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.
Northern Cavern - Ista Weyr
Separated from the busier living caverns by an upward flight of stairs at the north end, this large cavern presents itself with a myriad of offshoots from curved walls. The ceiling arches up overhead to form an almost perfect dome, an intimation of the great bubble that must have created such a perfectly rounded, half-circle cave. The walls are equally smooth, sloping up gently to meet the point in the ceiling and possessive of small, carved niches wherein reside constantly-refreshed glowbaskets to illuminate an otherwise dim interior.
The easternmost opening is that which leads into the storerooms, the tunnel very short and tall so that it forms more of an arch. South, another archlike entrance is formed that leads into a similar albeit slightly smaller cavern from which peeks of separate tunnels and caverns can be caught. To the west is a short, narrow tunnel with a rounded wooden doorway at the end of it leading to the bathing caverns, small tendrils of steam often seen escaping into these larger, cooler environs.
Southern Cavern Bathing Pools Storerooms Living Caverns Stairs
Dakar heads over from the far end of the bowl.
Cymber heads over from the far end of the bowl.
Vesta heads over from the far end of the bowl.
Chirianth wings down to a landing.
Kassandra comes out of the narrow tunnel from the living caverns.
From Chirianth's back, Jonah glances around some more. "That was fun!"
Vesta in walking along with Cymber and Dakar. She pulls up upon seeing Kassandra and smiles, "Hi. You okay?"
The trio that left the beach before Chirrianth even rose to depart is just striding into view as the dragon's elegant form looms overhead. Cymber nods her affirmation of Vesta's question, stepping a little quicker to take a better look at Kassandra.
Dakar is here with his two fellow candidates. He seems a trifle concerned, though the smith ever only seems a trifle anything these days. "You feeling allright, Kass?"
Chirianth wings down sharply to make a neat landing on the ground, budgling a draconic welcome to the various dragonkind sprawled - as always - about the place. Vecica glances back, grinning. "So, you liked it? That wasn't much. . . Now, to dismount, you slide down Chiri's side. It's not too hard. . . Untie your scraps, then grab the straps and use them to check your speed."
Vecica dismounts from Chirianth's back.
Kassandra walks out, looking clean, dry, and considerably better than she did earlier. She halts, though, seeing people out in the bowl. Her gaze travels up the green bulk of Chirianth, and her eyes widen upon seeing both Vecica and Jonah astride. Vesta's question catches her attention next, and she smiles. "Yes, I'm fine. The Healer gave me a tea to settle my stomach. I think I just got too much seawater in me," she says ruefully, although her gaze flickers oddly upon hearing Dakar's voice.
Jonah dismounts from Chirianth's back.
Vesta nods, "Oh good. I was a bit worried. Seawater isn't the best thrist quencher, I can tell you from experience." She grins wryly and runs fingers through her somewhat damp spiky platinum hair.
Vecica flashes Kassandra a slightly guilty look. This is all the fault of the green lump behind her, don't look at her. . . The rider turns to the distraction of Jonah, saying, "Just follow me. I'll take you to the barracks and get you a cot - later, you can get your things."
Jonah scoots off to the ground and looks around, taken
aback. That was most exhilirating. He turns to the green rider and he dragon. "Thank
Jonah nods at Vecica. "Understood."
Chirianth rumbles contently at Jonah, her own way of saying "You're welcome," before lumbering off to join a nearby basking blue.
Vecica heads into the long tunnel to disappear into the lower caverns.
Jonah heads into the long tunnel to disappear into the lower caverns.
A breeze is lifted as Chirianth lands, it manages to fan the last of the dampness from the back of Cymber's neck. For that the girl awards the green a smile of appreciation, again.. not that she'll be noticed. "Probably comfrey and camomile. They'll do the trick, and they'll taste good in the process." Her gaze on Kassandra is momentarily serious, manner seeping into something akin to professional.
Zarvind is bent over at the bowl's edge, checking on weeds. A pot sits beside him like an over-large ornament. "'Lo there," he shuffles around on his sandals to greet.
Kassandra chuckles wanly, patting down her braids. "I think that's what it was," she says, smiling. "Fancy that, though--someone like me, who's been by the sea her entire life, getting sick from too much seawater." She shrugs. "It's never happened before that I know of."
Vesta hmms, "I've seen old sailors who'd never been green on the waves all their life get seasick during storms. Between the body and the sea, life is always unpredictable."
Cymber lifts a hand in greeting to Zarvind, then angles her attention back to Kassandra again. "Could have been something you ate earlier, too. Might not have just been the water. Important thing's that you're feeling better now." The last comes along with a new-birthed smile, a small thing.
Dakar half-smirks in his minimalist manner, before looking Kassandra over one last time, making sure that she is allright. He decides to stay quiet for the moment, sae for a murmured greeting to Zarvind, before hsi eyes turn to Amber as she speeks.
Kassandra shrugs, the soft shawl wrapping her slim shoulders fluttering in the breeze. "Like I said, I don't know what it was...but thanks, Cymber." A faint, but genuine smile accompanies her statement.
Vesta nods at Zarvind with a smile and seems satisfied with Kassandra's recovery. She readjusts her towel about her torso and sighs, "Why couldn't we have had these nice big fluffy towels yesterday, I'll never know."
Yep, she laughs. Cymber does what she couldn't openly do yesterday, though it's low-pitched and gentle. "I was thinking.. that you both should've just dropped the things by accident and really deserved the trouble you got into." Her eyes sparkle at Vesta before that curve of her lips belongs to Dakar.
Vesta rolls her eyes, "You'd think we locked ourselves out of the barracks the way Kheri acted at first...I'm wondering if she got them to confess? I wonder if they were even still there when Kheri got there..."
Zarvind bounds to his feet: its a puppy-like energy: short-lived, easily gained. He hastens /away/ from that potted frond, towards the candidates. "Hey. Did you find the culprits?"
Kassandra chuckles, a wicked sparkle lighting her eyes at Cymber's suggestion. "That would have been cause for some /major/ trouble, Cym," she says lightly, grinning.
Setarra heads over from the far end of the bowl.
Vesta sighs, "It almost happened a couple of times. You try getting food and holding a towel at the same time. Tough to do." She shakes her head at Zarvind, "I don't know. I've been laying low most of the day."
Wickedness it is that slinks into the young woman's expression as Cymber aims a pointed gaze to Kassandra. "But at least then, they could have taken some pleasure for the trouble they gotten into for no other reason." Her wave to Zarvind before, is enhanced now by a welcoming smile.
Belena comes out of the narrow tunnel from the living caverns.
Belena comes sneaking out of the living caverns and leans against a wall of the bowel, letting out a deep sigh of relief. She has not yet seen anyone else as she is busy assuring herself that she is not being followed.
Kassandra stifles a giggle. "Perhaps," is all she says, before turning to welcome their fellow Candidates--both Zarvind and Belena--with a smile and a wave...and a peculiar look for the latter. "Bel? What's up?"
Zarvind restrains his more wicked propensities to offer his
sympathy. "They'll find those boys I'm sure. Any day now -- they'll find him. Dragons
are big, see, and they can read minds." His eyes glitter: grey, amused.
Belena's sneaking goes unseen by him, at least at first.
Setarra scoots through the bowl, waving to the candidates as she makes for the caverns.
Belena jumps about a mile in the air and she flips around and looks wide eyed at everyone, "Uh, oh," She forces a giggle, "Oh nothing. I was just...uh, coming to look at the lovely view from the bowl. It /is/ lovely you know." Belena suddenly seems quite interested in the edge of the bowl.
Vesta laughs at Zarvind, "I don't know if they can read minds...I hope not. But I do hope they find the pranksters. If just to see them wandering about in towels."
It's Kassandra's words that reveal the presence of another to Cymber. She turns a curiously raised brow to Belena, and shares a look with the others in the loose semicircle. "A lovely view," A glance back toward the caverns and a friendly wave for Setarra, and then she's watching her friend again. "But haven't you seen it before?"
Dakar glances to thye others before he moves off a few feet, leaning against the wall of the bowl. The young candidate is beginning to look as tired as he should be with all the work he has done today.
Kassandra giggles at Vesta's comment. "I bet it was a couple of those little weyrbrats, the younger boys," she offers. "You know; the ones that haven't discovered the Wonder Of Girls, and think we all have cooties?" She screws up her face in a frighteningly accurate depiction of a little boy confronted with a Girl, then laughs, although her gaze flicks over Dakar like a spray of icewater. She looks at Belena curiously, though doesn't pursue that subject.
Zarvind glances back in time to catch the candidate's
athletic feat, and back again, to answer Vesta. "Towels is too light a punishment for
those folks," he dismisses. "You should implement forced labour on them or
something, get them to do your chores for you." To Belena he glances, again.
Vesta chuckles, "I think its quite fitting." Her eyes twinkle mischeviously, "Oh, I'll do my own chores, thank you. I'd like them done right."
Setarra heads into the long tunnel to disappear into the lower caverns.
Chores? Yes, chores. At the mention of chores Belena's shoulders sag. At the mention of doing your chores correctly, they sag even more. She slumps around from the view from the bowl and drags her feet towards the Living Caverns again.
Margareete comes out from beneath the large entrance of the outer infirmary.
"Chores. What a dismal turn of subject," Cymber intones with compression of her grin. The girl's eyes have moved to Dakar, and she considers him before turning to the others. "Have more of those in the morning. Think I'll head in and grab some early sleep. Night to all of you." She waves, already moving to stand next to the former-smith. "You look tired, care to walk me down to the barracks?" Amazingly enough, there's not a hint of anything improper in those words.
Margareete makes her way out of the infirmary carrying a
quaint little basket of various herbs. Some last moment instructions are mumbled out the
entrance towards the laundress, who nods and waves to the unseen healer.
"Thanks again." To the crowd gathered in the bowl, she merely nods. "Hello everyone, and good night," she tacks on upon hearing Cymber's motion of sleep.
A refined young woman stands proudly before you. Her hair is the perfect contrast to her otherwise natural looking features. Wild mahogany tresses curl wickedly around her shoulders, soft cinnamon highlights weaving their way through the auburn mass. A waterfalled-illusion of tiny braids with minuscule wooden beads clinging to the tie-off points twist about here and there, adding a decorative nature to her style. Her skin is smooth and finely tanned, but her right arm bares the small tattered mark of being wherry scorn turns ago. Well healed, it only appears now as a lighter ivory scar in the rough shape of a star. Riddled indigo irises peer out from a well-rounded bunch of lush russet lashes. Her nose is average, narrow with a slight inward curve making the end stick up a tad. Exquisite full lips curve angelically beneath it, her only striking feature beyond her hair. She is by far nowhere near petite. But, she isn't overweight either. Her body's curves are ample enough to give her a healthy if not slightly muscular appearance. Long limbs carry her body stedfast and true. Extremely tall for a woman, she stands at around 6'2". The term, 'built like am Amazon' comes to mind. Age can be guessed anywhere between twenty to twenty three turns.
A simple beaded twine choker encompasses her throat, neatly hugging the delectable curve of her neck. Sapphire to sky-blue, all shades of that melancholy color swirl in random patterns through her tight-fitting shirt. With a low neck-line it reveals just enough cleavage to be intriguing. The sleeves are long and uncuffed. Brown cotton pants cover her bottom half, the waist a little too loose that the accompanying black leather belt keeps them from sliding down. Simple twine sandals with treated hide soles adorn her feet.
Upon her shoulder is neatly pinned a resident's knot of Ista Weyr, displaying proudly the bold orange and black colors.
Vesta yawns herself and hmms, "I need to find my cot soon. But I need a cup of klah first." She slips into the living caverns.
Vesta heads into the long tunnel to disappear into the lower caverns.
Belena heads into the long tunnel to disappear into the lower caverns.
Dakar is scratching at the side of his face, caugfht by Cymber's comment in mid-yawn, a rare break of composure for him. "Oh...yes. Lovely idea," he says, "I'm asleep on my feet." He takes two steps, altering his stance to accomany the other candidate, when he glances over his shoulder to Kassandra. "You and I need to talk," he intones soberly, "I'll look for you when I awaken tomorrow." And the words 'whether you like it or not' are hinted at, but never quite said.
Kassandra ponders that. "I think tea would suit me better," she murmurs to herself. Dakar's comment provokes nothing more than a raised eyebrow, but she falls in step just behind them, looking for that tea.
Zarvind is just about to say something intelligent when they leave before he does. "Night," he hollers after the others, and looks down at his pot. "Do you happen to know where this goes?" asks he of Margareete, who's probably in the weyr longer than he is.
Cymber's turned inquisitive, giving a spare lift to -both- her brows, but she shrugs in the end and smiles from Kass to Margareete before following along with the former-smith.
One could almost hear the faint echoes of the Laundress's greeting as it bounces off the bowl and rolls off into the distance. Margareete just shrugs and with pep on her side this evening, turns to reguard Zarvind. "What's in it?" she querries, smile regaining consciousness on her lips as her hello must have bounced back on a wayward wind, nodding happily to Cymber.
Kheri heads over from the far end of the bowl.
Dakar goes home.
Kassandra heads into the long tunnel to disappear into the lower caverns.
Cymber heads into the long tunnel to disappear into the lower caverns.
Kheri heads into the long tunnel to disappear into the lower caverns.
Zarvind rolls shoulders in a shrug. "Some plant. Didn't catch its name when it was given to me by that gardener--" he's forgotten the name, but stays away from admitting that, too. "Indoors, I suppose, but who knows." He lifts the pot to waist-level. "The caverns might do." Decoration, see.
Margareete nods off towards the cavern. "That might work. I'm not sure though where it should be set. Best ask the Headwoman if you want to put it in the cavern, or at least leave a note saying you weren't sure where else to place it." She nods and follows suit of where everyone else seems to be straggling off to.
Margareete heads into the long tunnel to disappear into the lower caverns.
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
Vesta smiles at Setarra, "Yes...just sleepy." She sips her klah and yawns several times before she stands and makes her way out of the caverns, "Night all."
Zarvind almost never leaves notes. Too messy, too much trouble. He tucks the pot under one arm and concentrates on walking in Margareete's steps. Walk, step, don't drop the thing. Yes. He studies the entrance area for a moment.
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, but his knot surpasses his clothes in its mundanity: a single white knot identifies him as an Istan Candidate.
He is 14 Turns, 3 months, 12 days old.
Belena moves on to the next table, "How are you tonight? Can I refill that mug of klah for you?" Sigh.
Margareete certainly shadows the young man. Not too many people out do her in height. Peering over her shoulder she denotes with a wave of a finger towards a small little nook bare and itching to be decorated. "Why not there?"
Setarra nods to Vesta. "Night. Sleep well!"
Goldean has disconnected.
A large leaf shades Zarvind's face as he follows the laundress' finger to the specific spot. "Will do," he mumbles, and starts forward gingerly. Outta his way, drudge. "'cuse me." A thump, and the deed is done.
Vesta heads down the stairs, deeper into the Weyr.
Margareete's smile is smug, the young woman folding her arms across her chest neatly before wandering over to the spot to inspect. "Looks really good there. Don't think anyone will complain...so, how long have you been here?"
Belena goes home.
Zarvind looks at the corner, blankly. A smile for Margareete, laced with ice. "I've been here forever. If you really want to count the sevendays, perhaps a few months." A long time to one such as he. "Its been a lot of work so far. How long have /you/ been here?"
Riiight, Kheri comes into the hall.. at the usual slow, awkward pace of a pregnant woman. Mind you, it is /not/ a waddle. Yet. She isn't that far along right now.
Crimson falls down in barely-there waves over broad shoulders, tattered strands sweeping over subtle cheekbones, merging with a shock of pure white hair that drifts from above her right temple. Deep hazel orbs flecked with a dash or two of gold are set below hardly arching eyebrows drawing attention to a slender, slightly pinched nose, covered with a light dusting of freckles over a fair complexion. Light pink lips retain an ever present pout, even when stretched in the friendliest of smiles.
Kheri's tall, well-muscled form--portraying turns of strenuous work yet still soft enough not to overshadow womanly curves, now marked by the small swell in her stomach--is clothed in a tunic of long, airy sleeves rolled up to reach just below her elbows and the front dips down in a deep-scope neckline. Dark mahogany trous - held up naught by a leather belt, as it usually might be, but by the thickening of her waist - conceal her legs down to the cushiony sandles she wears on her feet.
Margareete slowly but surely, raises an eyebrow at that icey smile. "Not long enough to recognize everyone's faces. Sorry," she consoles before turning to the hearths for some warmth. A smile is tossed Kheri's way. "She finally let you down eh?"
Ice; not icy. Zarvind rubs at his temples and works his jaw into a brighter smile, gaping teeth at mouth's edge. "No cause for offence now, is there," he drawls, leaning a hand against the wall beside. "I didn't know."
"Let me down?" Darn memory. Kheri blinks at the other woman for a long moment, until recognition finally dawns on the greenrider. "Oooh! Zianneth? Yeah, she did..." Pause. "Eventually."
Margareete tilts her head towards Zarvind and gives a sarcastic, "Ah hah, hahaha...hah," in response to the astranged smile. "No offence taken I assure you." Indeed. The Laundress draws in a deep breath, closes her eyes for a moment and then turns to Kheri again, with a grin. "Eventually hmm? Well looks like you're walking just fine to me. She had nothin to worry about eh? Are you hungry or thirsty at all? I could get you something," she offers, a tad sympathetic for the big package the rider's been carrying around for quite some time now.
Valin comes up the flight of stairs from the inner caverns.
Zarvind shrugs, and laughs a bit too, "thanks for the help. There're more of those lying around, I'm afraid." Face crumples into moroseness as quickly and he moves off, for the next chore.
You head out through the narrow tunnel to emerge in the bowl.
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