "Amazing, isn't it? That we made it," he says lightly, too lightly, ignoring Kealath. A gesture at the end of that, before he turns and moves along.
The waning evening melts into the full envelope of tropical darkness, heavy with burgeoning summer storms that loom on the dark horizon.
Kassandra shoves her hands in her pockets, and smiles. Someone's acquiring habits from her weyrmate, it seems. "Relieving," she says with a smile. "Very relieving."
J'sen glances back towards his weyr and likely Iskandith. "Actually, I'll have to join you two in a minute," he grins. "A certain brown lump has an itchy spot," he chuckles, turning and trotting off into the lower weyrs entrance.
J'sen heads into the slightly detached portion of the bowl that houses the ground weyrs.
You head through the narrow tunnel and into the bustling living caverns.
Living Caverns - Ista Weyr(#94RJa$)
Vibrant environs enclosed by smooth stone walls, these caverns are the very heart of bustling Weyr life. The largest is massive and designed to house almost the entire population of the Weyr at once, with tables and benches arranged in perfectly neat rows that run almost the entire length of the half-circle cave. Tapestries are flung from the ceiling, draping down in bright hues of Istan black and orange as well as colorful scenes of past heroics detailing all the fiery glory of Pernese history. Hearths line the walls, at least one of which constantly burning with a pot of stew and a pitcher of klah set there to keep warm.
Tunnels branch off from these central caverns, leading deeper into various parts of the Weyr. To the east lie the infirmaries, both human and draconic, beyond a small wooden door to minimize the noise that will filter through. West are the kitchens and the storerooms from which emanate delectable smells at nearly all hours of the day or night, drudges bustling to and from with dishes and platters. Stairs lead down into the lower caverns while a man-sized tunnel cuts through the stone and back out to the bowl. Smaller tunnels diverge here and there as well.
Lower Caverns Stairs Kitchens Infirmary Bowl
Kassandra comes into the Caverns, bootheels clicking against the stone of the floor. A cheerful wave and a grin get directed at N'ait, before she eyes the selection of beverages. "Hm. I wonder if there's Benden."
N'ait is seated, back of the chair between his legs, at a table that was probably occupied by more earlier. He is thoughtfully drawing on a mug of klah, but Kassandra's greeting yanks him from these thoughts and he turns slightly to look at her, risking a bright grin and winking lightly, "Evening, Wingleader." He takes a drink from his mug, turning his back to most of the room once more as he adds, "Look near the end of the tables."
Grown from an obviously lanky youth, N'ait stands at a height that isn't overly beyond the norm for a man of his youthful age. His hair is straight, but wild, a dark slice of wicked darkness that hints at blue when wet. His build is muscled cleanly to accomadate his leanness, with strong arms and quick legs. His skin is a darkened shade of sandy tan, his features almost giving him a serious expression at all times, although anyone that knows him could argue with their truth. Those features are all rather straight, save perhaps his nose, where it curves slightly. Light freckles disappear into the tan of his skin, a line across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. Eyes of a dark midnight blue hinted with soft mint green are defined by the bones surrounding them, shadowed by darkly amused eyebrows.
Covering the torso of N'ait's body is a loose tunic of pale black, the sleeves curbing off at his upper arms while the tail of the tunic is captured by a pair of thinly woven black trousers. Those trousers tuck neatly into a pair of well cared for wherhide boots, the toes worn out just slightly. Pulled tightly over the bluerider's long-fingered hands are a pair of cloth gloves that happen to be missing the knuckles, made from a gold tinged orange material with a wherhide palm sewn in. Circling his brow and tied tightly at the top of his neck is a bandanna made of basically the same cloth, keeping his hair out of his eyes at all times. Tied down over his usual clothes are his riding leathers, added with a patch that stands for Ista Weyr, a blue dragon predominant. Around his shoulder is a knot depicting the colors of Ista Weyr and a strand of blue to show his rank as a bluerider of Peruth. Around his neck is a firelizard charm suspended by a slender wherhide strip, falling lightly against his chest.
From the looks of him, N'ait is only about 26 Turns, 0 months, 4 days old, but still working on his.. personality quirks?
A firelizard charm.
Z'vind is speaking as he strides into the caverns, at less a swagger than a long, lanky walk. "No, I doubt it's that bad. Incidentally, what does your Wing do that's, say, special, now that I'm in it?" And yes, he's since fastened on a new shoulder knot that reads of wingridership. "Benden-- why not? I'll get it," and he brushes past a few people, heading towards the indicated tables.
"Thanks, N'ait," Kassandra says cheerfully, before tendering the same thanks to Z'vind. "Special? Well, we're a training wing. The powers-that-be cooked up the idea to put most of the weyrlings in one wing, so when the Pass starts, we'd be used to working as a unit." She shrugs. "I'm not really sure why I got the nod to lead it, but I'm sure going to try to do my best."
Z'vind brings back to the pair of mugs, managing not to spill much on his meandering path towards Kassandra. "Heard about the training wing," he offers, "and that you were heading it. A good choice, if you ask me. A pity I'm too young--" he defers thought for sideways glance as he nears. "Hey, N'ait."
N'ait's spine seems to stiffen slightly at the momentary mention of the Pass, leaning his cheek against his upper arm and calling, "Once you all manage to haul that stuff out, come on over here and sit with me, would ya'? I'm awfully lonely now-a-days." A light grin and he twists once more to look over at Z'vind, smiling his bright smile once more and nodding, "Hey, Z'vind. How's it going? For both of you."
Kassandra accepts the mug from Z'vind, grinning. "Thanks, for both the drink and the compliment," she says cheerfully. "I don't know that you're too young, though. Only stipulation I got on age from J'sen was that riders had to be sixteen Turns to fly in a full wing. Don't know why you couldn't lead at sixteen, too." That said, she meanders over toward N'ait. "Lonely?"
Z'vind does tug out a chair across from the dark-haired rider: one for his Wingleader, another for himself. He got there first, apparently, by crossing between a pair of strewn chairs. "That's okay, Wingleader," he shrugs a shoulder; tosses to N'ait. "It's a lonely life for some, wingriding. Or so I heard."
N'ait lifts a brow curiously at Z'vind, his tone almost sarcastic - which isn't overly unusual, save for it is done only as sarcasm, "And I'm sure you would know, lad." He runs his hand backwards through his hair, looking intensely tired for a man in his early to mid-twenties, "Sorry, Z'vind.." He shrugs helplessly, saying, "Life is sometimes lonely, period. It just works out that way."
Z'vind smiles, sadistically. "I get bored too," he dips a moment into thought, then lifts grey eyes to the older rider's features, and there's something that gathers his brows into a fuzzed cloud before that too dissolves. "No problem, N'ait," adds he cheerily, "I've just gotten my knot, so you could say I didn't know. With reason." He turns nod and toast to Kassandra, briefly.
Kheri comes in through the narrow tunnel from the bowl.
Yawn is quickly batted away - or at least she /tries/ to avoid it - as Kheri slowly trundles into the cavern, eyes blinking at the change of light from the bowl. Maybe she should've moved slower and adjust faster? Ah well, too late now, the greenrider's left with nearly unseeing blinking.
Kassandra raises her glass in response to Z'vind's toast, and shrugs at N'ait with a grin. "It is...but it isn't," she says, maddeningly unspecific.
<OOC> Z'vind will be here ICly, hanging around.
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