The following is a log of roleplay on Threadfall MUSH, logged by Zarvind.
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.
Main Beach - Ista Weyr(#44RJa$)
Hilly dunes slope down from the foot of the jungle, slow angles that soften as they greet the flat expanse of the black beach. Ebony sand stretches out in all directions, clinging to the coastline as the slow roll of incoming waves beat tirelessly against the shore. A few stubborn trees with great leafy fronds insist on growing here, providing meager shade that further darkens already richly dark sands. This breathtaking tableau, tucked against the wind-protected base of the Weyr, opens onto the sapphire sea, capped here and there with the white lace of curled breakers.
It's a handsome cove that the Weyr's beach is nestled within, long and curving to form a definite if somewhat broken crescent that slows the tumult of waves to a more pleasant lapping. Curled between to sandbars that reach black fingers out into the blue sea, there's a fair amount of room here for any manner of seaside activity: Napping, swimming, picnicking, and playing are all frequent and viable passtimes. Just to the northwest, the sandy path that creeps back up through the dunes to the clearing of the jungle is visible. Due west, beyond another layer of sand dunes, the beaches continue with less protection than this little inlet offers.
Ocean Jungle Path
Vesta nods at Kassandra and carefully stuffs, rubs and wraps the platter full of fish. She tosses them in the pit with the rest of the fish still not done enough for the table. Those will probably end up on the night hearth or in tomorrow's fish rolls and fish stew.
The first thing you notice about this young woman is her platinum hair, cut into a smooth cap that tickles the nape of her long, graceful neck and brushes the top of her ears. For some reason, the hair is streaked bangs to the middle of her head with fingerwidth strips of bright red. It leaves a wide expanse of well tanned forehead above wide midnight blue eyes framed with wickedly long lashes. Her somewhat angular face is softened by a large, generous mouth and a small nose that turns up impishly at the tip. She stands about two handspans short of two full meters with a boyish figure, and you would judge her to be about 16 turns of age.
She wears a dark blue sleeveless tunic which shows off her slight curves and matches the color of her eyes. Her thighs are clad in white shorts that manage to show off her long, well muscled legs perfectly. Her feet are covered in thin sandals with a few hide strips to hold them to her feet and wind about her calfs, ending in a tasseled bow at the knee. Her exposed toes have bright pink toenails, and her only other adornment she wears is a jade bracelet carved with leaping shipfish. Her hands with their impossibly long fingers are rough and calloused from a life climbing rigging on ships asea, but the nails are painted the same bright pink as her toenails.
While Valin has come here to swim and the others have apparently wandered hither for socializing, Alyssa came with an express purpose: Eating. She's got her plate in her lap and is content enough with that she's not going anywhere any time soon. Utter waste of a pose, sure, but it sums up her situation nicely.
No, she is not the angelic beauty, magnificent and blinding in her charm, but has the kind of sweet-faced attractiveness of the girl-next-door. Neatly arranged ringlets in the darkest hue of coffee hang about olive skin, hinting at some tropical heritage. Large eyes rimmed by almost opulent lashes look out with a kind of calm, collected attitude to them, settled as they are on either side of a rather aristocratically prim nose. Short and somewhat chubby, she still seems comfortable with her physique.
Practicality is evidenced in every stitch of her sturdy, light weight clothing - loose and breezy to help combat the humidity and tropical heat of Ista Weyr. Wonderfully thin, cool cotton comprises her pale, camel-hued blouse, scoop-necked and short sleeved. Rust colored trousers cover short legs, likewise light weight cotton that flows easily with her movement. Wher hide sandals cover small feet, revealing her toes to keep them cooler than heavy boots would accommodate. On one shoulder hangs the elaborate orange, gold and black knot of the Istan Weyrwoman.
29 Turns, 5 months, 20 days
Such a nice innocent question. No explanation why it brings a hint of sadness to the sea-coloured eyes that Cymber lifts. "I seem to have stumbled upon whole blocks of empty time, Serri. But.. I don't really feel like that kind of thing tonight," her ghost of a smile stays this time, "Maybe tomorrow, if you're not busy?" Poor lobster, she toys with the delectible food, using the very edge of her fork.
Kassandra has moved on from the now-finished fish, and is making short work of the lobster. She appears to eat daintily, but the lobster meat is vanishing far faster than her eating habits would dictate. She glances up to see Vesta stuff and wrap the last of the fish, and nods, mouth too full of lobster to comment either yea or nay on the stuffing job.
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 demeanor is strangely aristocratic, at odds with her rough herder's accent. She appears to be 15 Turns, 9 months, 24 days old.
Some rummaging through the Storage Caverns of Ista Weyr has produced the outfit Sandi is wearing today. Loose sleeveless tunic in ivory linen, its weave loose and cooling, skims to mid-thigh. Vents on either side of the tunic start at the hip and travel to the hemline. Mid-brown embroidery in geometric patterns edges the bottom hem and V-neckline of the garment with a bit of added interest, without too much gaudiness. Loose linen trousers, in a shade of brown to match the embroidery on her tunic, hang in a graceful fall from her slim hips, ending in wide leg openings that would just barely brush the floor, were she barefoot. Sturdy, no-nonsense sandals of brown wherhide protect her feet from the heat of the sands of Ista's beaches. Her amber hair is confined in its standard single braid, which has been coiled around itself into a bun and secured with a bone pin. A wide-brimmed hat, woven of dried grasses, hangs from a leather thong down her back, ready for use if she should go outside.
Realizing her mistake, Serriena pats Cymber's shoulder comfortingly. "I understand," she says. Well she didn't really having never been head over heels for a guy before but she understood what it was like to feel depressed and not want to do anything. So instead she gives Cymber an encouraging smile and plucks her chin to get the ravenhaired girl to smile.
Vesta cracks her lobster tail and pulls the delectable meat from it. She hmmms and goes over to the table to find a greenfruit. She takes it and a bit of butter. Back to her lobster and over it goes the butter and a dribble of juice from the greenfruit. Num!
Ah, the very picture of self-control, Dakar shows nary a sign that he is becoming increasingly aware that he will not be able to...speak as [ersonally...with the woman he has such feeling for for a very long time. Doesn't show it, except for his eyes, which look to CYmber every thirty seconds or so, whilst the rest of him does a pretty fair imitation of stone.
He is dressed in a simple tunic of white cotton, under which he wears pants of pale brown leather, which accentuate his long legs.Hawkish is the best way to describe his face. Dominated by an angular nose and two domineering eyes of pale blue, this young man gives the impression of age, though he is obly now nearing his eighteenth turn.
His hair is as black as ebony, cut short and combed to one side. No adornment does he wear save the white knot of candidacy, which hangs just off one shoulder.
What? What? Why would anyone watch Valin? He's not exactly a delectable specimen. Besides, it's dark, there's a crowd, and the stablehand-turned-Candidate is shortly in the water, wading in and quickly getting to a depth where he can dunk himself under the surface to get used to the water's temperature that much faster.
5'10". Not a centimeter more or less. Shoulders broad and legs bowed, Valin seems to be a stout, hard worker, but he is definitely not going to bring the marks in at auction for his looks. Shaggy, wavy, shoulder-length, sandy blonde hair is bleached lighter in some places by Rukbat's glare, and his skin tone is that of a Southerner. His eyes are a jade-like green, always frank, and his emotions are easily read. It's rare that his soft baritone is raised in anger, but he does look to have been in a fist fight at one point, for his nose is slightly askew.
When it is not shading his eyes, an Igen-style high-crowned and wide-brimmed hat rests against his back. His tunic is no-sleeved, as he bows to the heat and humidity of Ista. The shirt is light tan, stained and worn from Turns of good use. A simple length of rawhide cinches his waist, and from the belt are suspended two leather pouches, while a utility dagger is sheathed at his right hip, along with a tucked-in pair of heavy duty wherhide work gloves. The hem of his tunic falls to mid-thigh, and then sturdy canvas trousers of a medium brown color cover his legs. They tuck into high black boots which are often spattered with dust and mud -- sometimes even blood -- but the smooth leather is easy to wipe clean.
A simple knot adorns his left shoulder, merely twining orange and black cords together. He seems to be about 23 Turns old.
Cymber smiles tiredly, reaching out to pluck at Serriena's chin in turn. The ire's faded to ashy embers. "Stop that, or I'll pay you back tomorrow by making you wear.. well, you'll see. Faranth knows I won't be needing it. I think," this time she chuckles quietly to herself, "I think I'm swearing off of men. Won't need it anymore."
Zarvind is a gourmet when it comes to food, after all. He guzzles shellfish where he is, seated on a knoll of sand near a group of other youths -- all eyes at the moment on the next piece of meal on his mental checklist.
A mop of black caps an awkward seeming demeanour, dripping askew over one ear in unpractised roguishness. His face is highly angular, sly curve of cheek almost childish in the peak of youthful delicacy. Grey eyes and clipped chin straggle casually together with the rest of this youth's sturdy but slightly lanky form, long legs claiming a striding gait as an obscure slur marks alto voice.
A spare pair of sandals fits loosely over Zar's feet, chapped flesh evident on the exposed toes. Otherwise, his clothes are ordinary, Weyr issue, brown tunic clapped over mid-length middling umber trous reaching to calf level. Crinkled, his outfit at least appears clean, without frills, and his knot proves it: bright saffron mingles unabashedly with deep jet, single-corded, looped once to denote him a resident at Ista Weyr.
He looks to be about 14 Turns, 2 months, 20 days old.
Belena absently picks at some of the lobster she pulled apart onto her plate. Apparantly /she/ finds somthing enticing to watch in Valin. She sighs and wishes that looking wasn't all she could do but, c'est la vie. They're both candidates now.
The first thing that you notice about Belena is her fire red hair, followed by her sparkling green eyes. Eyes that have a somewhat piercing quality when focused directly at you. She is quite beautiful, with high cheek bones, creamy skin and delicate pink lips. Her blazing locks are kept tied in a braid that falls to her mid-back. She wears a light sleeveless tunic of deep forest green, tied at the waist with a brown leather belt. Soft hide pants don her legs and she wears black ankle high boots on her little feet. She stands about 5'3" tall. Muscular but very curvy. Belena has a sweet smile and a devastating smirk which only illustrates her mischievous nature. She wears only one piece of jewelry, a golden ring on her right hand, it is a signet ring with the letter R' ornately carved into it. Belena is 16 Turns, 5 months, 17 days old.
Kassandra has polished off her lobster tail and claws, and takes her plate over to the waste area to dispose of shells and bones, and clay casing from the fish. She notices the stony smith, and elbows him lightly. "Hey. You. Eat." She puts a few more clams and a nice crispy tuber on her plate, then heads back over to her spot on the shore.
Interestingly enough, now that Valin himself is a Candidate, he's weathering the no-intimate-contact matter better than Belena. While it's true that once he straightens in the shallows he looks over to Belena, his gaze is more fond than wistful, and he smiles faintly rather than sighing.
Vesta sips at a mug of water, seeing as the Weyrwoman isn't sharing her mystery skin, and tilts her head towards Dakar. The glows on the tables cast the man in a slightly eerie light, and she just watches him for a bit. After that bit, she shakes her head as if to clear it and begins eating bits of tuber and the occassional clam.
Belena notes the smile and smiles back, she may be more whistful but, that's feminine nature, isn't it? (:P) Now that she's gotten a greeting from the object of her affection she turns back to the other women and really digs into her lobster.
Dakar notes the glance given him by Vesta, and arches a
brow at her just before she turns away. Lips purse, he turns things over in his mind, and
then, finally, nods. Walking up to Cymber, he taps her on the shoulder, before his hands
find their customary spot behind his back, thumbs interlocked. As composed as always.
More, really, for now he has rules of which he must be mindful. "I'd like to have a
word with you, if you please...?" he asks, before a second thought comes to him, and
Vesta with hsi eyes again, "And Vesta. A chaperone would be a good idea."
Her eyes growing vague, Serriena looks like she is somewhere far far away. Her lips move soundlessly as she seems to be sounding out something in her head. Her hand traces shapes on her thigh and a sudden smile blossoms on her face. Her blue eyes come back into focus and an excited look takes over her face.
Vesta blinks at Dakar, clam halfway to mouth. But she excuses herself from her current company, and, taking her plate with her, moves towards Dakar and Cymber. Cymber gets a warm, concerned smile, and then Dakar, the same. She doesn't say anything, though. Just the smile.
Valin gives a little wave to Belena, before he 'falls' back into the water, carelessly floating and drifting.
Cymber doesn't freeze until the voice that belongs to the shoulder-toucher finds her ears. She's tasted the fish, but it goes sour in her mouth before she reaches for a glass filled with water and washes it down. "A chaperone. How nice. If you wish." Short sentences, they don't quite come out curt as she pushes away her plate and rises in her place. A nod for Vesta comes first, and she has some trouble looking at Dakar, finally managing it with a lift to her chin. "Where?"
Filled with energy and renewed by whatever she was thinking
about, she quits Cymber's side upon hearing Daka's request and Cymber's acquiesence. She
wanders over to the Weyrwoman's side and sits down on the sands next to her.
Serriena looks at Alyss and smiles. "How goes everything with you today?"
Belena arches her eyebrows, wondering what Cymber's response will be. She notes the wave from Valin and when he falls into the water it reminds her, with some horror, that she still hasn't washed after her day of gardening in the tropical heat. How could they all stand to be sitting near her right now! She smells! She slides over a bit, away from Cymber hoping her friend hadn't noticed.
Dakar glances off in the direction of the weyr proper. "The weyr..or on the way to it. As lovely as the meal looks to be, I have chores to attend to, and they can't wait. I'll still, by that same token, be hungry tomorrow, so I can take care of that much then."
Kassandra polishes off the remainders of her meal, and carries her plate over to a drudge with a pan reserved for just that purpose. Depositing the plate in the pan, she smiles over at Belena, who seems to be sliding off toward the water. "Y'like th' lobster?" she asks, voice pitched just enough to carry to the redhead.
Vesta gives the Weyrwoman a respectful nod and then she and everyone get a cheerful, "Please eat as much as you will. The rest will be tomorrow's leftovers. Thank you all for coming." She then hands her plate to one of the drudges and looks about for her shorts and top. She grabs them and wiggles into them while she waits for Dak and Cymber to decide on a direction.
J'sen comes over the dunes and down the path from the
J'sen has arrived.
Belena, who is only moving out of smelling range of her friends, smiles at Kass, "It's wonderful! Just what I was waiting for." And that's quite a compliment coming from a former cook.
Kassandra grins hugely, and takes a sip of a glass of water. She's too full for anything else. "'M glad t' hear that. Me ma's seasonin' is th' best. She taught me how t' make it long ago." The fragrance from the still steaming pits is testament to Kassandra's mother's cooking skills.
"Doesn't matter to me, wasn't hungry anyway, and it seems like as good a night as any to get some early sleep." Cymber answers Dakar, but her eyes are busy observing Vesta. "The food was really delicious." This narrow smile's for Kassandra before she straightens up and brushes some sand from off her leg, waiting somewhat uncomfortably.
Dakar glances up to see J'sen as the man arrives, and the young...former-smith approaches him as he awaits some of the others, for he is about to leave. "Thank you," he says simply to the brownrider.
Alyssa's eating. Which is to say, she's sitting down on the sand with a plate in her lap and a skin laying lax against the ground beside her. Not doing much more than watching - young'uns at play - she does look rather contented to be settled thusly.
J'sen is a little startled by Dakar, but a grin quickly spread across his features. "It was my honor, Dakar. Of course, Iskandith is the one at fault here," he winks, obviously teasing. "Enjoy candidacy, though. Life may never be the same again." He nods and smiles around at the group, then excuses himself to wander Alyssa-wards.
Vesta waves at J'sen as she follows Dakar and Cymber, "Enjoy the bounty of the sea, brownrider." She pauses by Sandi's chair, "Thanks again for helping with the cooking."
A short way out in the water, Valin almost lazily swims, merely relaxing and cooling off after spending hours in his shift of chores, which involved running back and forth from hot kitchens to an only slightly cooler living cavern. Eventually he just floats on in back to shore, climbing out of the waters and plopping down onto the towel that waits on the black sands of the beach.
Alyssa-wards? Was not it painfully obvious that Alyssa was sitting by herself, enjoying her meal by herself? Apparently, she's going to have to work harder at this detachment of hers. Anyway and either way, she doesn't look entirely put out to see the Weyrlingmaster approach; on the contrary, she even tilts a smile in his general direction though her mouth is presently too full of shellfish for much beyond that.
Kassandra glances at Vesta, and grins hugely. "My pleasure. Don' get enough chances t' cook anymore. Hope th' weyr cooks'll let me help out when I've got kitchen duty." She glances back at Cymber and Dakar, and says in a lower voice, "Don't let 'em tear each other's throats out, 'kay?"
With a few waves to those who are looking, Cymber accompanies Vesta in leaving behind the sea-birthed feast. More in control now, the girl bears little expression upon her face, as she moves to the edge of the gathering and again.. waits.
Vesta nods at Kassandra, "If I have to put them both over my knee." She winks at Sandi, but her expression is solemn.
Bursting with new energy, and sensing Cymber's acquiesence to Dakar's wishes, Serriena vacates the spot she is currently in to wander over and sit next to the Weyrwoman. Affording Alyssa a smile, she says, "How goes it today for you?" <repose>
That done, Dakar takes the few steps back over to the others, before he says his goodnights to all and sundry, and leads the way back towards the weyr..
Kassandra barely manages to stifle a chuckle behind a glass-bearing hand, but gets herself under control in time to reply. "Ye're not allowed t' do that unless I git t' watch." Her eyes twinkle mischeviously, but no inkling reaches her mouth.
Vesta ohs softly at Sandi, one eyebrow raised, but she moves off with Cymber and Dakar.
It doesn't take much for Zarvind to doze: he does it now, leaning against a dune, head propped up carelessly on an arm. His plate rests askew beside, neglected.
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