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 copyright© 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.
Northern Bowl - Ista Weyr(#21RJa$)
Huddled into the narrower end of the bowl, separated by the jagged
interjection of mountainous inlets from either side of the caldera, this area boasts one
of the most breathtaking views throughout the Weyr. South, there lies the wall-encompassed
bowl with the shadowed pockmarks of countless draconic habitations and the
glow-illuminated interior of the lower caverns. The finger-like issuances of the
long-since dormant Istan volcano shoot crooked and irregular spikes into the skyline,
casting definite but oddly shaped shadows along the length of the bowl.
North, there lies the precipice at the edge of the bowl, a sharp but
easy slope that trails down to the beach and all her environs. Glittering sea lies at the
farthest reaches, enveloping the island in a cool, sapphire embrace as far as the eye can
see. The weyrling barracks like to the southwest from here, their gaping entrance almost
perfectly across from the large pool that drops off the sheerest side of the cliff to form
a frothy-white waterfall. Adjacent to this pool but rimmed by a wooden fence are the
feeding grounds where the distant shapes and sounds of herbdeasts filter across, echoing
gently between the walls of the bowl.
Contents:
Kealath
Iskandith
J'sen
Obvious exits:
Southern Bowl Feeding Grounds Waterfall
Pool Weyrling Barracks Jungle Path
It is currently late evening on day 25 of the 5th month of Turn 199 of the 10th Interval.
--** Local Weather Conditions **
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
A zephyr wafts its way across the bowl, bringing with it the fresh scent of the ocean's coolness, faintly green-tinged as if it had also traveled from mountain passes still choked with snow. The sun warms the landscape, not yet burning the still-new greenery into summer's golden panorama, but warming it into verdant beauty. The sun reflects off of morning dew that burns away by afternoon, leaving behind a pleasant atmosphere in which to work and play. The night's still retain Spring's soft breezes, though nothing of frost is known to these tropical environs.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
J'sen heads up to meet Iskandith coming out of the barracks, dressed in full flight gear. "Ready to fly, Z'vind? Get him over here and his straps on if they're already aren't. The sky calls," he grins, evidently in a fine mood.
(J'sen)
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's mouth drops open. "Fly--" he mumbles, swinging a deliberate glance at Kealath. /Through/ Kealath. "You said something, didn't you?" he opines, taking a step towards the brown to check on his straps. "Everything's fine, actually," and that's for the Weyrlingmaster. "The sky calls, a-right."
Z'vind
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, 9 months, 4 days old.
J'sen glances back and forth between Z'vind and Kealath. "I haven't heard anything from him," he says, taking a moment to tighten Iskandith's straps. "Oh, and if you haven't gotten leathers of your own yet, make sure you grab some from the barracks, especially a jacket. It gets cold at high-altitude." Comforting, huh?
"He's been clamouring about flying," Z'vind mentions stiffly. He crosses his arms in retrospect, pondering the cold. "Cold won't be a problem." The weyrling does, however, throw on the leather jacket that's been hanging over Kealath's back for some time. "In danger of indulging him -- yes, flying sounds good."
J'sen eyes Z'vind closely for a moment, suspecting there's more going on than the weyrling is admitting to. He doesn't press, though. At least not now. "Good." He strides over and gives Kealath's straps a thorough going over, then heads back to Iskandith. "Mount up and meet us above the bowl. Iskandith will relay instructions from there."
J'sen scales the mountainous brown, namely Iskandith, with help from a politely proferred foreleg.
Z'vind raps his knuckles on Kealath's back, then scrambles up with the ease of some practice.
Kealath
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, 19 days, measuring 25.6 metres in length, with a wingspan of 38.4 metres.
On, over, all aboard! You approach Kealath, the brown offering a descending foreleg for an extra step up, then drop into your customary cave on the broad neck.
** Iskandith leaps aloft, following a thermal to bring
himself higher in the sky.
** From the sky over the bowl, Iskandith wings upward, finding a thermal to rise up from
the Northern Bowl.
You leap aloft, finding a warm thermal to carry you higher over the bowl.
Northern Sky - Ista Weyr
Blankets of tangled foliage and black sand color the ground beneath
you, their hues melting to form a darkened emerald enveloped by the glittering sapphire of
the sea with her white-capped waves breaking along the shorelines. The frothy white crash
of the waterfall is visible here, though the tumult of noise is muted if not silenced as
the slow, sweet passage of wind carries its tropical warmth throughout the skies.
A distant mar on the greenery of the horizon is the clearing that
surrounds Ista Hold, lying far to the west and barely visible even from this height. To
the south, the Weyr stretches it caldera until it greets the base of the mountain, which
extends upward to form the four fingers and the thumb which easily mark the outline of the
Weyr. Beneath, the jungle clearing and the paths that diverge from it are easily
discerned, one delving into the jungle while another heads down to the black sands of the
beach and yet another opens onto the long, serpentine curve of the Istan Road.
Contents:
Iskandith
Obvious exits:
Weyrs Upper Sky Southern Sky
Down
** Iskandith follows a thermal to rise higher above the Weyr.
You find a gentle thermal to aid your climb higher over Ista Island.
Upper Sky
Ista island, in all her lush glory, is spread out beneath as an emerald
pockmark in the sea that surrounds her. White caps break in the distance, reflecting a
pale crispness to those who venture beyond the warm, tropical breezes into the fiercer,
chillier winds that embrace this height. Swirling winds lose voices as they carry sounds
to some distant and invisible point over the sea, wreaking havoc on loosened hair and
casting chilled nips on exposed flesh. The Hold and the Weyr are both easily accessible
here, the monolith of the bowl mountains extending up in jagged peeks while the more
modest buildings of the Hold greet the sea with their docks and black-sanded beach.
Contents:
Iskandith
Obvious exits:
Out to Sea Down
** Kealath finds his way up by dint of a friendly thermal, wings wide in embrace of the weyr and therefore its collective linkages. The weyrling's flight is smooth if lacking in fanciness, though the brown does try to add a flip's fluorish on reaching Iskandith. Z'vind? He's hunched over, small, but the shout's his. "Sky's fine, Weyrlingmaster!"
** From Iskandith's neckridges, J'sen nods and pulls his goggles down. "So it is! Let's go!" he yells back, giving Iskandith the silent command to start ahead. The huge brown wheels around heading south, his full wingspan churning the air around him as he propells himself forward with a slow, easy momentum.
(Iskandith)
A deep, rich shifting effect emcompasses this dragon, one of the largest of his color,
even rivaling a few bronzes. Deep golden brown, like desert sands cast in the light of the
setting sun melt down his muzzle and cascade over regal headknobs and long neck. Near his
muscular shoulders and dripping down over strong wings, the tone grows more intense, as if
if sun has gone and the shadows of twilight deepen into a warm, loamy brown. Over his
haunches and down his tail, all the shades seem to swirl and mix, peeping clearly out in
one spot, only to faed and swirl into indistinguishable darkness elsewhere.
Iskandith is approximately 12 Turns, 12 months, 17 days old, measuring 37 meters in length, with a wingspan of 55.5.
** Perhaps it takes a different kind of wingpower to move for long distances, but Kealath isn't aware of the dynamics. He downstrokes powerfully, and churns forward in Iskandith's wake, smaller brown for larger, rapid wingbeats for slower. Z'vind's shout gets lost in the wind this time as he trails, atop Kealath.
** From Iskandith's neckridges, Time passes, Iskandith occasionally dropping back to urge Kealath forward, then winging forward a bit and repeating the process. It's not too terribly long before the small, uninhabited island is in sight though, and J'sen waves his arm to get attention, then points down in an indication to land, if only briefly.
Dragon> Iskandith bespoke Kealath with << We will catch our breath on the island for a moment before starting back. >>
Z'vind spots that indication, even as Kealath hears it. The brown's drums his wingsails on the air in that far from belaboured way he has-- if he has a problem, it's in trying too hard, too soon. Staccato flaps punctuate his rumble, a soothing concoction in the soft breeze whipping overhead.
Dragon> Iskandith senses that Kealath rumbles: << Must we, Iskandith? I am not tired yet, and we might fly farther. My clutchsibs told me of the sea-- >>
Dragon> Kealath senses that Iskandith seems to rumble with a bit of amusement. << Not yet, Kealath. We don't want to overtax your wings. But we will fly a little further every day, until you can fly all you want on your own. >>
** Iskandith drops down toward the northern end of Ista
Weyr.
** Iskandith wings his way up on a thermal from above Ista Weyr.
** Iskandith wings his way down toward the southern portion of Ista Weyr.
Dragon> Iskandith senses that Kealath will never overtax his wings. And they are strong wings too. << Until? >> He funnels incomprehension, and a wisp of curious smoke, but joins the other anyway.
You wing your way over, dropping to land on the precipice with the Star Stones.
Dragon> Kealath senses that Iskandith's tone is a bit more serious. << Confidence is good, Kealath, but the health of you and your lifemate should always come first. >>
** J'sen eyes the ground far below for a moment before slipping down from Iskandith with the help of a foreleg and the sturdy straps.
Dragon> Iskandith senses that Kealath has heard of health, particularly when his wingtip hurt so much that time. Yet time is a concept beyond his grasp. Thus the argument's taken elsewhere, to a lifemate who's huddled low over his majestic height.
Taking a hold of umber straps, you launch yourself off supple crevices and slide down -- to the ground and whatever lurks beyond.
Star Stones - Ista Weyr
Windswept and distant, the monolith of the Finger and Eye Rocks are
perched where their eastward view is perfectly unimpeded. Facing out toward the horizon,
the great, ancient stones serve as a mute reminder to the existence of Pern's ancient
enemy. Archaic but perfect, they bear little to no weather damage despite having been here
since the founding of Ista Weyr itself, still aligned perfectly from their flattened perch
on the longest finger of the caldera's mountainous enclosure. Beneath, all of Ista Weyr
spreads out to the north, the bowl dropping off toward the jungles which are, in turn,
swallowed by the sea.
Every mid-winter, the starsmiths and the Weyrleaders bring themselves
here to observe the tradition - watching with anxious eyes as Rukbat rises up over the
sea. When the horrible glow of the Red Star is bracketed by the Eye Rock, and the
mid-winter sunrise balances on the Finger Rock, the first vestige of warm weather brings
the first Fall of the Pass.
Contents:
J'sen
Kealath
Iskandith
Obvious exits:
Steep Trail Sky
J'sen slips down from Iskandith easily, pulling off his goggles and helmet for the moment. "Good job, Z'vind, Kealath. The one comment I can make is that Kealath should learn to pace himself a bit better..." but that thought trails off as he peers at Z'vind. "You alright weyrling?"
Z'vind thuds boots against their island and takes to glancing about. "--What?" he looks back at J'sen, grey eyes blanking to iris-dark for a heartbeat's pause. "No, no, I'm all right," he hastens to assure. "What's this place we - they brought us to?"
J'sen mms and looks frankly disbelieving. "This is place is.. well, not much," he grins, gesturing around at the small island. "A good picnicing spot, though." He leans back against Iskandith's side casually. "Feel free to stretch you legs for a moment before we head back." And then, "Z'vind, if by chance you were... well, uncomfortable flying, there's no shame in admitting that. You wouldn't be the first."
Z'vind slides a boot sidewise, and struts forward a step or two. He stretches his arms, turning away, and back to J'sen with a hint of a smirk. "Not uncomfortable. But it's sometimes disconcerting to feel the wind, and my Kealath's wings." He shrugs easily, and fades just as quickly into lofty casualness. "Looks like a small place, but fine for a visit or two."
J'sen mmmhmms and nods, his gaze still speculatively. He's not going to push any further, though. "Very nice spot for a visit, believe me," he grins, putting his helmet back on and pulling on his goggles. "Alright, mount up. Let's head back to the weyr."
"Though we'd need to be able to find our way back afterwards--" Z'vind notes as he fastens up the jacket and checks on Kealath's state, absently. "When is it that we'll be allowed solo flight?" he forgot.
J'sen scales the mountainous brown, namely Iskandith, with help from a politely proferred foreleg.
On, over, all aboard! You approach Kealath, the brown offering a descending foreleg for an extra step up, then drop into your customary cave on the broad back.
** From Iskandith's neckridges, J'sen chuckles as he straps himself in. "Oh, you won't have time for solo trips any further than this for the rest of training. Not to mention you are confined to the island until graduation. The airspace above, I mean." And then Iskandith lifts off, spiralling higher and higher.
** Iskandith drops into the sky over the Istan bowl.
** From the sky over the bowl, Iskandith wings his way from the precipice of the Star
Stones.
Z'vind leans down, flexes his foot. And is abruptly alerted to shift back, ease in and get ready as Kealath goes /up/.
You drop easily in to the breeze-swept sky over the Istan bowl.
Southern Sky - Ista Weyr
The view - in a word - is breathtaking. All of Ista Weyr stretches out
beneath you, her stony environs speckled by greenery within and the jungles that surround
her. Stony fingers protrude toward the sky, their jagged, sharp outlines casting crooked
shadows on the floor of the bowl. The small, green oasis that surrounds the waterfall pool
is easily visible from this height, the greenery melting into the meadow of the feeding
grounds. Tiny, herdbeast figurines mill about there, their shapes only slightly larger and
more discernible at this height than the small silhouettes of people.
Ledges dot the walls, their shadowed interiors occasionally illuminated
by hearths or glows lighted within. The bowl is directly beneath with the living caverns
in the southernmost wall and the waterfall in the northermost. The Hatching Grounds and
Weyrling Barracks are accessible to the east, while ground Weyrs and feeding grounds
located along the western walls.
Contents:
Iskandith
Obvious exits:
Weyrs Star Stones Hatching Grounds
Upper Sky Northern Sky Down
** Iskandith follows a thermal to rise higher above the
Weyr.
** From the northern sky, Iskandith wings his way down lower in the sky, dropping from
overhead.
** From the northern sky, Iskandith winds down toward the northern bowl.
Finding a breezy thermal, you wing your way to the northern sky.
Northern Sky - Ista Weyr
Blankets of tangled foliage and black sand color the ground beneath
you, their hues melting to form a darkened emerald enveloped by the glittering sapphire of
the sea with her white-capped waves breaking along the shorelines. The frothy white crash
of the waterfall is visible here, though the tumult of noise is muted if not silenced as
the slow, sweet passage of wind carries its tropical warmth throughout the skies.
A distant mar on the greenery of the horizon is the clearing that
surrounds Ista Hold, lying far to the west and barely visible even from this height. To
the south, the Weyr stretches it caldera until it greets the base of the mountain, which
extends upward to form the four fingers and the thumb which easily mark the outline of the
Weyr. Beneath, the jungle clearing and the paths that diverge from it are easily
discerned, one delving into the jungle while another heads down to the black sands of the
beach and yet another opens onto the long, serpentine curve of the Istan Road.
You wing down to a landing in the northern bowl.
** J'sen eyes the ground far below for a moment before slipping down from Iskandith with the help of a foreleg and the sturdy straps.
** Kealath strokes fast and hard after Iskandith, rejoicing in the fierce battle of flight. He's striven to be beside rather than behind on this return trip, and backwings with a rather disgusted draconic grin. "Go slow, now," is his rider's admonishment on final landing.
Taking a hold of umber straps, you launch yourself off supple crevices and slide down -- to the ground and whatever lurks beyond.
Northern Bowl - Ista Weyr(#21RJa$)
Huddled into the narrower end of the bowl, separated by the jagged
interjection of mountainous inlets from either side of the caldera, this area boasts one
of the most breathtaking views throughout the Weyr. South, there lies the wall-encompassed
bowl with the shadowed pockmarks of countless draconic habitations and the
glow-illuminated interior of the lower caverns. The finger-like issuances of the
long-since dormant Istan volcano shoot crooked and irregular spikes into the skyline,
casting definite but oddly shaped shadows along the length of the bowl.
North, there lies the precipice at the edge of the bowl, a sharp but
easy slope that trails down to the beach and all her environs. Glittering sea lies at the
farthest reaches, enveloping the island in a cool, sapphire embrace as far as the eye can
see. The weyrling barracks like to the southwest from here, their gaping entrance almost
perfectly across from the large pool that drops off the sheerest side of the cliff to form
a frothy-white waterfall. Adjacent to this pool but rimmed by a wooden fence are the
feeding grounds where the distant shapes and sounds of herbdeasts filter across, echoing
gently between the walls of the bowl.
Contents:
J'sen
Kealath
Iskandith
Obvious exits:
Southern Bowl Feeding Grounds Waterfall
Pool Weyrling Barracks Jungle Path
J'sen chuckles at Kealath's obvious smugness over the flight. "Again, good flight, both of you," he says, stripping out of his riding gear and stuffing it into a saddlebag attached to Iskandith's riding straps. "So, only two more things left for you to do today. Commission yourself a set of riding gear made to your measurements and get the shards out of my barracks," he chuckles, winking. "You're free to move into your weyr whenever you're ready."
Z'vind grins at J'sen, though there's a scowl at the ends of his lips for the brown. "Thank you," he snaps out a salute. "Permission received, Weyrlingmaster." He has plans, indeed.
J'sen returns the saltue with a grin. "Very good, Z'vind. Lessons as usual, though and no," he waggles a finger, "roommates yet, got that?"
Z'vind strokes his chin and its thin veneer of stubble. "You know I'd never do that. What happens if someone does, though? A friend of mine was asking just last sevenday."
J'sen smiles evilly. "I've heard tell that a nice long swim in the ice lake does interesting things to a man's... abilities, shall we call them. I think you'd just as soon not try it out, to be honest."
Z'vind notes that "we've heard about that. I trust the poor fellow won't suffer lasting ...consequences of that swim?"
J'sen shakes his head as he strips off his gloves. "Not above a sevenday or so," he says conversationally. "Or course, if the infringment is repeated, further... instructional swims might be needed."
Z'vind slides the finger to his scalp. "Swims?" A thoughtful frown, and he glances to Kealath. "Anyway, I guess we'll be off then." He turns to straps and to remove the jacket. A goodbye mutter "--wish the offenders good luck."
J'sen just laughs and heads off towards the south end of the bowl.
J'sen heads off toward the southern end of the bowl.
On, over, all aboard! You approach Kealath, the brown offering a descending foreleg for an extra step up, then drop into your customary cave on the broad neck.
** T'rrent heads over from the southern end of the bowl.
** Kassandra heads over from the southern end of the bowl.
** Marcath heads over from the southern end of the bowl.
** Kassandra trails after T'rrent, a grin on her face. "You just won't let that drop, will you?" she says with a chuckle.
** Marcath follows the steep trail for the jungle, disappearing beyond the foliage to the clearing.
You leap aloft, finding a warm thermal to carry you higher
over the bowl.
Northern Sky - Ista Weyr
Obvious exits:
Weyrs Upper Sky Southern Sky
Down
** Meriath wings upward from the jungle clearing.
** Meriath wings her way down to a landing on the black-sanded beach.
You follow a breezy thermal to the southern sky.
Obvious exits:
Weyrs Star Stones Hatching Grounds
Upper Sky Northern Sky
Down
Taking a hold of umber straps, you launch yourself off supple crevices and slide down -- to the ground and whatever lurks beyond.
Z'vind's and Kealath's Weyr
Spacious if not exorbitantly so, the stone environs of this weyr are relatively clean. Some remnants of residents past remain, however, in the way of a stray rug or an old pillow. Otherwise, the weyr is mostly empty with a cot in one corner and a chest of drawers in another. A stone couch has been hollowed into the floor and the ledge reaches out over the bowl, scratched by the talons of countless landings.
Contents:
Kealath
Obvious exits:
Out
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