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.

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.
Obvious exits:
Southern Bowl     Feeding Grounds     Waterfall Pool     Weyrling Barracks     Jungle Path

You head in beneath the wide archway to find yourself in the ordered, comfortable chaos of the weyrling barracks.

Weyrling Barracks - Ista Weyr(#57RAJ$)
        Smooth stone walls slope upward to form an almost perfectly domed ceiling, barren of decoration but lively nonetheless. It's a massive cavern, hollowed out with a few smaller protrusions that seem to imply various sections with various uses. The largest of these caverns the one furthest from the entrance must be the sleeping area, where there are nearly a hundred cots tucked beside rush-lined depressions of various sizes, all large enough to play host to a growing dragon. Adjacent to this is a lesser but still impressively large outlet with slate boards and various items with instructing purposes.
        Smaller demi-caverns delve into the depths of the mountains, some used for storage and some for instruction and some for multiple purposes. Oil vats with rows of buckets, paddles, cloths, and rags hover about in one of these areas, the ground continually cleaned that little of the slippery substance clings to stone floors. Just beside this is a pile of what appears to be straps-in-the-making, a tangle of leather and buckles thrown over benches and hung from metal hooks in the walls. Despite the ordered chaos of the interior, there is a homespun quality to these barracks - an escape for those who are set here to learn and grow together.
Obvious exits:
Weyrlingmaster's Weyr     Bowl

It is currently early evening on day 17 of the 7th 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 is just coming of the Weyrlingmaster's weyr, reading a hide as he goes. He's familiar enough with the barracks though, so that he manages to navigate the room without tripping or falling over something.

Perhaps its that breeze that wafted Z'vind into the barracks. In any case, he comes unaccompanied, head turning to survey the emptiness of the barracks. It's even getting slightly musty; he lifts a boot to check, and doesn't see J'sen just yet.

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, rangy form, long legs claiming a wide stride as an obscure slur marks alto voice.
Ragged mahogany-toned leathers clutch possession at the lank shoulders, mid-length leather trous reaching to his calves. The hide boots on his feet are the same though, as is the Istan Weyrling with its earthy brown thread woven through.

He is 15 Turns, 11 months, 5 days old.

J'sen glances up in time to catch the boot-lifting and grins. "Ah, Z'vind. I was just thinking it was about time." He gestures over to a couple of cots pushed against the wall closer to the back of the room. "Come have a seat and let's talk."

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 is caught? He looks a trifle startled, if nothing, and wariness guards his posture as he salutes quickly, then shuffles to take a seat. "Weyrlingmaster--" a mutter, "I'd be glad to talk, but what's this about?" A misdeed perhaps, and it's that which pulls his face into a slight grimace.

J'sen smiles in the face of the wariness and takes one of the seats he's gestured to. "Well, all things considered and Aiareth glowing so brightly, I just wanted to make sure you're clear on what's going to happen when she rises. Kealath seems... interested and I think he'll probably chase."

"Of course Kealath will chase," Z'vind retorts, then catches himself by way of an unmistakeable blush. "He thinks too much of himself, besides, and dragons go up all the time, don't they?" A palm flips, as if to dismiss the matter. Yet he pauses to glance at J'sen.

J'sen nods. "So they do, Z'vind. But to be frank, you're a bit younger than the rest and I just want to make sure you're absolutely clear on what's going to happen. So," he says with a sympathetic smile, "why don't you tell me what you think is going to happen?"

Z'vind allows some of that to slide off him: he shrugs and shifts back, though it's an action that proves difficult at such close quarters. His age's a sore spot. "I think, no, I've seen greens in flight. Their rider goes all wrong in the head, as if she -- or he -- wasn't already, and then they get trapped in a weyr together. I've no problem with that."

J'sen simply arches a brow. "And you realize that when Kealath chases, you're going to feel much more like you are him than normal. In fact, it's very, very easy to forget you're /not/ your dragon. And if he wins, you /will/ have sex with the greenrider. Belena in this case, since I'm pretty sure Aiareth will go up tonight."

Z'vind mopes around a bit. A smile curves wryly as his thoughts find passage and a way out, "Why, I'd take whatever happens as it comes. I've been--" he swallows, but face shifts little, "I mean I've been like Kealath more than a few times already. There was once during Hatching, and a few other times directly afterwards when I've felt like the world had a billion facets. Can't be worse than that, can it?"

Dragon> Aiareth senses that Kealath rouses from his brief slumber, and feathers a paternal thought above and around you, not enough to break yours but sufficient to /greet/.

J'sen shrugs lightly. "I don't know. That kind of depends on your point of view. Well, since you seem to know what's what, then I need to caution you. As a male rider, you'll be the... agressor. You need to strive not to let things get out of hand or too rough." Blunt, huh?

Z'vind's stance barely lilts. "Not let things get out of hand," he echoes slowly, letting it play across the spectrum now crossing his contemplating features. "I can do that," he concludes after a while, brightly, confidently. Before he's dismissed-- "Weyrlingmaster. Any tips on controlling dragons? Besides those we were taught earlier on, I mean."

J'sen shakes his head. "No, not really. We male riders are a bit luckier in that our dragons don't need quite as firm a hand during flights. The just instinctively know what to do." He sighs softly, once again unable to penetrate the shield you've put up. "In any case, if you don't have any questions, then I guess we're done.'

Z'vind seldom slips, and woe if he does. He reflects that sigh, and shoves the chair back firmly, if softly. "Done it is. It doesn't matter what happens, does it? For us. It's all about the dragons--"

J'sen shakes his head, his faint smile once again sympathetic in the face of a 'virgin' flight. "That's it exactly, Z'vind. It means nothing if you and the femalerider want it to. If you simply want to walk away, no harm, no foul."

Kealath> Kealath is still watchful. Has been, will be. His weyr's somewhere above, but that's insignificant too from his crouch, tail lashing the bowl at occasional intervals. Restless, but why--

Kealath> Aiareth rumbles softly, begining to come out of the depths of slumber. She's not quite awake just yet, though...

Kealath> Not that Morpheth's paying much attention to anything else, either.. No, his gently whirling eyes rest on the glowing green just yonder. He doesn't even bother to respond to T'rrent, an action (or the lack thereof, I guess) which brings a slight frown to the man's face.

Z'vind toys with relief. His smile wavers from mocking to mild. "I was thinking along the lines of it not being important what /we/ do." He grunts and toes the chair leg slightly. Cautious: "What we are -- But it's best if no one takes offence too."

Kealath> Duty done, Didarath deigns to delineate his gaze at Aiareth again, settling down to eye the gleaming green, eyes beginning to whirl a touch more rapidly than before.

Kealath> Myrdith is one smitten blue. He is hunkered down on the stone floor, head on forelegs, peering at the slumbering green. Morpheth isn't even noticed. All he does is stare, with the occasional flick of his pointed tail.

J'sen nods. "That's true. Just... try to be polite and gentle, whatever your role in the flight ends up being, alright? Mocking and harsh rarely goes over well."

Kealath> Valin stares, too, only he himself is watching the hapless herds mill about. They're not stupid, you know, them herdbeasts and wherries. They're agitated, too. Something's up -- or will be going up. Take that as you will.

Kealath> J'nah shrugs, "Ok." He glances out at all of the dragons and gets an uneasy feeling. "I just wanna get out of here I think." Then he glances back down at Myrdith and frowns.

Z'vind lowers his head, and a touch of rebellion simmers as he looks up again. At J'sen, and beyond him as well, "I am /not/ harsh." There's puzzlement too, if slight. "But I can try -- what is going on out there?"

J'sen glances over his shoulder out towards the bowl. "I believe the males are getting interested. If Aiareth is sleeping, she'll probably be ready to blood when she awakes. We should probably get out there."

Kealath> Tavaris heads over from the southern end of the bowl.

Kealath> "Is Myrdith alright?" Serriena asks collecting her things as fast as she can. She only has two hands and no bag. How in the world did she get the items into the bowl in the first place? Juggling is very useful.

Kealath> Tavaris strolls across the bowl, looking a little annoyed.

Kealath> Marcath heads over from the southern end of the bowl.

Kealath> Aiareth begins to stir a bit more, her tail curls a bit and then stretches it out to it's full length. A soft, disgruntled whuffle comes from the dainty glowing one.

"Now?" Z'vind is indignant, if anything. "These females have the worse timing. Flames and shells." He turns, stamps on out.

Kealath> T'rrent comes out of whatever little trance he was in, and just shoots a look at his lifemate. "Shells," he mutters to himself. And right about now is when he gets out of Morpheth's way... He backs up rather quickly, as a matter of fact.

You head out beneath the arched exit to arrive in the bowl.

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.
Obvious exits:
Southern Bowl    Feeding Grounds    Waterfall Pool    Weyrling Barracks    Jungle Path

D'kar has arrived.

"He's fine. I think." Then he notices the stirring green. "Oh no no no. Not /now/" J'nah's eyes dim and he glances at Serriena, seeing if she notices.

Valin hunches over on the top rail of the feeding ground fence, balanced well enough. He idly kicks his heels against a lower rail, turning his gaze to the reaaaaally well-fertilized ground out there.

J'sen comes out from beneath the shadowy, arched entrance of the weyrling barracks.

Oh? She's awake? Morpheth's jeweled eyes take on a reddish cast all of the sudden, and he issues forth an impossibly deep rumble. It's game time... And, with that, he takes off at the draconic equivalent of a gallop in the direction of the feeding grounds... Hee. The funnest part.

Morpheth heads beyond the fence into the pen of the feeding grounds.
Iskandith leaps aloft, following a thermal to bring himself higher in the sky.
Didarath leaps aloft, following a thermal to bring himself higher in the sky.
From the sky over the bowl, Nimoth wings his way over from the southern sky.

Z'vind ambles out, gait forced into a stiff walk. He leans his weight low, close to the ground, even as Kealath crouches close -- and leaps for the skies.

Myrdith leaps aloft, following a thermal to bring himself higher in the sky.
From the sky over the bowl, Nimoth winds down toward the northern bowl.
Nimoth wings down to a landing.
Kealath leaps aloft, following a thermal to bring himself higher in the sky.
From the sky over the bowl, Iskandith winds down toward the northern bowl.
Iskandith wings down to a landing.
Didarath wings down to a landing.

Kealath> You follow a breezy thermal to the southern sky.

Iskandith heads beyond the fence into the pen of the feeding grounds.
Didarath heads beyond the fence into the pen of the feeding grounds.

Kealath> You wing down to a landing on the grassy plain of the feeding grounds, scattering a few of the herdbeasts on the way.

Nimoth heads beyond the fence into the pen of the feeding grounds.
T'rrent heads off toward the southern end of the bowl.

Tavaris eyes the dragons, snorts, and continues on his 'merry' way.

Tavaris heads off toward the oasis of the waterfall pool.

J'sen heads off toward the southern end of the bowl.

Kealath> Peruth wings down to a landing on the grass, scaring a few of the herdbeasts.
Kealath> Myrdith wings down to a landing on the grass, scaring a few of the herdbeasts.

[Spam fest deleted.]

Serriena notices and she gets a frown on her face. "I guess we will have to do it another time," her eyes turn sad.

Marcath heads beyond the fence into the pen of the feeding grounds.
Kealath> Marcath comes from the bowl on the other side of the fence.

J'nah hangs his head. "I must go to him." He turns and looks at Serriena with appologetic eyes. "I am sorry." Then he leans and kisses her before making his way south.

Valin grips the fence rail tightly with one hand, foreseeing a few herdbeasts crashing into it in their panic. A slight shudder as some of the pinioned wherries scream, and the 'beasts rush here and there to evade the predators.

Kealath> Didarath drops like a stone from the skies above, landing squarely on the back of a hapless bovine who was evidently too surprised to get out of the way. The sickening *crunch* of bones breaking would resound throughout the grounds if they weren't crowded with other dragons. Once the beast has been flattened, the blue rips into its neck with razor-sharp teeth, and begins draining it of its lifeblood.

Kealath> Nimoth leaps over the fence into the feeding grounds and ROARS before slashing a wherry midflight with copper talons. It falls with a squawk, but makes little other noise as Nimoth lowers his muzzle to the convienent slash across wherry's belly.

Kealath> Kealath backwings, sending a wherry nearly into the dust with that first stroke. First blood. A talon rears to strike the skies, as his paw crashes down to rake grievous harm on a herdbeast. Scarred, the creature spouts vermilion, and the brown dips his head without decorum -- to drink deep, drink his fill of his first.

        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 1 Turn, 5 months, 16 days, measuring 35 metres in length, with a wingspan of 52.5 metres.

J'nah heads off toward the southern end of the bowl.

Z'vind shakes his head, hard, and runs. Runs away.

You head deeper into the bowl, in the general direction of the living caverns and Hatching grounds.

Southern Bowl - Ista Weyr(#69RJ$)
        Spread out along the larger end of the caldera, this end of the bowl is significantly larger than that which lies just beyond the small inlet of two feet of craggy mountains that creep down to form an incomplete partition. The walls of the ancient volcano, long-since slumbering inactive, spread upward with sheer cliffaces that reach into the sky, their outlines reminiscent of four pointed fingers and a thumb. Activity bustles in this area at nearly all hours of the day with dragons or people coming and going throughout the bowl on various errands.
        Tucked into the southernmost wall are the living caverns, the gaping tunnel that leads within illuminated by the glowbaskets set within; just beside this is a larger entrance that leads to the dragon infirmary. The Hatching grounds are found in this area, with a tunnel a ground level just large enough to allow passage for an egg-heavy Queen and a larger, gaping entrance in the side of the mountain for draconic spectators to enter. Numerous weyrs dot the mountainside and the ground in this area, some darkened and some illuminated from within.
Obvious exits:
Infirmary     Caverns Tunnel     Ground Weyrs      Hatching Grounds     Northern Bowl

Kealath> Morpheth just..leaps over the fence encircling the feeding grounds, landing with an utter lack of grace, silvery talons digging deep into the earth to steady the impact. He issues forth yet another utterance - this one a decidedly loud trumpeting call, establishing his territory, so to speak. And woe be to he who infringes upon his ground. There is no time for such things, though - he has more important things to do. A quick swipe of his tail brings the legs out from under a passing herdbeast, sending it skidding to a halt on the bare earth. One quick swipe of his talons nearly rends the beast in twain, crimson vitae gushing forth fromt he gaping wound. Morpheth cranes his neck down to imbibe the precious fluid.

Kealath> Iskandith soars down from above, as casual in the air as his rider is on the ground. He swoops down, his hugs wings slowing his forward progress enough to allow him to grasp a bawling herdbeast in his razor-sharp talons. He lands and half crushes the poor animal, then shoves his maw into the steaming belly, slurping greedily.

Kealath> Peruth , as always, prefers to pounce on his prey rather than simply tear them apart. The blue hunkers in a low spot for a moment before sighting a rather fat herdbeast and launching himself up and onto the animal. All the sound the animal makes is a sickening, deadly crackling before the blue rakes his talons over the creature's tender stomach and begins feasting hungrily on the blood, deep rumbling erupting in his throat.

Kealath> Myrdith swoops down from the sky and sends a a beast rolling 10 feet with a strike. The pitiful thing cries vainly as Myrdith strikes it. The blue settles and lets out an errie utterance before draining the poor thing.

Vesta is left by her dragon, and she drops to a crouch herself, resting her arms on her knees as she watches Belena. Occassionally, she flashes a dark blue glare at some other maledragon rider.

T'rrent just sorta saunters on in, really, hands shoved idly in his pockets. He's an old hand at this, by now, judging from the rather plain expression he wears upon his face. Le sigh.. He grumbles something about Morpheth, though it's likely too low to be audible to the general public.

N'ait watches Belena with a strong intensity for a moment, his own dark blue eyes burning slightly as he simply stands, quietly. He seems to find disapproval in the actions of his own lifemate, but the intensity in his gaze is half what he feels from and for his dragon and partially concern for his friend.. wait. Nevermind, she's annoying. Hmph.

J'nah drags in wearing a solemn look. Maybe its uneasyness at a first flight, maybe its something else. Either way, he doesn't look happy. He goes and leans against an outcropping and glances around, mainly at Belena.

Kealath> Marcath is upon a beast presently, having managed to wedge the poor wherry between a rock and one foot, the dragon almost quizzical as he watches the life drain from the thing. It is a chance combination of position and luck that brought that about, but soon enough, the wherry is on the ground, kicking weakly, and Marcath unhurriedly slits the belly of the poor thing with a tooth, and proceeds to drain the animal.

J'sen has disconnected.

Belena, unlike you seasoned old men, is certainly /not/ used to this. She slowly rises and rubs her eyes, trying to focus for a moment. "Oooh." Stomp goes a frustrated little foot. She looks around and, seeing all of these eyes on her, decides she can at least try and look dignified. Hmph. A little nose goes right into the air.

Valin heads over from the far end of the bowl.

Kealath> Nimoth rumbles as he lifts his crimson stained muzzle, tongue flicking the blood and gore away. He scans the skies with lavender eyes whirling slowly, before stepping over the drained carcass and heading towards a stampeding herd of 'beast, convienently startled his way by some big, ugly bronze. He pushes into the air and swoops into the fray, grabbing a plump heifer in his sharp talons and winging to a deserted corner to tear its throat out, quieting its bawls of terror. He lowers his head again and suckles the energy giving life from the lifeless beast.

Cymber heads over from the far end of the bowl.

Kassandra is hardly seasoned, old, or male. She, for her part, is studiously -not- looking at Belena, and is in fact studying the ground beneath her feet most assiduously.

Visage pale and grim, Valin trudges along, pulling his hat low over his eyes.

Cymber comes jogging in, eyes wide.. though they focus fast and hard when she locates Belena. Then her steps slow, and she pulls up. Keeping out of the way she is, as she finds a spot to lean against the cavern wall, one that offers a very nice place for watching.

Kealath> Peruth quickly brings down a porcine, this one highly intending to make an escape before razor talons slam painfully into the animal's side, sending it sharply to one side and given to a few helpless squeals before the blue is upon it, tearing away it's throat mercilessly and sucking strongly at the flowing vitae.

Serriena heads over from the far end of the bowl.

Kealath> Didarath bugles a challenge out to the other males who have the temerity to compete against him in this, his first flight. Ruby-dripping muzzle is removed from the dessicated corpse in front of him, and with an almost negligent flick of his paws, he sends the flaccid beast flying, to land with another wet *crunch* against the stony side of the mountain. A wherry who had the poor taste to get too close to him is impaled with a single sweeping blow of his paw, and Didarath shoves his muzzle into the bird's soft belly, drinking deeply.

Kealath> Morpheth finishes with this, the first of his kills for the evening, in little to no time at all, picking the lifeless corpse up, and flinging it aside at... Oooh, who should he pick on this time? Didarath... Blues are always fun. Morpheth tosses the limp shell of a herdbeast in Didarath's direction, before going about selecting his next victim. A rather plump porcine proves suitable, and Morpheth slashes his talons down at it as it attempts to scurry off. Not the procine's day, though, as the bronze's claws slam down hard, knocking the animal to the ground, and pinning it there. Those same talons slice meticulously across the creature's neck, letitng loose a fountain of sanguine fluid. And down goes Morpheth to drink once more.

Z'vind has his shoulders up, his head up. He even attempts to whistle innocently. The sight of Belena, though, draws him up short, draws his shaky smile, and the lad can do naught else but find a rock to lean against. Within, without, much of it is confusion.

Vesta bounces a little on the balls of her feet, eyes flickering to the lounging Cymber for a moment before her eyes lock on Belena again.

Kealath> Kealath has been reborn today: his snout has been sprayed to a red blaze, his eyes blaze darkly golden, and the magnificent wings have been mantled behind his back. Hunger sated, he furls his wings just a little tightly, and spares a single, sweeping glance for the combatants. One and the other, and the next. He notes Nimoth, his fellow brown, then dives to crack the hide of his second 'beast, snapping its jugular without effort. The animal's shriek punctuates the air.

N'ait isn't old, or very seasoned. He doesn't go well with salt. The young bluerider has flown at least a few flights since he Impressed, the urge to pace and watch Belena at the same time slowly overcoming the man's good sense. A slight utterance of his lifemate's rather futile attempts emits from his lips, but it is rushed away by an indrawn breath.

T'rrent's kind of old, very seasoned, and very very very very male. He's also very very used to Morpheth losing greenflights, though, which might explain the rather indifferent (but still attentive) look on his face, if he deigned to share that information with anyone.

Setarra comes out of the narrow tunnel from the living caverns.

Kealath> Aiareth comes from the bowl on the other side of the fence.

Maybe it was the gore, maybe it was the blodd but Serriena comes in from the bowl and just sits on a rock quietly watching the group of dragonriders, chased away by the blood of the feeding.

Valin's slow, dragging strides falter, as he notices this circle (or at least conglomerate) of dragonriders staring at (or not staring at, but in the vicinity of) Belena.

Kealath> Aiareth archly approaches the feeding grounds completely awake and /very/ aggitated with quite a haughty eye for all of the male dragons slicing through the herdbeasts. With a dart of her own claws, she maneuvers her body so quickly to grab hold of a herdbeast and an ear-splitting crack echoes through the bowl as the animals neck snaps. So fast was she, the poor beast, nor, probably, any of those insipid males, ever knew it was coming. With a sweep of that delicate, jade-kissed neck, she dips her muzzle down to begin feeding.

Kealath> The stillness of the night creeps across ancient hills and streams, spreading a softened misty memory of gently fronded, twilight emerald atop a landscape of darkness, made clear in delicate draperies of fog gently caressing the insubstantially bedecked hide of this jade-kissed hatchling. Reminiscent of a wreath of shadowed flowers are the darkened roses and sprinkled violets that ring the crown of her headknobs, trailing uncertain little fingers along the soft curves of her wedge-shaped head to tickle the hinge of her delicately hone jawbone - a tiny garland of growth that trails down her elongated neck with dramatic pause: Shade dappled illumination beset with ethereal splendor. Hazy shades of silvery dusk and faded lichen dapple her flanks, resplendent of feathered ferns and bladed grasses lent the ambiguous lavender undertones of a moonlit evening, darkening to a shroud of vague shadows - as long whispers of breeze-caught vines might trail from overhanging branches - that seep down her limbs, etching their shape from the velvet darkness. The ice blue twinkle of a predawn, springtime constellation outlines pinions of deep greenstone - glassy as the sea in perfect repose -- swirling with faerie silence only to break into emerald and seafoam where hesitant waves crash across the turbulent lagoon of softly translucent wingsails. Rosy whispers of dawn mark their place amid pointed talons, beckoning to the sunrise that peaks through moistly emerald foliage, wet with the soft periwinkle of early morning dewdrops.

By all appearances, Aiareth is 1 Turn, 5 months, 12 days old and measures approximately 18 meters long with a wingspan of 27 meters.

Dragon> Aiareth senses that Kealath senses--senses? The boiling miasma of his being churns with the blood of old, the gore of yore, and he strives to kill, strives to maim, while keeping an eye open for /you/. The nexus, the fire's heartstrings.

Setarra skips out of the caverns, and over to Serriena. "What's going on?" she hisses in a stage whisper.

Kealath> Marcath watches Morpheth closely, considering his actions rather meticulously as he lops further into the feeding grounds, attempting to duplicate the larger bronze's actions. He doesn't quite succeed, though he's got the right idea. Practice. Practice. He ends up stabbing an unfortunate porcine through the snout, tearing off a large part of the beast's face. Squeals mingle with other squeals as blood sprays the immediate area quite liberally, and Marcath is quick to force the porcine over onto its back, slicing with attention to doing it in just the same spot that Morpheth did.

Kealath> Myrdith pulls his reddened muzzle from the empty carcass and answers the challenge in a franzy. A few hops and another beast is felled. Another sharp challenge before he plunges into the next victim and snaps the sinuey tendons and veins of the beast, lapping in the crimson spillage.

Kealath> Ah, but what is this? She has arrived! Morpheth watches the shimmering emerald of a green land, spreading his own wings to shove a couple of smaller browns out of the way, calling out with another trumpeting challenge. The recently expired porcine is flung aside as well, in Marcath's direction, though. Ah, but there's no time for games right now. With surprisingly little effort, the massive bronze flings himself into the air, landing hard amid a group of fleeing herdbeasts. And two lose their life this time - the first simply sliced from head to rump, the second snatched up in the bronze's silvery claws. The first is exsanguinated post haste... The second is simply held there for a moment.

Kealath> Peruth doesn't bother watching anyone for quite some time, paying almost artistic attention to the way he brings down his defenseless prey. His neck snaps to swing his view onto the landing green, however, and he trumpets brilliantly at sight of her beautiful, gleaming hide and extended wings. He watches for sparse moments before darting into the air and landing heavily on a racing wherry, the snapping and cracking ringing out for barely a moment before the animal is simply tossed to the side, glancing off the side of another blue dragon before it slides to the ground.

Belena's eyes widen as her lifemate attacks the herdbeasts, "No, no! Blood Aiareth! You big green ninny!" At Aiareth's resistance she stomps that little foot again. "If you don't they're going to get you. All those big dragons...see them? They're gonna get you if you eat that beast." Stomp stomp.

Valin staggers over to the living cavern's outer wall, and then he slides down along it to sit, hugging his knees to his chest.

Z'vind's eyes narrow, fully grey, on the green's rider. Green's rider now, even as Kealath spots his object, elsewhere. He slinks his weight even lower on his shoulders, and a step's taken, almost to approach, but not quite. Not now. The others are peripheral, part of the bowl's astonishing scenery. Not enough to note at present. He echoes her, monosyllabic: "Get."

Cymber isn't going to disturb anyone. Genevrath's asleep on her ledge, and this is.. almost horribly fascinating for the new greenrider. She lifts one booted foot to rest on a nearby boulder of smallish proportion and crosses her arms about herself, eyes linked on Belena.. though they dart to take in the others.

Kealath> Nimoth BUGLES a greeting to the glowing green as she moves in to blood. His klah and cinnamon hide gleams too, but only with health and a good oiling...and perhaps the zing of good, hot blood recently sipped. He watches the green with those purple faceted eyes, and blindly flicks a wherry from the sky with his tail. He kicks the thing, now properly dead, having broken its neck sometime in the flicking or crashing into the ground, into his muzzle range and lowers his head, teeth tearing at the soft belly of the thing, spilling its hot insides onto the feeding ground floor. He drinks deeply of the free flowing blood.

Kealath> Aiareth screaches in protest at the command from her rider. She is so hungry and, in her opinion, blood just isnt going to do it for her. And look, see how good she is at getting them? She did it so well. Just one little swipe with this dainty claw right here. *Swoosh*, see? That fat ol wherry didnt even know what hit im. Another rumble at a strong command from Belena and, with a firey whuffle, she arches down and sucks ravenously at the blood of the herdbeast and then the wherry. The feather-fronded little green casually tosses the limp body of the wherry to the side in the general direction of a certain pesky bronze. If she cant eat it, she might as well have fun with it.

Kealath> Didarath ducks, just barely in the nick of time, as Morpheth's discarded herdbeast comes flying in his direction. A vicious hiss is directed at the bronze, and Didarath retaliates by flicking his own dessicated animal carcass in Morpheth's direction. With an almost negligent flick of his tail, he knocks the legs out from under a stampeding bovine, and a slash of a single talon opens up the belly of the beast. Aiareth's entrance is greeted with a strident bugle, orange-tinged eyes whirling a bit faster, before he lowers his muzzle to drink of the vermilion lifeblood of the herdbeast before him.

Kealath> Good thing that Marcath is paying such attention to Morpheth, trying to learn from the older bronze as he goes. He dodges out of the way of the porcine flung in his direction..almost. Hits him in the soulder, it does, and the young bronze actually comes up limping a touch.

It is not fascinating to Serriena. She just watches an unreadable expression on her normally cheerful face. "Aiareth is rising," she says in a soft voice to Setarra.

Setarra ohs, and plunks down beside Serriena. "I hate flights."

Dalar comes out of the narrow tunnel from the living caverns.

J'nah's demeanor is slowly changing. The uneasy look is fading as his eyes narow and look at the green rider. His hands clench and unclench and his breath draws in faster. Nothing is payed attention to except the slient flood of emtions and the green rider before him.

Kealath> Kealath /sees/, and displays his prowess by felling the next beast with a single stroke of a forepaw. Yes, he could leave it to die as slowly as it's blooded, but torture is not in the menu for today. Quickly, cleanly, he snaps the skeins into blood-clarity on his bull and gulps the red wine. Gulps all into his gullet, then swivels his neck to study her. Throw? That's easy, now, and he bowls the wherry down the lane towards one of the smaller suitors. Watch the beasts fly.

Dalar walks out, and blinks when he sees...quite alot of people, and a very funny feeling. "Oh shards.." he mutters.

N'ait suddenly drops to a comfortably grassy spot, looking almost like he was brooding as he watches Belena in sudden silence, a soft whisper leaving him for a moment, dark blue eyes intense, yet blankly intrigued.

Valin curls up as best he can in his position, sitting, leaning back against the cavern wall. He refuses to look up, either to the riders or the sky, his hat hiding his eyes.

Kealath> Morpheth, apparently intent on proving porcines /can/ fly (when treated properly, anyway), flings yet another such beast into the air, this time in a more random direction. With nothing else present to torture, Morpheth stops for a second to regard the bovine held in his right forelimb. He batters the squealing animal into the ground several times until its weak, pitiful protests have finally ceased. Gelatinous at best, the body just sorta hangs there, limply, in his grasp. He decapitates the lifeless animal, and imbibes the precious vitae that spews forth from the wound.

Tavaris heads over from the far end of the bowl.

Vesta flicks a glance over at Dalar, but there isn't much recognition there. She seems to struggle with something for a moment, but the something obviously wins, because Belena is the true object of her eyes for the rest of the moment.

Belena clamps her fists closed, "That's right, Aia. Toss it at him! Ha!" She is vaguely aware of those standing around her, her attention quite taken with the goings on in the feeding grounds.

Tavaris wanders through, looking rather damp. He eyes the riders still hanging around, then advises Dalar, "You might just want to go back to where ever you came from just now," before disappearing into the caverns.

Tavaris heads into the long tunnel to disappear into the lower caverns.

Kealath> Aiareths skin begins to glow brighter as she illuminates with the growing energy from the hot blood. A third, darting, rose-twined claw flicks out and snatches a scrambling herdbeast. Slash, she rents right through the neck of the screaming creature and her muzzle goes right down, sucking that life-giving blood into her own body. As she feels more empowered, she bloods with no resistance. As the last drains from her third beast wan, she looks up and, seeing all of these males with their attention focused on her, she hisses a severe warning to them all. Stay away.

Kealath> Marcath shrugs off the small injury as best he can, not letting it temper his calm enthusiasm in taking part in this exciting event. Calm enthusiasm...yep. It's possible, if one atches the dragon in question. He considers the pretty little green, content to admire from afar for the moment. He's just as intent on watching Morpheth and how -he- reacts to her right now, as well./

Z'vind battles against a rising tide, a losing tide. The downstream currents are too strong, and it's then that he gives in, gaze stoked into his lifemate's molten amber. He's inevitably drawn up into his full, not insubstantial height. Freezes there.

Kealath> Myrdith tosses #2 aside and rumbles fiercly as ist tumbles away. Then he springs and tackles a wherry, snapping its puny neck with a sharp whack. He tears the carcass away and begins emptying Pitful beast #3 of its life force, pasuing ever so often to answer challenges and put forth his own.

Valin just glanced your way.

Kealath> Nimoth finishes a fourth carcass and settles back on his haunches, tongue flicking over his muzzle, cleaning the crimson flecks away as he eyes the prize. The glowing green beauty, Aiareth has stolen his breath and his wings rustle slightly and he crooons a loving lilting lovesong to Aiareth as she finishes her third.

Kealath> Peruth darts easily out of the way as a beast flicks his way, his tail swinging around to bowl over a helpless bovine. The animal lows in surprise for only a moment before a death blow strikes it's small mind from it's physical body, the already bloodied muzzle of the agile blue coming down to suck away the life blood flowing from the bovine's still warm body. Giving a slight bugle towards the object of many a dragon's affection, the bovine is thrown carelessly in the direction of his brother in blue. Violently whirling eyes focus intensely on the brilliant green, hunkering lower to the earth and tensing his tight blue body as the blood pulses energy through his body.

Jalani heads over from the far end of the bowl.

Cymber's expression is one of wrapt fascination, though it's not as outwardly eager as once it might have been. With one arm lifing so that a pair of uplifted fingers can rest against her lips, she glances about quickly.. sharp eyes noting the presence of one person in particular who isn't a part of the draconic event about to happen. Well, not directly. It's Valin she studies for a moment, quiet.. thoughtful.

Jalani rolls her eyes as she walks through the crowd. She shoos with her hands in front of her. "Make way, make way."

Kealath> Didarath drains the last few precious droplets of ruby liquid from the innards of the hapless herdbeast before him, before a back-kick of one hind paw sends the lifeless creature back out of his way. Apparently he has deicded that he is done with blooding, and merely crouches where he stands, tail lashing the ground furiously and scaring the wits out of no few still living beasts, orange-tinged eyes whirling madly and focused on one thing and one thing alone--Aiareth.

Kealath> In a field virtually full of prey, one could ascertain that they are, indeed, so numerous as to bring about their own demise simply through clumsiness and folly. Well, bearing this in mind, it is quite easy to imagine a bronze as large as Morpheth building up quite the mountain of corpses beside him. Several have fallen to his bloodlust - nine, as a matter of fact. And now, hunger sated for the time being, he simply watches the green. Crouched down. Wings slightly unfurled. Ready.

Kealath> Aiareth flings the carcass of the beast away. Enough! The sky calls to this young one and, as her knees spring, her translucent seafoam wings unfurl and carry her with boundless speed towards the heights above. She cares not for any of the male dragons shes left behind. She is getting away from them, fast, gracefully free.

Dalar hms and furrows his brows. "I think I'll stay..." he mutters to himself, finding a nice little spot for himself out of the way and sitting down.

Jalani rolls her eyes as she lightly brushes against a brownrider who looks like they would like to be pressing more than lightly against her fellow greenrider. "Really.. can't you all go find somewhere else to play? I am hungry!"

Valin is, of course, oblivious to such scrutiny from the greenrider -- the other greenrider. The one he can tolerate at the moment, and that's not Jalani. The stablehand -- the poor stablehand -- shivers slightly from time to time, not as dragons make their clarion calls and whatnot, but as herdbeasts's lows and screams make their way to his ears. But even when they begin to fade away as the thirst is slaked, that's actually the /worst/ part, and Valin groans quietly, knowing things are actually under way. Or above way, as the case may be.

Kealath> Aiareth wings up to the sky, leaving the feeding grounds behind her.
Kealath> Morpheth wings up to the sky, leaving the feeding grounds behind him.
Kealath> Marcath wings up to the sky, leaving the feeding grounds behind him.

Vesta is ready for that lauching into the sky, and he crouches, muscles rippling in the twilight, and pushes himself skyward in a single bound, wings flicking out to catch the warm Istan air.

[Nimoth, apparently.]

Setarra gives Serriena, Dalar, and Valin each rather pitying looks, probably because each of them is connected to someone here in her mind. Then she just shakes her head, and repeats, "I hate flights."

Kealath> Kealath will not stay away. Not if he can help it. He gazes loud and long on the illumined beauty, gazes through the froth and foam flecking his neck, the ivor teeth, yearns towards the well-spring on his magma-driven frame. Ichor surging in utter madness, he rears back, haunches pressing into the ground. Onward; the fifth and last wherry's thrown, and he launches behind, wings unfurling to whip the air. Yes, and away.

Kealath> You spring aloft into the sky over the Istan bowl.

Kealath> Myrdith wings upward from the feeding grounds.
Kealath> Peruth wings upward from the feeding grounds.
Kealath> Didarath wings upward from the feeding grounds.
Kealath> Nimoth wings upward from the feeding grounds.

Kealath> Aha! Precisely what he's been waiting for... Morpheth sweeps his wings down with a powerful expenditure of energy, sending a gush of wind in all directions as he wings himself aloft after the glowing green. He's nowhere near as fast as the smaller dragons, though, so even with his best effort, he still winds up at the back end of the pack. Power and stamina are on his side, however. He is no sprinter. He climbs straight upward, forgoing the chase for the time being, gaining altitude first. He'll worry about catching up later.

Kealath> Didarath was watching, waiting, and preparing for that moment. Moments after Aiareth takes to the air, he does likewise, rocketing upward and sweeping straight to the front of the pack, easily outdistancing the likes of Morpheth and Marcath, big slow beasts that they are.

Dragon> Aiareth senses that Kealath is all pride and purpose, a raging fire that both destroys, cleanses and creates. You fly, but he chases, and evil take the rear.

Understanding touches Cymber's face. Her eyes leave Valin as draconic forms leap up to find the heavens, her own expression tight for some reason that she doesn't voice. No smile right now, none at all, just that serious edge that training brought out in her. Boot slides to the bowl's floor and she moves nearer, into the periphery of Valin's vision, though she doesn't speak a word.

Kealath> Myrdith is nothing but a blue streak as he flies up from the bloodeneed ground below. His wide wings now beat in powerful strokes as he chases after the sprinting green. A shrill cry is emitted as he beats his wings faster and faster. She will be caught. Nothing is faster than he.

Kealath> Marcath is not as strong as Morpheth. And he's not really quite as fast as the huge bronze just yet, either, for he has not been flying for nearly as long, knows less tricks of the trade, as it were. But he is clever. He sticks behind his elder bronze, letting the bigger fellow shield him from a good bit of wind resistance as he, too, settles in for the long haul.

Dalar draws his legs up, hugging his knees to his chest and resting his chin on them. "This is...interesting actually." why is he talking? Who knows.

Belena steps back for a moment, eyes flicking around. Vaguely she says, "I don't want to be here." And begins to drift towards the ground weyrs.

Belena heads into the slightly detached portion of the bowl that houses the ground weyrs.
Vesta heads into the slightly detached portion of the bowl that houses the ground weyrs.

T'rrent just..follows. Duh.

T'rrent heads into the slightly detached portion of the bowl that houses the ground weyrs.

You head over to the slightly detached area of the bowl that houses the ground weyrs and the council room.

Belena heads in through the tunnel to the guest weyr.
Kassandra comes over from the bowl.
T'rrent heads in through the tunnel to the guest weyr.
Vesta heads in through the tunnel to the guest weyr.
Kassandra heads in through the tunnel to the guest weyr.

You head in through the tunnel to the guest weyr.

Guest Weyr - Ista Weyr
        Sparse but comfortably furnished, this adequately sized dwelling houses all the necessities for a temporary existence. Just large enough for a bronze to work his way within, it seems the environs are meant less for draconic inhabitants than human ones, for one will not find the requisite stone couch before a hearth within. No, instead one happens across a lavishly bedecked bed, piled high with bedclothes and pillows and settled into an elaborately carved, four-poster wooden bed. On either side of this are inviting wingchairs, pleasantly stuffed with black fabric illuminated by gold-embroidered thread.
        Likewise filling the recesses is a great, wooden wardrobe in a style that mirrors the bed, metal knobs opening to reveal plenty of closet and drawer space. Near this is a large wooden table surrounded by four, high-backed chairs and resting on a handsomely woven rug of the same gold-and-black motif. Benches and stools are to be found scattered about, as well as a few abandoned wineskins which sneak in despite the regular cleaning this guest weyr receives.
Obvious exits:

Kealath> Peruth bides his time carefully, lifting himself up above the pack quietly as he makes use of as much strategy as possible, winging slightly to the right and holding position near the back of the group of dragons that tend to be faster than browns and bronzes. Well, short category there. Anyway, he flits as quickly behind them as he can without pulling too far ahead. Preserve your strength and all that.

N'ait heads in through the tunnel from the bowl.

Kassandra heads in, right behind Vesta, and instantly slides down the side of the wall to land in a heap at its base, wrapping her arms tightly around her knees and doing her level best...well, to not do anything at the moment.

J'nah heads in through the tunnel from the bowl.

Kealath> Aiareth rises higher and higher but, in her freedom, the petite wonder cant resist the pleasure of her aerial ease. As she speeds upwards she bends a shimmering wingtip and executes an artful series of spins. Ha! Keep up with that you clumsy boys. I didnt even lose an /inch/ of the gap between usand I never will!

D'kar heads in through the tunnel from the bowl.

Kealath> Kealath might be larger, but there's space for brains too, in these skies. His wingbeats flap at the air as he lunges, chasing dread shadows away beneath the path of the green. Hide gleaming umber, sinews rippling from wingtip to shuddering wingtip, he opts for a slantwise pursuit of his girl, arching down and out of the others' flight path into a thermal that churns his inexorable shape forward. He even mimicks Aiareth's spins, executing a tip on one wingsail and thus foundering slightly in his dogged passage.

Belena pounces immediately onto the bed and, sitting on her haunches she looks around with an angry eye at the party of riders following her, "Stay back," Hiss....

T'rrent, still just as blank as before, just strides on in and leans up against a wall - the one Kassandra has slumped down nearby. His eyes lid shut slowly as he takes on an effort all too familiar, to help his big, slow lifemate navigate. Poor thing.

Kealath> Nimoth wings his way after the green beauty, crooning appreciation of her aerial prowess. He, however, simply catches a thermal and spirals high into the bowl sky, young, yet intelligent enough to save his energy for the long haul. His thermal carries him high above the bulk of the pack, and he has a clear view of the glowing beauty.

N'ait just takes up the end tail of the motley crew, finding his own comfort on the rug, not leaning against anything as he simply sits down and leans forward slightly, leaning on one resting elbow's attached palm. His dark blue eyes close as well, simply to make life a little easier.

Kealath> Didarath is still streaking along, jockeying with other dragons periodically to remain at the front of the pack, relatively unfettered by others' wings. He pours the energy given him by the lifeblood of the herdbeasts who were sacrificed for this cause into each powerful sweep of his wings, cobalt and navy gleaming as he arrows through the air in Aiareth's wake.

Kealath> Morpheth's got the market cornered on raw, blinding power, and each downward thrust of his wings helps to prove that fact, buffetting the wind with a ferocity rivaled by few, and bettered by none. These wingbeats bring him right into a nearby thermal, sending him aloft with even greater speed. Once he's attained an appreciable altitude, his wings suddenly snap backward, propelling him forward and after the retreating green. Bother all those acrobatics - he couldn't do them if he wanted to. He's still a contender, though. At least, he thinks he is.

D'kar has entered the weyr, pondering the others here rather silently, soberly..which is no different, really, than his normal way of doing things. He doesn't even give a greeting, and likely gets none as well, before he goes over to sit alone, cross-legged with his back to the wall, head lowered and eyes closed.

Kealath> Myrdith beats his sails furiously as he matches the manuevers of the glowing green. His path carries him from the main group as he sails down and left of the still sprinting green. A thermal is hit and his sails catch it to carry him higher still.

Z'vind comes in behind--someone. Who he has no idea of, but that's of no note now as he arrows his way in, pausing a few steps in from the entrance to spread his palm against stone, for its support. And oh, there's a glowlight hanging by that wall too, which he meets up against, and promptly shoves away, light spilling as wildly as his eyes are, to dapple the weyr's floor yellow.

Vesta pads into the weyr and curls up at the foot of the bed, resting her chin on the footboard, just watching Belena with dark blue eyes, lashes lowered a bit, veiling the emotions there.

J'nah folds himself into and seats himself. He finally reigns in his emotions and slows his breathing. He looks down, at others, but avoids looking at Belena for the moment. A pebble is picked up and rubbed between thumb and forefinger withing conscious thought.

Kealath> Aiareth abruptly turns without so much as a flinch. No longer does her sparkling, ivy-green frame fly upwards. She darts in a southerly direction and then, in the blink of an eye, she has turned again and is heading north at breakneck speed. Tricked em! Clearly she can maneuver much cleaner than those great big lugs behind her, /far/ behind her. But shes not even looking at them. Caught up in her own pleasure of this flight she spares not a moment to pay attention to whats chasing her. For her, it is back to her passion. She flicks a dainty little wing to the right. Swirl! She flicks a petite wing tip to the left. Twirl! Oh, look at me, how easy this is.

Kealath> Marcath is concentrating--as best he can, being rather aroused, like it or not--on garnering the best power he can with his wingthrusts. He's picking up things, little things, here and there. Certainly,a fter this flight, he will at least be much more experienced.

Kealath> Peruth snatches his own thermal. Back! Mine! Back, ye fiends! The blue shocks straight through the lines of his fellow dragons until he is slightly below them, cutting against the middle of the pack as he watches the dancing beauty in the sky, eyes hurling themselves through the colors like a hungry rider through a bubbly. The swift blue turns slightly to glance himself lightly to the right, making strong attempts follow Aiareth's impressive movements.

Kealath> Didarath may be substantially larger than Aiareth, but is not nearly the 'big lug' some of the other chasers are. For every twist Aiareth executes, he has an answer, albeit a little bit later than hers. Left, and right, and back again he goes, before catching a thermal and soaring higher, above the gleaming green's level, though his eyes are still very much on her.

Kealath> Kealath swoops, the relentless shadow, beneath the darkening clouds of the evening, himself silhouetted by the dim rays that still persist on arching across the evening Weyr. His eyes are intent though, and speeding fiery sienna -- but oh, she's gone away, and he's lost -- but no, he swings neatly on his tail, having long before cut away from the pack. His outside position stands him to good stead now as she turns and he can just dip his large head around, thus, mouth gaping in tremendous draconic humour.

Kealath> Morpheth hasn't the speed nor the maneuverability to match the young green's movements, and he knows this either from experience or his lifemate's persistent reminders. And so, he simply watches her flight path for a moment, before turning to follow. Can't be too careful, afer all. Angling slightly downward to rejoin the rest of the males (and gain some speed while he's at it), he continues to give chase, albeit from rather far behind.

Kealath> Nimoth rumbles happily as he watches the green enjoying her maiden flight. His soft rumbles are a mix of desire and amusement. He slides out of his thermal to glide in a lazy circle to the south, following Aiareth at a distance, still, not yet, has he shown his powerful flight muscles. His wings dip in slow, steady motions as he pushes towards his goal, not worried about those inferior blues and bronzes below, in front and behind him. Anyone above him is ignored as well.

Kealath> Myrdith thrusts a wing down and banks into a turn as fast as he can. When she changes direction again he roars in protest and watches her fly by. A short scramble as the blue tumbles over himself is all it takes to right himself. His wings catch air agaain and he beats them faster still to try to catch the nimble green.

Belena gathers the sheets beneath her and tosses them right over Vesta's head, "Stop looking at me like..." But Aiareth's maneuvers catch her attention, she leaps up to a standing postion, "Yeah! That's it! Go, go, go, now!" She practically dances with glee on the bed. "Ha!"

Dragon> Aiareth senses that Kealath whispers of ancient, primitive things: memories that wake one in the depths of night, that of creation and meteoric explosions, volcanic pools that spring and bubble beneath us all. Beneath the earth, but in this air too, as we are here.

Vesta makes a muffled noise and rips the sheets from her head, flinging them behind her with no care who they might land on, in front of, of behind. She continues her watching with a wicked gleam in her dark blue eyes.

Kassandra is most assuredly not dancing. She is moving, though, arms wrapped tightly around her knees as she rocks back and forth a bit, blue eyes gone nearly navy as she mentally follows her dragon in flight.

T'rrent isn't dancing either, really. His eyes remain unfocussed and half closed. He says nothing, does nothing. Which kind of makes this pose useless. Ah well...

Kealath> Aiareth finally graces a turn of her neck and whoa! When did they get so close? In a swift effort to avoid being caught, the determined Aia flips her tail and doubles back, cambering around in a large circle to come up behind and below those nasty males. An artful move to be sure, but it expended a large amount of energy and she finds she must redouble her effort to regain speed.

N'ait's dark blue eyes flicker open after a moment, eyes focused tightly on Belena as he continues to argue over something in his mind. Still, the understandable blankness remains.

Ah, but such nothingness can not compare with the absolute lack of anything being done by D'kar.

Z'vind huddles, leaning back with shoulders hard against cold grey. Hands absently propell him forward, as he raises his head to study the cavern overhead. Sparkling quartz, gleaming granite, ahh-- eyes widen to gargantum stillness, juxtaposing with the images of a dragon in flight. For he, the blackness stays all within.

Kealath> Peruth notices the sudden change of position the green takes from where he flits along below his fellow flyers and makes a quick turn on his wingtip, trying to circle himself over towards her with all the speed and strength the blue can muster, his wings giving a strong beat to catch the harrowing flashes of wind. Conserving strength does help. Wheeeee.. Er. Sorry.

Kealath> Didarath is done with playing. It's time to get down to business. He flips over, as well, and begins a dive aimed to bring him out at exactly the same point she does, his tactic apparently to allow her to run right into him. It lacks grace, perhaps, but give the lad a break: this is his first chase, after all. He dives, talons outstretched, arrowing straight for Aiareth.

T'rrent smirks. At least that's /something/, right. He still doesn't say anything, though...

Kealath> Morpheth finally sees his chance, though getting there will be a challenge. As the green doubles around in a wide arc, Morpheth executes the only sharp manuever he's ever been able to pull off. He folds his wings up, and does a quick, aerial backflip, unfurling his wings again to keep from losing too much precious altitude. Wings beating once more, fueled by the blood of the fallen on the feeding grounds below, he speeds right at the green. Watch out for a head-on collision, folks.

Kealath> Well shards. Marcath had thought Morpheth was going to go in a different direction, and when the larger bronze zigs, he zags, going from having to do deal with very little air resistance to having it full-force, right in his face. Oh, the young bronze learns a lesson quite well this night, being blown off-balance, and tumbling to his right, out of control for a good three..four seconds.

Kealath> Kealath would note Aiareth's clever manoevre, were he not also aiming for that patch of sky below the main thermal. This brown relies on not speed, but cunning, and presses with all his youthful vigour into that precise current; dips his wings just so, and with a single flap of his wingsails, tucks his pinions back and /under/ into barrelling flight that either takes him to /her/ or takes him under. Down and out? and in he goes --

Kealath> Nimoth croons happily as he finally decides its time to use his brownly strength and begins to stroke his large, klah colored wings powerfully. He pulls up on the group of male dragons, but watches as the prize dives below them, and back in his direction. He BUGLES in triumph, or supposed triumph, and tucks his wings, dropping swiftly towards the beautiful, the passionate, the green. As he nears her, right over the top of Didarath, his tail begins to curl down, in anticipation of catching, wings dip to foul green wings, talons outstretched at embrace.

Kealath> Myrdith watches the gren intently and begins to predict her movments. As soon her path shifts Myrdith throws out his wings and whirls sround again. A thermal catches him and tugs him upwards and he beats furiously after the green. He gets slighly above her and pulls his wings and legs in tight, speeding through the air. Aiareth becomes bigger and bigger as he approaches. Myrdith gives a great lunge and charges. And then...

Z'vind drops his arms to his bent knees, and utters a sound that's more snarl than plaint as he turns to the entrance of the weyr. Just looks, then.

Kealath> Aiareth is moving faster, she extends her entire form, reaching for the freedom that is before her if she can only get past this pack above her. She easily passes those at the end of the line. Closer and closer, she makes a quick dart to the right to avoid a brown that came awfully close, too close as he grazed her precious wing buthey! She struggles as a blue tail wraps around her own. Myrdith, I didnt say you couldbut her protest fades as necks twine together and the passion of what is to come flames inside her.

Kealath> Nimoth creels in frustration, and shoots right over the tangling pair. He then drops to the bowl floor, rumbling his disappointment.

Vesta stands with a grimace and stumbles out of the weyr.

Kealath> --Kealath's barrel roll took him under. So down he goes!

Kealath> Thwarted! Didarath pulls up at the last minute, narrowly avoiding several headon collisions before spiraling down to the ground below, bugling his disappointment on the way down.

Vesta has left.

Kealath> You wing down to a landing in the southern bowl.

Kealath> From the sky over the bowl, Peruth lets out his own rumble of dark disappointment, flitting downwards towards the bowl to relieve his tenseness and take a nice rest, diving under the pair and towards the ground.

Kealath> Setarra ohs softly, and turns to Serriena. "Serri...Serri, honey, I'm so sorry." She says softly.

Kealath> From the sky over the bowl, Morpheth calls aloud, trumpeting his objection...but the noise ceases as quickly as it began. Dignity, he will retain, at the very least.. He turns away from the dispersing crowd, and angles down for a slow, spiraling descent.

Kealath> Vesta looks around the bowl, eyes hard and glittering. She rushes over to Nimoth, and strokes his headknobs, making soft sounds of reassurance.

N'ait actually sighs from mild relief, although he is fighting the emotions sent by Peruth. Finally, he just jumps up and strides out quickly.

Kealath> From the sky over the bowl, Myrdith wraps his tail in tightly and grips the green below him. A bugle, clear as a bell eminates and rings all throughout the land.

Kealath> Peruth wings down to a landing.
Kealath> N'ait heads over from the ground weyrs.

Kealath> From the sky over the bowl, Marcath is probably as frustrated as one has to be in a situation like this, for he is not immune to the animal drives of his kind. But underneath that is a sober, curious creature who is almost...thrilled with that rapid descent, before instinct takes over and he evens out into a glide, quite prettily adjusting his form and obviously much more sure of himself in the air now, but woefully out of the race, further away than -anybody-.

Kealath> Didarath wings down to a landing.

Kealath> Kealath rumbles softly, dangerously, as he touches down on the bowl's floor with more force than necessary. Haunches bend, and he waddles away.

Kealath> You head passed the broken partition of craggy mountain-feet toward the northern end of the bowl.
Kealath> You head off toward the foliage and the pool at the falls.

T'rrent's eyes blink open again, face contorted in a mix between expectant frustration, and - er - sexual frustration. For a moment, he just sorta stands there... And then, at the expiration of that moment, he bends down, and picks up Kassandra, issuing forth a gruff, "You're coming with me." And he carries her toward the exit.

Z'vind snaps awake, glares, then ducks out.

You head back over to the bowl proper.

[Northern Bowl]

Valin sends a glance upward, and nearly stumbles. Recovering, he breaks into a run. And Valin. Never. Runs.
Valin follows passed the broken partition to the northern end of the bowl.

Z'vind stumbles in, gaze very bright. Since his lifemate's already stumped away, he wanders blithely about, and adopts to pace along the bowl's length.

Serriena doesn't say a word. She simply is a stone. However Cydia comes out of the living caverns carrying a skin of wine. "Serriena come play with Cydia!" she requests not realizing her daughter is upset at the moment.

Nimoth leaps aloft, finding a thermal to help gain his altitude.

Goldean bounces around, "Lookeeee the blue caught the greeeen! Yay!" Too much klah boy bounces. Dancing the dance of the....clean day? Just a smile as he looks around, "Fun!"

Setarra shoots Cydia a glare, and just holds out her arms to Serriena.

N'ait has disconnected.

Vesta watches her dragon fly up and away, towards his beloved ocean, and she turns glittering eyes on the others present before stomping into the living caverns.
Vesta heads into the long tunnel to disappear into the lower caverns.

Cid heads over from the far end of the bowl.

Morpheth wings down to a landing.
Kheri heads over from the far end of the bowl.
Morpheth goes home.
Kheri heads into the long tunnel to disappear into the lower caverns.
Didarath goes home.

Wherefore lies solace? Z'vind just paces wherever his feet are leading him.

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.
Auntie Iza
Obvious exits:
Lower Caverns Stairs     Kitchens     Infirmary      Bowl

Dalar growls and then looks over at Vesta. He opens his mouth to say something, but shuts it, not sure exactly /what/ to say."

Goldean comes in through the narrow tunnel from the bowl.

Goldean bounces in, "Flights are Funfun!

Tavaris drops his head back, and says to Dalar, "Ever listened to handfasting vows? I believe in both men and women's, there's a line about 'to have and to hold'. I'm talking having like them /being/ in your arms. You infer too much, my friend, and it can get you in bad spots."

Z'vind appears to be coming in, but his passage zigzags uncertainly, and his face is blanched. He paces on, towards a hearth -- one look at it, and he abruptly turns away again, only to catch Goldean's last words. He glares that-a-way.

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, rangy form, long legs claiming a wide stride as an obscure slur marks alto voice.
Ragged mahogany-toned leathers clutch possession at the lank shoulders, mid-length leather trous reaching to his calves. The hide boots on his feet are the same though, as is the Istan Weyrling with its earthy brown thread woven through.

He is 15 Turns, 11 months, 5 days old.

Tavaris is rather drunk, by the way.

Dalar is too...

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.

Daral is an 20 turn old lad of about average height, he's a bit on the tall side, but not too tall. His stormy gray eyes usually hold a look of absolute sincerity and seriousness. Probably comes from handling loads of responsibility. His hands are often swept through jet-black hair in a habitual fashion. He's usually very patient with others. His face is not completely unnatractive, but it's sharp and tense, just adding on to his already serious impression. But don't get him mistaken. He's quite friendly and easy going. His voice is deep and soothing, usually used to console others. Overall, he's a pretty good lookin guy. He's got a muscular frame, concealed by a tight, long sleeved white shirt. A pair of tight, black-as- night leather pants cover his legs, and a pair of black boots shod his feet.

Did Goldean do something, a nope, just being his normal bouncy, klah filled self, "That was fun, pretty!" He bounces toward the klah pot to refill a mug
Goldean is rather drunk on Klah, by the way.

Vesta growls softly, "What are you boys talking about? Bad spots?" She slides into Dalar's lap just then, arms linked behind his neck, "And what's that about being in someone's arms?"

Hazel eyes roll in Goldean's direction, even as Kheri makes her way towards whereever the wineskins are placed. Grabbing a few of them, she moves off towards Z'vind, offering him one, "Wine? Maybe it'll... help a bit." And she even uncorks it for him, too.

Tavaris shakes his head. "It all started very simple. I asked your lover there how he snagged you, where I failed, and he decided to get all offended."

Dalar blinks and grins broadly. He was a bit worried there for a bit. "'Lo..." he hears Tav's words and blushes, lowering his eyes.

Drunk is a good state to be at. Z'vind decides to take the proferred wineskin, dark hair flipping over his eyes as his stare swivels to Kheri. He blinks, then tosses some back on the spot.

Goldean looks back at Kheri, did he do something wrong? Shrug and then drink, though more like chug the mug of klah. Looking around and deciding he'll be the bartender today. Standing behind the refreshments, great way to meet people... "Anyone...need anything to drink?"

Vesta snorts at Tavaris, "He needed me." She raises one eyebrow at Tavaris and then nuzzles Dalar's neck lightly, caring not that they are in the middle of the living caverns.

Z'vind says, the bitter aftertaste -- wine and something else -- still in his mouth, "Kealath chased. And didn't catch." That's not the crux of the statement though, and he glances at the 'skin with interest.

Dalar smiles and wraps his arms around Vesta's waist. Public? What public? He brings a hand forth to bring his own wineskin to his lips, then lowers it, one arm staying around Vesta's waist.

Tavaris laughs, unoffended, considering he's been known to do that a time or two. Public, shmublic. "Yeah, and I thought it was a clever line. Which might have been the problem." He raises his 'skin toast-like to Vesta, winks, and polishes off the last of it.

Kheri chuckles quietly, holding up another of the skins. "And I've got more where that came from," she remarks with a quick wink. As for Dalar and Vesta? And that other drunk one... she doesn't pay any attention to them whatsoever.

Tavaris stressed the /thought/. Really.

Vesta snorts at Tavaris and looks from him to Dalar with a slight look of confusion, "Line? What line? Whose talking about lines. I'm talking about lives. You know, those precious things that are filled with heartache, happiness and passion?" Finally she just snuggles against Dalar, reaching for his wineskin.

Z'vind wonders, to Kheri, "Private stash somewhere?" His attention span is erratic at best, but takes care to drift away from the wineskin. He knocks another swallow back, quite violently, thoughts at odds with action.

Dalar hms. "Tavaris was asking me how I 'got' you...I told him I didn't do anything." he shrugs and holds the 'skin up for Vesta. "Nothing to worry about..."

Tavaris mms. "I spend much of my time avoiding heartache. It's why I prefer flings," he notes. "And passion? I've mastered that."

Goldean looks around, trying to find some girl in need of his assistance, seems Kheri is taken, darn. Looking around, Vesta, no....hrm. Dancing in his standing position, whee!

Kheri quickly knocks back a good portion of one of her wine skins. "Stash?" She waves one of the wineskins in front of her, "Yeah, got a bit of one packed away somewhere. Never gets used though," She says the last bit with a bit of a sniffle.

Serriena comes in through the narrow tunnel from the bowl.

Vesta takes the skin and takes a long pull, and then kisses Dalar with wine flavored lips. She smiles into Dalar's eyes then, addressing Tavaris, though she doesn't look at time, "You forgot happiness, Tav. Flings and passion mean nothing without happiness."

Tavaris shakes his head. "Ah, but I didn't say I /wasn't/ happy, now did I?"

Goldean has reconnected.

Z'vind glances swiftly at Tavaris. Wine runs free in this caverns tonight, and perhaps words too-- "Never get a dragon, Tavaris my friend," he hollers across the room, "They attract heartache, if nothing else." A hand reaches, to brush at the rider's arm, but he's shaky enough for her to dodge. "My sympathies, Kheri. I'd help with that stash, you know. Anytime," he adds generously.

Dalar has forgotten everyone else, see? So it's alright. All he sees is Vesta. " very important" he says softly.

"His heart is mine..his heart is mine. his heart is mine." At Vesta's words, Serriena repeats her mental mantra even louder. "His heart is MINE.. his heart is MINE." Say it enough and maybe it will hurt less. Twilight chirps, Food now! Serriena puts a small amount of food on a napkin and takes it to a table. She begins feeding the blue firelizard.

Goldean bounces in his step, "Anyone for a drink?" Klah Addict/Bartender tonight. Yay! Just bouncy eyes look around for some person who is in need of his....assistance

Kheri doesn't shy away from the touch at all, though her eyes do go a little wide. "And just what do you mean by that, Z'vind?" She inquires nonchalantly, behind the wineskin.

Tavaris wanders over to get himself a new 'skin. "If you say so, my man, I'll drink to that," he tells Z'vind as he passes.

Vesta glances after Tavaris and then kisses Dalar once again, "Dal, love..."

Z'vind can ignore Serriena's mantra if she doesn't come too close. Kheri, though, easily traps Zar's full attention. "You know what I mean, rider," he murmurs, leaning closer, fingers tightening on that life-giving grasp. "Drink, and other things," he calls, partly to her, partly for the passing Tavaris.

Goldean watches Vesta and Dalar for a moment and then twirls back to sipping klah, he wants a kiss, sniff. Just eyes look toward Serriena as he smiles, "Serriena, need anything, klah,"

Dalar mms and relaxs back in his chair, allowing a nice resting spot for Vesta if she wants to lean. He looks over at Serriena and sympathy fills his eyes. But not for long, unfortunately. He's back to watching Vesta /very/ closely. A swig of wine is taken and he blinks a bit.

"Wine," Serriena says not looking up from feeding Twilight. "Cydia took the other one." For a moment she ponders her words and then her eyes widen. "MOTHER!" she bellows startling two young girls near her. "Who is she calling mother?" one of them whispers. The other one shrugs. "Oh sweet Faranth!" Serriena looks horrified. "She went off with that..that blue rider..who was he?" Serriena tries to remember as she waits for her wine.

Kheri's gaze slowly follows Serriena, eyes shadowing over thoughtfully before she lets it snap back to Z'vind. Well, rather his grip on her arm. "Oh.. yeah.. of course I do," she murmurs quietly, not exactly budging from that spot. Don't mind the shaky, pale hand that drops the wineskin - luckily this one is corked still - onto the floor.

Did someone say bluerider? Blondie is back, and making a vtolline for Tavaris. The later groans, trying to step behind Kheri and Z'vind. To hide, you know.

Goldean nods toward Serriena and then looks about the happenings. He was going to pour a glass but decides she might want the whole skin. So carrying the skin without any glass, since it's dangerous when thrown. Smiling toward Serriena with his plastered klah grin on, "Here ya go Serriena." He places the skin down before heading back to the table, for more customers.

She doesn't need a glass. Serriena uncorks the wine skin. True she's only ever drunk once before and bad things came about from it but so what. She goes again downing the wine in a steady gulp. Now time to think. "Who was that rider?" Serriena looks very concerned by this. "Cydia is too much a child for him to be interested in my mother." She broods.

Z'vind switches the grasp to Kheri's shoulder, and smiles. Smiles wryly, while the wineskin dangles from his free hand. "Drink?" he offers to her too, raising the 'skin upwards in half a toast. The bluerider? She's coming, but Zar cannot know. It's all that fog, y'see.

Blondie saw that. She stops, and stomps her foot. "Tavaris! Bonoth lost," she whines. Tav sighs, easing away from the two riders behind which he took refuge. "Yudosa, find someone else," he replies.

Vesta does lean back, swiging at the wine again. She remains quite tense, but her smile is quite michevious. She flicks at glance Serriena's way however, registering a bit of confusion. But soon, she slides a hand around Dalar's waist and nuzzles his neck again, murmuring, "I could use a back rub, Dalar..."

Kheri does see the bluerider coming, and Tavaris trying to hide behind her. But thankfully he moves away before she can move to reveal him. Not that she could, with Z'vind's hand pressing down her shoulder, and thus her leg on that side. "Nah, I got my own, " she holds up the uncorked, and undropped, 'skin up. "You just keep yours.."

Dalar mms. "Want me to give you one lovely?" he murmurs, holding Vesta close to him. "Because I can do that, ya know." he says with a smile now.

Jalani comes in through the narrow tunnel from the bowl.

Goldean sniffs, he's really got to get himself a girlfriend, cause he's really lonely here. Sniff. Puppy dog eyes...Looking around and then with a sip of klah he's back to bouncing

Jalani whistles as she bounces into the cavern. "Good evening.." She smiles brightly. "And just how is everyone?"

Yudosa whines some more, leaving Tavaris with a very pained, if still a little drunk, expression. "Lani!" he calls, relieved to see her apparently. "Save me?" he asks, detangling himself from the clingy bluerider.

Z'vind glints a grin. Flight's remnant energy still shows through his taut, tall frame, a damp palm resting atop Kheri's shoulder. He bends to ear-level.

Serriena feeds Twilight. Up goes the wineskin. And down. Up it goes. She's drinking again. Uh oh. Twilight finishes the last meatroll and then chirps up at Serriena and looks at the wine skin. Then up at her. What's that? "Nothing you want," Serriena mutters.

Vesta nods at Dalar, "Oh, I would most appreciate one."

Z'vind mutters to Kheri, "... keep... too?"
You whisper "What say I keep you, too?" to Kheri.

[A blatant echo from "The Homecoming".]

Jalani wriggles her fingers at Tavaris. "Oh, but you do look happy? You want things light, right? Well, Yudosa will be a nice light sort of person to be with."

Dalar mms and shifts Vesta, so her back is towards him. He rests his hands on her shoulders and massaging slowly. "How about I just do it here then?" he asks with a smil, though she can't see it.

Tavaris tosses Jalani a pleading look as he tried to keep the 'rider's itchy fingers from easing up his shirt. "Yeah, in the head," he remarks distractedly, followed quickly by "Stop that!" He glares at Jalani. "It's hardly 'light' when they won't leave you alone."

Goldean looks around, "Klah anyone? Juice?....Wine?" He seems a bit off on the wine part, particuarly not his favorite. Looking around he smiles toward Jalani, new customer...

Jalani smiles oh so sweetly. "Well, I am sure you are having a wonderful time. After all, you want things fun and casual and well, Yudosa, you are fun, aren't you?"

The wine's not working. It's making Serriena sleepy. She drops the half empty skin and stands up. Twilight chirps and climbs onto her shoulder. She walks into the lower caverns. "I'm going to work." she utters. No matter that it's around evening and it's later than normal working hours. She heads into the lower caverns.

Serriena heads down the stairs, deeper into the Weyr.

Tavaris's look turns confused. "Wait a minute....I said, /stop that!/....Why is that a bad thing?"

Jalani blinks. "Did I say it was a bad thing? No, not at all."

The brownrider's grin evokes a nervous, unsure smile out of Kheri. Shoulders suddenly twitching under his touch, she settles for just blinking for the moment. Gaze falling towards the lower caverns, and then back to Z'vind. "Keep me?" Voice almost cracking, "Just for a little bit?"

Vesta just hmms softly as Dalar begins his shoulder rub, "Oh...that's quite alright...but only for a bit, love? Then we might should move to the weyr."

Goldean sighs and repeats his everlasting offer, "Klah, Juice?....Wine?" Still looking around while holding up a skin of wine, which seems to be a good seller.

Tavaris's mouth works a few times, and he looks utterly confused. Meanwhile, Yudosa is still whining, and trying (unsuccessfully) to undress him in the middle of the caverns. Argh.

Jalani sits back and watches the after effects of the flight go on around her. "Welcome to the weyr, by the way, Tavaris. Fun, isn't it?"

Dalar nods. "You want to go now?" he asks softly, kissing the back of Vesta's neck lightly.

Z'vind agrees with Kheri. "Just for a little while. As long as you want--" He starts to gesture in the direction of her gaze, but falls back on steering her around instead, wineskin dripping the last of its contents on the ground. "--There."

Tavaris grumbles, "If I didn't know better, I'd say this was some kind of twisted revenge." Finally, /finally/, he succeeds in shoving off the bluerider, and stalks out of the caverns.

Tavaris disappears through the narrow tunnel to the bowl.

Vesta hmms, and immediately shifts out of Dalar's lap, wineskin slung to the table as she pulls him up after her, "Oh, would be good."

Goldean looks around, "Are they all leaving me?" He sniffs, and just when the gossip was gonna get good. Eyes dance around the few still here.

Dalar rises and nods, wrapping an arm loosely around Vesta's waist and headin on out.
Dalar disappears through the narrow tunnel to the bowl.

Jalani blinks innocently as Tavaris leaves. "Gee, I thought he would like having all the girls he wanted."

Vesta disappears through the narrow tunnel to the bowl.

<Ista Weyrlings> Kassandra says, "Z'vind doesn't seem to be doing so badly himself."
<Ista Weyrlings> Z'vind is innocent.
<Ista Weyrlings> Belena giggles, Nope, not a'tall.
<Ista Weyrlings> Z'vind sniffs.
<Ista Weyrlings> Kassandra says, "You go, Zar. Drag her off. ;)"

Goldean looks around and then plops himself in the seat, eyes moving toward Jalani, "I definately wouldn't mind that... at all." Just a smirk as he looks about, pouring himself another mug of klah...MMmmmm good.

Jalani has disconnected.

"Um," is all Kheri seems to manage for a long moment, blindly being steered by the brownrider. "Sure?" She says a beat or a dozen later, rather uncertain of even her own words.

Goldean looks toward Iza and winks, hey baby ;)

Jalani has connected.

Jalani just rolls her eyes. "Men."

Z'vind is not far from blind himself, incidentally. He grabs, or perhaps leads, Kheri out, wordlessly.

Goldean looks toward Jalani, "Why do you say such as thing, as a bad thing?" Wait, did that make sense, woo this klah is good!

You follow a flight of stairs deeper into the Weyr caverns.

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.
Obvious exits:
Craft Hallway     Southern Cavern     Bathing Pools     Storerooms     Living Caverns Stairs

Kheri comes in from the living caverns, letting the wooden door close behind her.

Z'vind's and Kealath's Weyr

        Spacious if not exorbitantly so, the confines of this hollowed-out weyr has been transformed by its most recent occupant into a bedlam. Clothes are strewn about the weyr's only cot, spilling out from the chest of drawers, though the divide is absolute between the spotless stone couch and the rest of the untidy place. The dragon holds proud sway over much of the demesne -- by his couch lies a rug and a set of jumbled furs, and a small hearth is embedded within the inner wall. The ledge stretches out from the weyr's edge, scarred by the talons of countless landings. Graven grey, this ledge's ivory cast overlooks the bowl, and reaches out from thence in watchfulness: position if not possession of the weyr's nexus.

Obvious exits:

Kheri has arrived.

Z'vind leads the greenrider in -- Kealath can doze outside for all he knows. A slow rumble warms the weyr's inner recesses as Zar stumbles on and in, kicking furs and a piece of clothing aside.

Kheri can do nothing but follow in his footsteps for now. Well, except for almost tripping over her own feet when she finally manages to sneak up closer to his side.

        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. Sanguine lips retain an ever present pout, even when stretched in the friendliest of smiles.
        Despite the apparent hear of the Island, deep mahogany delicately covers the full extent of lithe legs, tucking into black boots, shined enough so one can almost see a reflections of the surroundings on it. Contrasting the stormy tones of the leathers - swirled in dusky black, that is - is a pure white tunic. Low scoped neck and sleeveless to help cool of the wearer enough to not reach the point of heat stroke. The only colour, no doubt, on the cloudy material is an Istan Weyr knot, with a strand of green intertwining to signify her lifemate, Zianneth.

Z'vind reaches back for her, likely tumbling them both into those furs. He huffs a breath, deep, pupils wide in widened eyes, gazing deep into hers: grey and hazel and beyond.

Kheri does get toppled over, not that it wasn't likely to happen in the first place. Landing on top of him, no doubt, she just blinks slowly, hazel eyes shadowing over into some unreadable expression. Eventually, though, she shakes her head, offering a nervous smile, "Well?"

Z'vind angles his hand to cup her face just so, tilting his lips forward to catch hers--

Blah blah, and we fade to black
{Fading back up. :/}

Z'vind rouses from a lazy sleep, arms knuckling in a stretch, then lowering-- brushing against that nice lock of white hair. Surprise, surprise; he levers himself up on one arm and just looks on for a heartbeat, two. "Shells," says the boy.

Dragged out of her sleep from that ever so light touch, Kheri's eyelashes flutter into a slow blink. A faint groan eminates from her lips as her gaze finally focuses in on Z'vind.

Z'vind gazes down on her, arm shifting to take the rest of his weight as he toys with those pale strands again. "Kheri--" he hisses, then glances away; takes the hand back slightly. "It was the wine, it was." Furs shield the mild tremor rippling across one shoulder.

Kheri's hand lifts to catch his retreating own. "Shh," is all the noise from her for a few moments, as she pulls up the furs more snuggly around her, even causing the quavering ones around his to pull taut a touch. Lips curling into a pleasantly reassuring smile, she whispers, "And the flight.. I know.."

"You do?" Z'vind turns to her, face as bright as his eyes now are. "Now that it isn't against the rules anymore," he smiles, with a touch of the old triumphant air, hand closing over hers. He bends to kiss it-- murmurs: "How is it for you girls, I wonder? After a flight..."

"Wouldn't be the first time, you know.." Kheri remarks, tone almost boarding on the edges of remorseful. The smile, however, soon washes that right away, "I do know...." She assures once again. The kiss on her hand draws out a small noise akin to a whimper. "For girls? What do you mean?"

Z'vind's grin shows, smugly. "I wouldn't be surprised," he mutters, lingering over that hand a moment longer, toes shucking the pile of furs over each other. "I mean when the greens go up, you know," a hint of something crosses his brows, "what's it like?"

Kheri, for once, doesn't get unsettled by the grin. Instead, she shifts onto her side, hand drawing drifting downward to brace herself. "What's that like?" Head tips gently to the side, but still enough for a few locks to drip into her eyes, "I can't say it'd be all that different. I mean, you're still not in much control, right? Only you're the prey.... teasing and taunting the others."

Z'vind strays a hand to wipe those curls away from the hazel-gold of her eyes, resist-less, and swings the arm so that he hovers over her still. "It seems different, though. I mean, there's less of that...pain involved. I don't like having Kealath there so close by. Being controlled--" the grin stays, but it struggles with the rictus of a frown. He reconniters, wonderingly. "How much do I know about you, Kheri?"

"Less pain?" An ebony eyebrow slowly arches at that utterance, followed by a nuance of a shake of Kheri's head. "I wouldn't quite say that. There's that whole proddy thing, y' know? That's not exactly pleasant. All the confusion and odd moods running through you." The frown cuts through anything else she might've added to that. "Know about me? I don't know... not a whole lot?"

Z'vind shakes his head, suddenly sheepish. "You aren't displeased, are you? I don't think that was too bad, for a flight." He lowers the hand, attempting to ease the uplifted eyebrow. "No, I wouldn't be proddy if Kealath wanted me to."

Kheri's tongue slowly runs across her lower lip, as she thoughtfully pauses for a beat. Considering, per se. "Displeased? I'd hardly say so..." Words drift off there, all but echoing the same drop her eyebrow, rejoining the same height as the other. "Be thankful you never get to be proddy," she remarks, amusemet colouring her voice.

"Oh I am grateful," Z'vind mocks her tone, boyishly. He moves to rub her shoulder, touch light, voice lightening as well, "Glad you think so, anyway. I'm not as bad as they think I am, Zianneth's rider."

Boyishly.. something Kheri's ears seem to catching onto more than the joviality of his tone. Features draw down thoughtfully as it creeps unwillingly into her mind, but she soon shakes that off. Light smile replacing the pensive expression. "Oh? What's so bad about what they thing" She inquires softly.

You say "Far better that you don't know, my dear," he winks, and picks up the thread again, "From hatching to weyrlinghood, there have been unpleasant tales told about me. But I'd like you to know that none of it is true." He slides his lips to catch that smile, "/This/ is what's true--"

"Unpleasant tales about a weyrling," Kheri muses quietly. "None of which ever reached my poor pregnant ears." Returning the wink, her hand idly smooths over the topmost fur, " 'T'is true... much better that I don't know." But its the last comment that ensnares most of her attention. Needlessly, her voice is lowered, "And what is /this/?"

Z'vind laughs, a series of short baritone barks muffled by the fur he then pulls up to wrap around her. "This, of course, is the moment. Now, when we're here." He whispers into her ear. "Safe, and not pregnant."

Kheri is a touch sneaky, you see, even when she's amused. The laughs aren't nearly as muffled as he probably thought it would be, and rather cut short since her hands have managed to snag onto a part of it further downward. Although she, herself, does shift closer to him. "Not pregnant.. something I wouldn't mind staying as.."

"Oh--I--Kheri," Zar hisses, breath wafting against hers as he presses nearer, eyes fevered. "I didn't know women /liked/ being pregnant, though." He's distracted, and it shows.

Kheri -knows- what he's being distracted by, and nor does she particular mind this at all. Rather amused, to be precise. "I didn't know we did either," she echoes quietly in a murmur.

Z'vind begins a slow study of her neck, working to her nape and beyond-- "Mmm. You're beautiful, you know that?" Precise words, uttered with that same distant manner. "--Despite the children."

"Child. Despite the child.." Kheri breathes softly. Anything else, whether affirmation or denial of his words, is abruptly interrupted by a startled? little gasp. Even that melds into something else. Though whatever it happens to be is muffled as her lips earnestly seek his own in a longing kiss...

[Fade to black, and players disconnect.]

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