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.
It is currently late morning on day 25 of the 12th month of Turn 198. 10th Interval.
You follow the stairs upward to emerge in the 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
Goldean is just all happy anyway, aside from the lil' ole Weyrleader whose caused a strange feeling in his tummy, flutterbys most likely. Then with a smirk he nibbles on his bun again, all this quiet makes the Candidate nervous, but...oh well. A sip of klah and then Goldean's eyes dance around the room
Clouds seem to be forming overhead today, in the brightness of these caverns. And it is bright, despite Zarvind's distinctive glowbasket he wields at around waist level; his face remains shrouded in shadow. Steps are light, nonchalant, though he kicks at an invisible something. A "hello," is offered, too.
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, 4 months, 2 days old.
T'rrent offers up a wave at Zarvind's entrance as he continues to peruse the stack of hides in front of him. "Heyla," he finally says, though that's it, pretty much. That said, he falls quiet to concentrate once more.
T'rrent looks to be around 26 Turns old, standing somewhere between six and six and a half feet in height, and weighing a good 200 pounds. The man is built, to say the least. Not so much so to draw notice purely based on that, however. Let's just say he's in shape from the Turns of dragonriding under his wher-hide belt. His face is lightly tanned from the bountiful tropical sun, hiding a very faint scar beneath his left eye. Other than that one flaw, however, his face is completely unmarred. His eyes are a soft blue color, nearly gray in hue, as if the darkened clouds of an angry thunderstorm raged permanently within them. His dark blonde hair is swept back in one uniform direction, but wavy in spots like the wind-tossed ocean.
Sandals start his ensemble for the day - comfortable and functional all in one. The deep blue shorts and tunic he wears make it at least bearable to be out in the tropical heat all day, whilst also showing off his muscular legs and arms. A smile generally adorns his face, unless he's caught up in Weyr politics, or whatever. Hanging over his shoulder is the knot denoting him as Ista's Weyrleader - the Bronze thread woven through indicating his lifemate's color.
Kheri ignores the serving table and thus the brownrider drawn right to the food. Instead, she heads right towards the Weyrleader's table and, after plunking the still dripping plate on the table, drops right down into a seat. All quiet, expect for a small grunt that escapes her lips.
J'sen eyes Kheri briefly as he carries a plate loaded with food over to a table, namely the one T'rrent's at, but he makes plenty of room for all the hides spread out there. Grunting greenriders and dripping plates are definitely causes for suspicion.
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.
Zarvind moves to a patch of rushes in the corner, damp-black hair and all, hands moving as if to pick up glows, then to put his down together with the older supply. He looks, back, across the expanse of floor where riders sit, and a candidate or maybe two -- but turns back to his chore quickly. He's hit a rough, /rare/ patch of hesitation for the day.
Well, well.. Isn't T'rrent the popular one today? He glances first to Kheir, then to J'sen, and back to Kheri again. "Uhm..." he starts, brilliantly. "Is something the matter, greenrider?" He'll start with her. J'sen's next.
Goldean is here, yup yup the little slouching blob is in a chair just watching the happenings. With a sigh he just notes out loud, "Too quiet." Thats his words before he looks toward T'rrent, good, convesation, le sigh, and back to eating the little sticky bun and drinkin' klah
Kheri is relatively unaware of the Weyrlingmaster's eyes on her and she simply moves about making herself about as comfortable as she is going to get in that hard, unyielding chair. Her? Have a cause to make someone suspicious? Not that she really knows of or would, at least, be unwilling to say what just yet. "Me?" She glances around. Drats. No other greenriders near T'rrent. "Oh no, no.." Said with a slight smile, "Nothing's wrong at all."
Zarvind is apt to make unnecessary conversation, but this departs from his usual fare. Besides, he's halfway across from those speaking other people -- one of the reasons why he takes off from alcove to countertop with an armload of rushes.
Mmmhmmm. Right. T'rrent's eyebrows raise a touch, and he opens his mouth to inquire further, but instead just shrugs up his shoulders and turns to J'sen. "And how are you doing this fine morning?" Smile.
J'sen smirks at T'rrent. He knows the feeling. "I'm doing just fine, than you, Weyrleader. All is in readiness for a new class of weyrlings, so we're all taking it easy from here on out," he says, building a rather large sandwich from all the components on his plate. He glances at Kheri again then and simply shakes his head.
Kheri's fingers pick off a few stuckon crumbs from the plate, giving more thought and care than perhaps she should. "I don't see why I should keep this one, " she murmurs to no one but herself. "It doesn't even talk to me like that other one did." Uh. Okaaaay...
"Good to hear, J'sen. Definitely good to hear," says the Weyrleader with a genuine smile. "Now let's just hope the new class of Weyrlings is ready for /you/." Wink. The wink is interrupted by Kheri, though..and T'rrent glances in her direction, mumbling something about a mindhealer.
Zarvind jerks his chin up from where its fastened before a sandwich, that just begs to be devoured too. "Beg your pardon," says he suddenly, "riders-- what happens to those who /don't/ Impress?"
Kassandra has been absorbed in her breakfast, but Kheri's mumbling about a talking plate catches her attention. She glances up, quirking an eyebrow, until Zarvind's question distracts her.
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 15 Turns, 11 months, 7 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.
A simple white cord, neatly looped, is pinned to the shoulder of Kassandra's outfit--the knot of a Candidate for the next clutch of dragon eggs.
T'rrent glances over his shoulder at Zarvind. "To whom? The dragons, or the Candidates?" The former seems to draw a look of dread from the Weyrleader...
J'sen blinks, whatever he was about to say to or ask of Kheri forgotten momentarily in light of Zarvind's question. "Have a seat," he says, gesturing to the empty space across the table. "It's pretty straightforward, actually. At least for the candidates. If you don't impress, then you are free to stay here or to go wherever you please. But you'll aways have a home here."
Kheri liked that plate, really she did, and now she'll get all sentimental all over.. even going as far as wiping something from under her eyes. The candidates are given a look from her, but nothing more as she goes back to cleaning her plate. Nah, no mindhealer for her.
Zarvind has his manners still intact, really. Even though he left some of them back there somewhere; greyless eyes blink as he hastens to add, to T'rrent mostly, "Candidates, I mean." Never mind the dragonets. "A friend of mine was just wondering yesterday, about this, you see." The seat's taken; jostled by a sandwich-laden hand.
T'rrent nodnods at J'sen's explanation. "As for the dragons that don't hatch or Impress.." He pauses, face wrinkling up a touch as he draws in a deep breath - he hates this part, yous ee. "It generally falls upon the Weyrleader and the Weyrlingmaster to take them Be.." He stops at the lad's further explanation, and he nods.
J'sen grimaces and nods at T'rrent. "True. The good thing is that I've never heard of a hatchling not impressing for certain. There are old aunties tales, but I've never seen a recording of that tragedy happening."
Goldean is listening yep he is, carefully and he smiles noting that they can stay here if they don't impress. Just a shrug before he listens further, sticky buns are good, specially with klah, energy rush though.
T'rrent mmms softly at J'sen, nodding his head quckly. "Thankfully, neither have I." And that's all he has to say about that.
Its probably the spiel generations of Candidates get, one after the other, turn after hopeless turn. Just look at the ones in the barracks. Fortunately, Zarvind hasn't heard this before. Forehead composes into ignorant creases. "I see," he says, nodding his head. "I see. A home sounds like a good idea so far."
Kheri finally lifts her eyes to settle a gaze between the Weyrleader and J'sen. "Y'all are depressing, you know that?" Right, and she goes right back to cleaning up her wet plate with a fingernail.
Kassandra nods slowly, eyes gone dark and thoughtful. "I hope that doesn't happen to me," she says softly, more than half to herself, staring at the remainder of the klah in her mug.
Zarvind pokes a finger into the green contents of his breakfast. "Good luck anyway, with the dragons. They should Impress all right." And he does look knowledgeable now, or tries to.
Goldean does leans back, he knew all of this, right. Then with a smile he just looks toward the riders and then looks toward the others, whew these people are confusing me
J'sen tosses a fingerroot at Kheri, then turns, his eyes scanning the candidates listening. "It will all work out the way it's supposed to," he shrugs lightly. "And even if you don't impress this time, it doesn't mean that you never will; just that your dragon hasn't been shelled yet."
T'rrent ignores Kheri's comment - of course it's a depressing topic. Who in their right mind would be thrilled about the prospect of having to drop an unhatched egg, or an unImpressed hatching *between*. T'rrent's somber expression does fade away after a moment or two, though, and he goes back to looking over his hides. In the mean time, he says the following: "Exactly. Shells, I didn't Impress the first time /I/ stood..."
Kassandra looks up, pulled out of her deep contemplation of klah dregs. "You didn't?" she asks the Weyrleader curiously. "Really?"
T'rrent shakes his head a bit, glancing over at Kassandra. "I stuck around here as a Fisherman for a few months 'til I got Searched again. /That's/ when Morpheth found me." Smile.
Kheri is, of course, hit right in the back of her head with the fingerroot, her head having been turned down from J'sen at the time it was tossed. Does she respond to it? Not likely. She does sniffle quietly, however. That was.. well.. mean. Hit in the head with food, shame shame.
Goldean finishes up his sweetroll to look toward T'rrent with a brow raised and such. Just a nice eyed look at the Weyrleader. He's silent and just watching around, chores have accidently been forgotten for now as he refills his klah mug, skipping all the way.
J'sen smirks at T'rrent. "Had to wait for just the right dragon to deal with your obnox...uh, special kind of leadership skill?" He grins, quite obviously joking, completely lost to Kheri's sniffles at the moment.
Zarvind delves into the throes of morbidity for a split second: a frown wracks his eyebrows, yet there's humour in his smile. "Haven't seen a real Hatching before this," he admits, then agrees with J'sen. "But you had the makings of a rider. Morpheth might've been waiting in /there/ all along."
Kassandra hms softly and thoughtfully. "So...we're free to stay here if we don't Impress? No questions asked?" Her hands are white-knuckled, clasped around her klah mug.
T'rrent reaches over and smacks J'sen in the shoulder, launching a grin over at the Weyrlingmaster. "No. I just had to wait for the right dragon to help me deal with that shardin' Weyrwoman all the time." Wink. He grins at Zarvind, and nods to Kassandra. "Free to stay no matter what, yes. Ismaye will be around after the hatching to find jobs for everyone who doesn't Impress.
Zarvind apes the rider's grin. And watches Kassandra's hands, and more importantly, her mug. "Candidates aren't guilty of not impressing. At least, there doesn't seem to be a rule that says so." He can do the objective outlook; yes.
After a thoughtful look, Kheri eventually pushes her the now spotless, and dry, plate aside towards J'sen. She turns her nose up at it, almost snobbishly, like the whole thing offends her, or something..
Kassandra grins wryly, although her grip on that poor abused klah mug is still white-knuckled. "What if you want to stay, but your family wants you home?" is asked softly, very softly.
J'sen rolls his eyes. "I'm not going to touch that one. I do value having my hide in one piece," he drawls before turning back to Zarvind and Kassandra. "Of course there no /fault/ attached to impressing. Noone knows exactly what the dragons want, you know." To Kassandra's question, he eyes her a bit closer, then shrugs. "You have a home here at the weyr. Noone can force you to leave against your will, Kassandra."
Goldean just looks toward Kassandra with his little calm and nice face, oh thats cute. He just nods as he turns toward J'sen with an even more confused look, seems that klah has traveled to his head, and ooh he wants to dance.
Zarvind says towards Kassandra, while he gulps down his final bite, "then go. Or stay. Up to you."
"That," starts T'rrent, "depends entirely on the situation. You have no idea the discussion I had to have with your father to keep you here for this hatching. I can't guarantee the same success next time. As it stands, however, J'sen is right. He can't /force/ you to come home. You're a resident of Ista Weyr now. He might not be happy about it, but your home is wherever you choose to make it."
Kassandra looks up at the Weyrleader, eyes going wide. It's a good thing they're attached rather firmly to her head, or else she'd be in danger of losing them, which wouldn't be good. "You...talked to him?" she says slowly, surprised. "What on earth happened?"
T'rrent shrugs up his shoulders as he replies to Kassandra. "Nothing ovelry extraordinary, really. He came to talk to me, and tried his best to intimidate me into folding. No offense, but he's one of the most arrogant men I've ever met in my life."
Zarvind rolls /his/ eyes. Difficult fathers. Difficult children--but he remembers, and stills in the motion of grabbing a mug of klah for himself. Fluidly, he stands, and gets that klah.
That plate utterly ignored for now, Kheri decidedly makes a point of being noisy whilst standing up. A yawn, portraying her boredom of the current topic of discussion, ensues next as she finally starts to move towards the serving table.
Goldean can get to the serving table first Kheri, for the Candidates already up, piling meatrolls on his plate and then refilling his klah mug.
Kassandra chuckles wryly, relaxing noticeably. "No offense taken, Weyrleader. As it happens, I agree with you. If he weren't, I probably wouldn't be here." She smiles, a charmingly pretty smile. "Thank you, then, for convincing him to let me stay. I appreciate it."
Kheri doesn't get to the table until way after Goldean makes her there, pace moving at nothing but a slow shuffle. No support to lean on today. Sniff. The candidate is given an odd look as she wrinkles her nose and grab one of the plates off of the table. Oooh, this one actually has a smile design on it.
T'rrent returns Kassandra's smile, noting, "You're very welcome." Kheri's actions are noted, at this point, and T'rrent leans over to J'sen to mutter something conspiratorially to the man. It comes out a touch louder than he'd anticipated, though... "Is she proddy again, or something?" asks he in a confused tone.
Goldean chuckles toward T'rrent's comment, well actually at the mood Goldean is in, he'll chuckle at anything. But then he just leans back, nope he's not gonna get in trouble, nibbling on his meatrolls and sipping his klah, what a life
J'sen just about chokes on the bite of sandwich he'd just taken at T'rrent's question. "Shards, I hope not," he mutters, taking a long assessing look at the greenrider. "I've been hoping Zianneth might have her cycle thrown off a little by the pregnancy."
Zarvind the contrary one is looking interested in that next topic. He wavers a glance to the seated folk, tips refreshing liquid down throat-ways. The serving tables are passed in brief fashion, and a longer look summoned for those there, before he vanishes down some dark tunnel or other.
You head out through the narrow tunnel to emerge in the bowl.
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