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.
Editor's note: Z'vind swims while Kealath
eavesdrops on Girl-Talk before stealing to the barracks to get Vesta's picnic basket. All
involved are later reprimanded by Jalani and green Meriath, who extract a promise.
It is currently late evening on day 1 of the 5th month of Turn 199 of the 10th Interval.
--** Local Weather Conditions **--
Balmy soft is the breeze which lifts its cooling touch to draw the day's heat from the heart of the island. Carried upon it is the salty kiss of a lulled sea, which stretches out forever beneath the sable-rich bowl of the heavens. Clear are both the moons and the sun against the serene sky. Surrounded are they by the myriad worshippers of coolly passing cloud cover, wispy feathers that brush lazily in a timeless progress of fanciful water and ice sculptures. Quiet it is, still enough to listen to the turning of the tides.
[Kealath is in the Northern Bowl with Setarra, Serriena, Vesta and brown Nimoth.]
Kealath> Conclusive perfection is depicted in every mottled nuance of this divinely crafted brown dragon, his form a complete depiction of the verdancy of a newly born world. Raw earth drifts in darkened crevices across the landscape of his back, broad and deep with the bluish shadows of networking subterranean caves tinged only faintly with the stubbornly clinging fingers of finely dusted emerald lichen. Curving wingbones arch with finely honed precision to support the chaotic imagery of his nearly translucent wingsails, themselves animated to depict the fiery flow of amber-touched lava across the mahogany of virgin soil, rich tresses of curling bubbles that erupt into splattered droplets of illuminated gold. Trickles of these more livid hues creep along the sinuous line of his belly, slowly hardening into duskier hues of obsidian that flicker with mirror-like polish over the warm cinnamon of his heavily muscled hindquarters, a powerful compliment to the chaotic vortex of creation. Thick fronds of burnt sienna billow along his extremities, swirling as if caught on the first breeze of existence to envelop the elegant spade of his tail, the fierce curve of his talons, and the gentle slope of his muzzle in the warmth of a newborn embrace. The crest of the surf clings to his forelimbs, paling the jungle of silvery cedar where waves might lap against a seaward forest, the soft azure dappled with milky brown shadows of a thick canopy's web of overhanging branches.
Kealath is approximately 0 Turns, 8 months, 0 days, measuring 21.9 metres in length, with a wingspan of 32.85 metres.
Kealath> Kealath the large one put himself at the bowl's rim near evening's eve, and hasn't moved since. Not much anyway. Brown tail uncoils, recoils; loops around him as he turns faint gleams of eyes to the human shapes: he listens too.
Kealath> Vesta grins at Serri, "Ah...those are both nice. I really won't mind who bids, as long I we can at least enjoy each other's company."
Kealath> Setarra's eyebrows shoot up. "Er, didn't quite catch that, dearie."
Kealath> Redder than a redfruit hanging on the trees in late autumn and ripe for the picking Serriena says almost whispering, "Eh.. Eh.. E'stan."
Kealath> Setarra blinks. "Isn't he weyrmated, too?"
Kealath> Nimoth rumbles softly at Kealath as Vesta tightens his straps ever so slightly. The brown dragon shifts to allow the things to settle as much as they will.
Kealath> Shadows dance quietly across somber eyeridges in deep umber, glancing down the proud neck of this earthen-hued brown - tipping across the ridges of his spine as they smooth the softness of his hide into a deeply lustrous, highly polished mahogony. Hardwood tempered by the knowing hand of a careful master, the curves of this sturdy brown carved into the softened texture of a velveteen coat in all the richest hues of klah and cinnamon. Green tinged golden brown dapples his slowly sloping muzzle, heightened to misty silver as along the hinge of his jaw and around the coronet of his headknobs. Soft shadows reminiscent of dancing rings trespass the broad expanse of his wingsails, flickering into and out of existence as they surrender themselves to the gaiety of milky glitter that cascades down from the moonlit hues of his finely honed wingbones, with fine dustings of powderlike saffron along the final edges and tips of his wings. Glassy green sheen dares to trickle over the tip of his tail and his hindlegs, waxing itself over the muscles with careful precision.
Nimoth is growing quickly as a Weyrling, with a length of 19.0 meters and a wingspan of 28.5. He appears to be about 0 Turns, 7 months, 27 days old. His faceted eyes are constantly whirling in what you could almost swear was a mischevious way, and they tend to follow you, as if waiting for something to happen.
Kealath> "It's not like that I swear!" Serriena shakes her head still red, "I simply don't want anyone else to bid on my picnic basket. If Krellian cannot then I suppose I want someone who I know is a reformed skirtchaser." Then she adds, "So he claims." She grins, "And he's kind of nice to me. When I bumped into him in the living caverns he helped me up." She smiles at the memory.
Dragon> Nimoth senses that Kealath listens and watches too, as his weyrling is otherwise preoccupied. << What do they speak of? >>
Kealath> Vesta finishes up the straps on Nimoth and leans back agains him again, grinning at Serri and Setarra.
Dragon> Nimoth bespoke Kealath with << Something about baskets and eatting together with men. >>
Kealath> Setarra ahs. "Rider in shining leathers?" she teases.
Dragon> Nimoth senses that Kealath does not understand baskets, though he sees them. << Can they be eaten? >> Surely there was something about food in there-- << I want a ... basket. >>
Kealath> "Or else," Serriena mutters still a bit red but coming down. "He was nice to me and would be my *SECOND* choice," she stresses.
Dragon> Kealath senses that Nimoth rumbles unamusedly, << I asked my rider if I could eat hers, and she was very unhappy. >>
Kealath> Vesta chuckles softly at the other girls and then turns to give her dragon an odd look.
Kealath> Setarra winks. "Just teasing you, Serri."
Dragon> Nimoth senses that Kealath could get it for you,
if you told him where and what it looked like. << Can we not discuss this? >>
Dragon> Nimoth senses that Kealath is always glad to Help(tm).
Kealath> "What are you going to make Vesta?" Serriena asks.
Dragon> Kealath senses that Nimoth dragongrins wickedly, << It is in my couch, hidden behind a few pillow. The blue and red ones. >>
Dragon> Nimoth senses that Kealath gapes a draconic smirk. << I am certain no one will mind a bit. I will go-- >> And somewhere in there is the fuzzy cross-fire between dragon and rider, and a streak of ice amidst his fire.
Kealath> Kealath undrapes himself from himself, flexing his talons away from the bowl floor. He lumbers off, pinions furled high.
Kealath> You head in beneath the wide archway to find yourself in the ordered, comfortable chaos of the weyrling barracks.
Kealath> Weyrling Barracks - Ista Weyr(#57RAJ$)
Kealath> Marcath, D'kar, Jalani
Kealath> Kealath hunts for pillows. He enters the comfy vicinity of Nimoth and his rider's cot, and pokes his muzzle randomly about, wings a-rustling softly among the other sleeping barracks inhabitants.
Kealath> Jalani clears her throat. "Excuse me Kealath, do you require my assistance?"
Dragon> Meriath senses that Kealath negates that: fiercely, gleefully. << Let your rider know I do not require anything right now. >>
Dragon> Nimoth bespoke Kealath with << Did you find it? >>
Dragon> Meriath bespoke Kealath with << My rider tells me to remind you that you are -not- to touch another rider or dragon's things. >>
Kealath> Kealath distracts from his task to give the assistant weyrlingmaster a long, blue gaze. Dimmed eyes shift to bright, and he swivels snout back to touch a pillow. A blue and red one, in point of fact.
Kealath> Jalani tsk tsks. "Kealath..Is that yours?"
Kealath> D'kar has disconnected.
Dragon> Meriath senses that Kealath informs you that he is Taking something for his clutchmate, and how can anything be more urgent than that? << Here. Let me just take this small thing and I will go-- >>
You head passed the broken partition of craggy mountain-feet toward the northern end of the bowl.
Northern Bowl - Ista Weyr(#21RJa$)
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.
Southern Bowl Feeding Grounds Waterfall Pool Weyrling Barracks Jungle Path
Dragon> Meriath bespoke Kealath with << My lifemate asks again. << Is that small thing his for you to take? >> >>
Kealath> Jalani continues tapping her foot.
Serriena smiles at the approach of the rider. "Greetings Z'vind," she nods.
Setarra acks. "I've got a lesson to get to. Sorry, guys!"
Setarra heads off toward the southern end of the bowl.
Vesta looks up at her dragon and narrows her eyes just a bit, "What are you up too?" Z'vind gets a distracted wave.
Z'vind runs away, runs in, grey eyes flashing to and fro, from bowl rim to bowl floor. "Where's Kealath?" he hollers to the girls. Some girls, over there.
Stubby, short but stubbornly black hair sprouts scalp-close from generally clean-shaven features, boyishly tanned with a frail line of stubble to demarcate chin from cheek. His face is highly angular, jaw etched with sly lines of woe or laughter. Grey eyes and clipped chin straggle casually together with the rest of this youth's sturdy, slightly lanky form, long legs claiming a wide stride as an obscure slur marks alto voice.
Zar is clad in a towel that acts as both loincloth and toga--its wrapped around one shoulder and tucked into a knot at waist-level. Modest if not proper for now, his own clothes have been piled into a bundle and reside in the crook of one arm. Standard weyr-issued sandals crown his feet.
He is 14 Turns, 8 months, 8 days old.
Vesta points at the barracks, "I think he went in the barracks."
"He went that way," Serriena seems alarmed by Z'vind's behavior. "Is something amiss?" she questions.
Dragon> Meriath senses that Kealath searches, and /finds/. Flashing triumphant sunlight, he loops a tendril of thought through your question. Huffily: << It is not-- but I beg you to think carefully about this. If I take something for someone else who is unable to come, is that not Good? >>
Dragon> Meriath bespoke Kealath with << It depends. Does this person want you to be taking their items? >>
Z'vind juxtaposes grey gaze with blue highlights; mussed up black hair as he swings his path to join Serri-Vesta's. "Kealath--" puff. "I think he's up to something," and he's looking at Vesta when the phrase ends, frozen. "What do you know?"
The first thing you notice about this young woman is her platinum hair, cut into a smooth cap that tickles the nape of her long, graceful neck and brushes the top of her ears. It leaves a wide expanse of well tanned forehead above wide midnight blue eyes framed with wickedly long lashes. Her somewhat angular face is softened by a large, generous mouth and a small nose that turns up impishly at the tip. She stands about two handspans short of two full meters with a boyish figure, and you would judge her to be about 17 turns of age.
She wears a simple white tunic with a scoop neck and a pair of smart black shorts. Standard issue Weyrling uniform, actually. The shorts manage to show off her long, well muscled legs perfectly. Her feet are covered in thin sandals with a few hide strips to hold them to her feet. She wears a jade bracelet carved with leaping shipfish on her left wrist and her hands with their impossibly long fingers are rough and calloused from a life climbing rigging on ships asea. She wears the knot of an Istan Weyrling with a strand of brown to tell her lifemate's color.
Vesta blinks at Z'vind, looks at Nimoth again with questioning eyes, and then bolts into the barracks.
Vesta heads in beneath the wide archway to disappear into the Weyrling Barracks.
Nimoth heads in beneath the wide archway to disappear into the Weyrling Barracks.
Dragon> Meriath senses that Kealath bubbles a fit of steam and tunnels it defiantly before him. << This person does not know, so will not mind. We would not possibly harm anyone in the course of the plan. Can I not take it? >>
Dragon> Nimoth senses that Kealath lifts his prize into the mind's eye by a questing talon. << Is this It? >> Yet there are obstacles, O the obstacles.
Dragon> Meriath bespoke Kealath with << No, you may not remove items from other dragon's couches or human's cots without their permission. >>
Kealath> Jalani frowns at Kealath. "You heard Meriath.
Kealath> Vesta dashes into the barracks, eyes a bit wild as she locates Kealath. Nimoth lumbers in after her, eyes whirling a shade of pale yellow, not knowing if he's going to be in trouble in the next few moments or not.
Z'vind tucks the end of his trailing towel into his makeshift towel, and glances wildly after Vesta. "But- but--" is it too late?
Dragon> Nimoth bespoke Kealath with << That's it, yes. Is it still empty? >>
"What is going on?" Serriena looks confused. She stares after Vesta with a sad look on her face. For it is a known fact the barracks are forbidden to visitors and she cannot follow where the excitement is lying.
Small in size and diminuitive in stature, Serriena stands
at 5'4" tall. Her complexion is a creamy light tan color from many swims in the
Southern continent beaches. Her slender body, shows signs of being very lovely but not
quite as well proportioned as girls near her age.
She has white-blond, slightly curly hair. She keeps it trimmed to shoulder-length, pulling it back in two combs with her bangs swept back, lightly curling on her forehead. The ends of her hair curl in soft tendrils about her face.
Serriena is a young lady with delicate features. Her dark, midnight blue eyes are framed by long dark lashes. Dark blond eyebrows arch over her eyes, accenting the depth of her gaze. High cheek bones, a small chin, and slightly uptilted nose only add character to her face. Her small peach lips are innocently sensual.
She is wearing a light blue and white, gingham tunic with a hood in the back. The tunic ends just above her waist. She wears tight white trousers that show off the slim curve of her calves. On her feet are white boots.
Her expression is one of serenity. There is also a bit of flirtatious humor held within the gaze of her blue eyes where none lurked before.
Serriena just glanced your way.
Going on, going on. Z'vind would like to know too. "Kealath!" he shouts this time. "--He's taking something he shouldn't," comes back over his shoulder as he, too, /runs/ for it.
She finally notes Z'vind's weird dress style. "What is he taking?" she calls after Z'vind.
Kealath> Kealath is by Nimoth's place, yes, and with the incriminating evidence tucked in the curve of a forepaw, yes. He's not about to relinguish it, though a plaintive look goes to Jalani. (Please?) From outside, a shout: "Kealath!"
Z'vind hasn't time for reply, for he's off, swift as the wind.
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.
Weyrlingmaster's Weyr Bowl
Jalani looks towards the door as Z'vind comes racing in. "Why hello there. How did I know that you might show up." She smiles, ever so charmingly to Z'vind. "Now, just what was your lifemate up to, and why was he disobeying a direct order from Meriath?"
Z'vind bolts in; trips in, towel nearly coming undone in the haste. Fingers jerking rapidly over black, he touches base with Kealath. A wide-eyed, arresting stare: for the brown 'ling, not the others. "I, uh--" not a promising beginning, surely. He clears his throat, spine stiffening. Up. "Kea tells me that he was doing it for Nimoth. A favour, sort of." A shake of the head, hard, at his lifemate.
Vesta looks up at Kealath and then pales, "My basket! What are you doing with my basket? Nimoth, what ARE you planning to do with my basket?"
Dragon> Nimoth senses that Kealath still has that space of his mind he reserves for this -- speech, plotting -- where the lava rapidly trickles down to a growing volcanic pool. << It is empty. >> He sounds disappointed, but likes the basket.
Jalani looks from Kealath to Nimoth and to the weyrlings. "So, suppose someone start talking?"
Kealath toys with the basket, as he would any delicate toy: tenderly. The majestic, large eye-jewels glisten on Z'vind, then, and he lowers it to its accustomed place.
Jalani frowns. "Is your lifemate in the habit of taking things that don't belong to him, Z'vind?"
Dragon> Meriath senses that Kealath has a trickle of softly horrified magma pooling in the cavernous caverns of his thoughts. << Does your rider not like this? >> And, like the caught school-boy, he adds: << I was only trying to help. >>
Dragon> Meriath bespoke Kealath with << You should never take something from another unless you ask first. >>
Z'vind could recount incidents -- but he refrains, muttering instead that "of course not, and I myself never knew of this. I mean, I was practising my lessons and couldn't know everything he was up to." He makes sense, right?
Jalani hmms and looks to Vesta. "Do you have any idea why he would want that basket?"
Dragon> Meriath senses that Kealath simmers the magma into a sinuous lava river that flows but gently. Yellow subsides to lavender. << But if Nimoth wanted it, and he is her lifemate-- >>
Vesta sighs, "Evidently, they were both curious, and Nimoth asked Kealath to come get the basket." She gives both dragons a hard stare, "And they were considering tasting it, if I'm not mistaken. Though what they'd want with an old wicker basket..."
Dragon> Kealath and Nimoth sense that Meriath firmly stands her ground. << You still do not have the right. It was not Nimoth's basket. It was his lifemates. Why did you want that basket, Nimoth? >>
Jalani shakes her head. "Please remind both dragons that they are -not- to touch any human's items or another dragon's items without their express permission."
Dragon> Kealath and Meriath sense that Nimoth rumbles sheepishly, << I was simply wondering what it was for. >>
Dragon> Meriath and Nimoth sense that Kealath was listening to the humans talk, so knows more than he warrants to. << I wanted to see the basket too. And they said 'food', I heard them. >>
Dragon> Kealath and Nimoth sense that Meriath mildly suggests. << That is what lifemate's are for. You can ask them what things are for. They have many strange things they use. If you are curious, just ask them. >>
Vesta nods and puts her hand on Nimoth's head, right between his headknobs, and looks right in his eyes, obviously conversing with the brown dragon, who is beginning to look sheepish...as sheepish as a dragon can look.
Z'vind heaves a long-suffering snort. "I know, Kealath. And I don't know if it was right or wrong, but we ought to--" Uh. "--we can't do everything we want to, I suppose." A reluctant admission, but one all the same. And did he do that aloud? Zar blinks. "He understands now." Kealath does, and rumbles, and moves away from the coveted spot. Aww shucks.
Jalani starts giggling. "Do you have any idea how silly a dragon looks when they are trying to be sneaky?"
Dragon> Meriath and Nimoth sense that Kealath mildly notes that his wasn't interested.
As difficult as it is, Z'vind cracks a smile. A wry one, curving between cheek and slightly stubbly chin. He checks that the towel is still in place, then nods. "Kealath's quite large for his colour," says he proudly, half-contrite.
Jalani smirks. "You might want to put some clothes on there, weyrling. There's a bit of a draft tonight."
Vesta nods at jalani, "Nimoth understands as well. From now on he'll ask, at least. I showed him the basket earlier, but I was a bit secretive about it, so he...well he hates not knowing EVERYTHING." Then she nods again, "Yes, I've noticed Nimoth trying to be sneaky too. That's the only reason I knew something was up."
Jalani grins. "Oh well, I think I saved a few cots from being overturned in the process."
Z'vind grins. "I can handle those. I was in too much of a hurry for clothes, you see." Which gives him the veneer of innocence? Adds he in a tone above growl. "And as for Kea, well, he's sharding too good at hiding things sometimes." A wink at the other brownling.
Vesta returns the wink and then gives Nimoth a scolding glance.
Jalani just shakes her head on her way out. "Weyrlings! Baskets!"
Jalani heads out beneath the arched exit to the bowl.
You say "No, he wouldn't overturn--" It's just then that a few weyrlings nearby are stirred up enough to scramble to their feet, to salute and throw various dirty looks over their shoulder at Zar. Jalani leaves too, so he's spared. "There, now you've got and done it again."
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