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.
You head off toward the foliage and the pool at the falls.
Waterfall Pool - Ista Weyr
Shaded by several leafy trees that insist on finding purchase at the rim of a large pool, this is indeed a lovely little nook - an oasis in the stone interior of the Istan bowl. Grass has even taken to lining the ground around the pool, creating a soft green carpet that leads all the way to the edge of the pond. The water itself wells up from a natural spring deep in the heart of the mountains, heated by the quiet volcano to a pleasant temperature that accommodates the tropical atmosphere. Issuing from the bottom of the pool is the barest shaft of eerie illumination, as if the water may well be lit from beneath. Shaded as it is by the overhanging branches, it is only that much more inviting.
Occasional boulders and a stone lip that rims the pool create perfect resting spots for those who seek bathing or recreation within the water itself. Facing northeast to the sea, the edge of the water spills down the side of the mountain a length or less in a small spray of water that lands in a smaller pool which tapers into a stream filtering into the sea. A comfortable little haven, flowers have been set to growing here as well as herbs and other useful items the Weyr find to be daily necessities.
Gardens Feeding Grounds Bowl
It is currently late evening on day 17 of the 5th month of Turn 199 of the 10th Interval.
** Local Weather Conditions **
Balmy soft is the breeze which lifts its cooling touch to draw the day's heat from the heart of the island. Carried upon it is the salty kiss of a lulled sea, which stretches out forever beneath the sable-rich bowl of the heavens. Clear are both the moons and the sun against the serene sky. Surrounded are they by the myriad worshippers of coolly passing cloud cover, wispy feathers that brush lazily in a timeless progress of fanciful water and ice sculptures. Quiet it is, still enough to listen to the turning of the tides.
Tavaris mms. "So they'd like you to think."
Jalien swims about in the pool, arguing with Tavaris, "And none of them have been evil-intentioned. Dragonriders aren't evil, are they?" she turns to the newcomer.
Kealath enters the oasis-esque environs, leaving the bowl behind him.
Dragon> Kealath bespoke you with << I was just
looked at by Jalien. >>
Jalien just glanced your way.
It is a still day that Z'vind wades through, ponderously; and there's Kealath too by his side, lumbering slowly forth towards the water. The lad slides a glance to the others within, raises a hand in greeting, and puts his attention to staring at the pool's surface.
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, slightly lanky form, long legs claiming a wide stride as an obscure slur marks alto voice.
His outfit appears smart, for its a uniform: jet-dark shorts underneath a bright gold tunic that matches his Istan Weyrling's knot exactly. The tunic is untucked, it's shimmering threads loose over a non-existent belly; leather boots cap his feet, and a knot's loop intrudes upon his shoulder, tangling a single cord of earthy brown.
He is 14 Turns, 8 months, 24 days old.
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 0 Turns, 9 months, 4 days, measuring 24.5 metres in length, with a wingspan of 36.75 metres.
Jalien looks at Z'vind, then back to Tavaris, "And I suppose you'd rather see me with a boy, like him, rather than a mature gentleman?"
Tall, for a girl, she stands over 5 and a half feet, with long black hair and dark green eyes. Her skin, tho tanned almost to a bronze color, is still soft, well cared for. Intelligence sparkles in her dark eyes, red lips curve up in a slightly amused smile that is almost always present on her comely face. She could be called beautiful, but in a strangely exotic way.
She wears a bluish-green dress that turns her eyes almost blue-green. It's simply cut, nothing fancy, but shows a young body with all the right curves a woman should have. Her feet are clad in simple leather sandals the same color as her dress.
Kealath the wide-winged brown stretches a 'sail aslant, swivelling a blue eye to regard the pair -- a rumble rises through the broad throat -- Z'vind's not paying attention though, and merely wanders on into the shallow waters. Reaction comes late: the boy's gaze snaps up with smirk's speed, and he cants a narrowed glance, an aloof reprieve. "What do /you/ know?"
Tavaris mms. "Depends on how old he is," he answers, glancing at Z'vind. "Hello."
Tavaris is a young man, perhaps somewhere in his late teens or early twenties, more likely the latter. He's tall, somewhere above six feet, with wide shoulders, but with the lean, lanky look of a message runner for all that. His features have a slightly rugged look, his deep blue eyes have a permanent amused sparkle, often echoed by the set of his wide mouth. He wears his thick, sandy hair on the longish side, giving it a bit of charming curl, especially around his ears and the nape of his neck.
His clothing is simple: loose, white tunic, klah brown shortened-trous, and scuffed sandals.
Dragon> Ista Weyrling dragons sense that Kealath sniffs a watery spray into the mix, born of pride and a waning arrogance -- << I wanted to /fly/. >> But there's the wing, and that irritating muscle that aches so, and the Weyrlingmasters ...
Z'vind says, jovial: "Hello. I am-- old; old enough." He dives in a seaspray's flurry, arms flailing for a heartbeat's space before a rhythm's got, carrying him back afloat.
Dragon> Iskandith bespoke Ista Weyrling dragons with << You will fly, Kealath, never fear. Just have patience. >>
Tavaris mms. "Well, if he's older than 17, then no, Jalien."
Tavaris just glanced your way.
Dragon> Ista Weyrling dragons sense that Genevrath cannot manage to veil her excitement, subtle shades of velvet skein through the airy jade of her mind's tones. <<You will fly far.. far.. to the island, clutchbrother.>>
Tavaris eyes Z'vind for a long moment. "Aye, he'll do. Go for it," he tells Jalien.
Dragon> Ista Weyrling dragons sense that Kealath is not a bit distressed. Sulky, maybe. << Humph. >> It's a new sound for him, a Kealath-sound.
Dragon> Nimoth bespoke Ista Weyrling dragons with << rumbles reassuringly to Kealath, << And there is the ocean there. All wet and lapping. >> >>
Dragon> Ista Weyrling dragons sense that Genevrath nearly shivers with pleasure at the memories which, still fresh, glide and flicker into mental vision. Sea-hues, turquoise and lapiz lick at her thoughts the next instant. <<Much water. Soft water. Sensual water. Almost as good as flying. Almost.>>
Jalien rolls her eyes, "No thank you. And I'll not have /you/ telling me what to do." she pulls herself out of the water and throws her clothes on, "I think I'll go find an older, mature, man and bed him. Good evening."
Tavaris shakes his head. "Good. Then I'll break his knees."
Z'vind surfaces, ducking a spot of droplets at the sandy-haired young man. "Good day, isn't it? Good day for swimming, actually. I've done lots of that recently. Is there an enterprise in effect?" he asks of them, treading water with some difficulty. Kealath simply watches from his vantage, looming over all, albeit unthreatening, pinions furled in an indignant stance. Then, "what's that about?" as Jalien voices her reprimand, "I'm always willing, just so you know."
Jalien turns on Tavaris, "You do and I'll break your balls."
Tavaris snorts. "I'd like to see you try." He looks over at Z'vind. "I told her she's too young for me, and that her brother is absolutely right for being over protective. It's what any self-respecting older brother would be."
Dragon> Ista Weyrling dragons sense that Kealath notes that Nimoth is /so/ reassuring. He croons indignance to Genevrath and the rest of his clutch-sibs. << Can I not-- >> The usual hassle of rider, rider's protests follow, infringing on the background.
Jalien hmphs and stomps off.
Z'vind looks Jalien over. "Age doesn't matter at all, my friend," he tells Tavaris, playing the gallant. "Well, if you like her, and she likes you -- I'm nearly in my next decade. Really. Though I don't blame her brother for speaking up for her--"
Tavaris grins at Z'vind. "It does when one is still just a child, my friend," he replies.
Jalien turns, "I am /not/ a child."
Jalien abandons this small oasis in favor of the bowl.
Jalien has left.
Z'vind speaks out, after swiping a hand up to balance himself against Kealath's side, "she's not a child, but what does that matter?" Women are women, to Zar.
Tavaris chuckles. "Sure she is. She's only sixteen. People don't qualify as 'women' until they're at least 18."
Z'vind grumbles under his breath, palm scrubbing against a patchy bit of hide. He grunts too that "they're all the same, aren't they?" Not too loud, though. "All they need is a good cot to sleep in." Right.
Tavaris mmms. "The difference is who's in that cot with them."
Z'vind ponders, looking at Kealath. Gaze swivels to Tavaris, swings grey. "Perhaps. That's the unnecessary part though, the part they care too much about."
Tavaris mms. "Anyway. I'm Tavaris, by the way."
"No, you can/not/ see the sea yet, Kea, I've told you that," Zar intones coldly to the brown, then raises himself from the water by arm's pull. "Zar -- Z'vind, and this stubborn one is Kealath. See you around," he mutters, slinging his towel over one shoulder. A final wave, backward, and the pair head off -- again -- a trifle more uncertain than before.
Tavaris waves. "Well met, Z'vind!"
You leave the small, leafy oasis and return to the stone-and-sand of the bowl.
Kealath comes over from the small oasis of the waterfall's pool.
Jalien shakes a finger at him, "He.. he.. thinks I'm too young!" she clenches her fists, "Well, I'm not. And you and him better stay /out/ of my love life and stop intimidating men I'm interested in. Because I'm old enough to make my own decisions with whoever I want to sleep with and it's none of your business."
Vesta raises both eyebrows and bites back a grin so that it looks more like a grimace. Yeah...sound's fine.
Z'vind disappears down a path, Kealath doggedly behind.
You head deeper into the bowl, in the general direction of the living caverns and Hatching grounds.
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