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.
You wing your way down, dropping to a landing on the black sands of the Istan beach.
Main Beach - Ista Weyr(#44RJa$)
Hilly dunes slope down from the foot of the jungle, slow angles that soften as they greet the flat expanse of the black beach. Ebony sand stretches out in all directions, clinging to the coastline as the slow roll of incoming waves beat tirelessly against the shore. A few stubborn trees with great leafy fronds insist on growing here, providing meager shade that further darkens already richly dark sands. This breathtaking tableau, tucked against the wind-protected base of the Weyr, opens onto the sapphire sea, capped here and there with the white lace of curled breakers.
It's a handsome cove that the Weyr's beach is nestled within, long and curving to form a definite if somewhat broken crescent that slows the tumult of waves to a more pleasant lapping. Curled between to sandbars that reach black fingers out into the blue sea, there's a fair amount of room here for any manner of seaside activity: Napping, swimming, picnicking, and playing are all frequent and viable passtimes. Just to the northwest, the sandy path that creeps back up through the dunes to the clearing of the jungle is visible. Due west, beyond another layer of sand dunes, the beaches continue with less protection than this little inlet offers.
Ocean Jungle Path
It is currently late evening on day 25 of the 5th month of Turn 199 of the 10th Interval.
Taking a hold of umber straps, you launch yourself off supple crevices and slide down -- to the ground and whatever lurks beyond.
T'rrent comes over the dunes and down the path from the jungle clearing.
Kassandra comes over the dunes and down the path from the jungle clearing.
Kassandra trots along down the path in T'rrent's wake (surprise, surprise) and plops herself down on the sand in an inconspicuous place to watch the lecture a second time.
Jalani leans against Meriath, looking out across the ocean, idly picking apart a red flower. She quirks an eyebrow as Kassandra trots behind T'rrent. (no surprise).
Yes, yes.. Everyone get out your gossip pads, T'rrent and Kassandra have arrived together, and without escort. It's probably old news by now, anyway... The grin the Weyrleader held previously in his expression flattens out as he approaches the assembled riders. "Heyla, everyone. How are you all doing this evening?" Congenial, at least..
Jalani nods noncomittedly. "Fine weyrleader, just fine."
Z'vind swings himself down, boots plunged from one sandy inlet to another. His large lifemate settles in the darkness of the cove, comfortably wrapping his tail around a meagre tree. "Weyrleader, Kassandra, hello." And over there, "Assistant Weyrlingmaster" he greets Jalani. His brow rises to meet his hairline, and a grin joins the mix at the arriving pair.
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.
His outfit appears smart, for its a uniform: jet-dark shorts underneath a bright gold tunic that matches his Istan Weyrling's knot exactly. The tunic is untucked, it's shimmering threads loose over a non-existent belly; leather boots cap his feet, and a knot's loop intrudes upon his shoulder, tangling a single cord of earthy brown.
He is 14 Turns, 9 months, 4 days old.
D'kar is seated beside Marcath, his back to the dragon's midsection. He draws designs idly in the sand, until he becomes aware of the approach of the weyrleader. Using the flat of one hand, he wipes away the traces of his scribblings, and rises fluidly to stand respectfully for the man. His face is as much a void as ever.
Kealath> Darkest ribbons of plum-hued wine spill carelessly across the glittering expanse of an incandescent bronze hide, setting it alight with an almost tangible gaiety. Splashing with a pale crest of rusted crimson are wide wingsails, themselves dancing with a merry lacing of heedlessly intertwined hues ranging from the blatant luxury of flaxen to the understated softness of silver. Bright flickers of tawny illumination overtake the thick muscles of sturdy haunches, alive with a rich array of daring plumage in a thousand gradient hues of bronze to form an incomprehensible vortex of mingling shades - pleasurable torment to try to discern one be-ribboned costume from the next. Licks of that same sugar coated lavender hinting at heedlessly overturned, thickly luxurious red wine trickle along the sturdy expanse of his chest, watery fingers reaching across his belly to envelop the dusky bronze of a summertime sunset with an entrancingly gossamer veil of sweetened copper - carried over to the richer amethyst of verdant grapes that cluster close on the spade of his stolidly thick tail. Similar hues of purplish pigment cloister across his headknobs: Filigreed ribbons of fruit-laden vines that intertwine at the crown of his noble wedge, tinged faintly olive where they dapple along his eyeridges to complete the semblance of reveling shades that overtake his lustrous, mottled bronze form.
Marcath is approximately 0 Turns, 9 months, 20 days old, measuring 25.0 meters in length, with a wingspan of 37.5 meters.
[The leaders wonder about WLings not saluting. Hmm.]
J'nah comes over the dunes and down the path from the jungle clearing.
Kassandra salutes, actually. A nice crisp salute to Jalani. Assume she saluted T'rrent earlier...or somesuch. Anyway, she's well out of the way right now.
J'nah comes jogging down the path onto the beach and joins the other weyrlings, stopping to salute the Weyrleader and Weyrlingmasters.
Jalani coughs. "Weyrlings! Stand to order. I expect salutes from you all, who have not done so, and then drop and give me 10." She drawls. "Pushups in case you were wondering." She nods to J'nah. "Just cleared it."
Z'vind salutes too: automatically, mechanically. Kealath worked himself out of his smugness long enough to remind the weyrling of that neglected fact -- wonders of wonders indeed -- but late enough. Zar sends up a snort, but drops into the dim grains for his push-ups. Fast ones.
Jalani wanders up to Z'vind and casually says. "Slow ones please, I do enjoy seeing every muscle being used."
This, of course, brings a slight smile to the Weyrleader's expression. "Ah, good.. Maybe the sounds of their groans will drown out my old creaking bones." This remark is delivered to Jalani, of course, just before he issues forth a soft chuckle.
Jalani grins at T'rrent. "Ah, you are in fine form. I am sure of it."
Z'vind the great one is down on his knees doing push-ups; but let's not carry on the comparison any further, can we? He puts brakes on his pace, and completes the other five: a monotonous up and down, up and down.
D'kar doesn't say a word. He merely salutes now, and drops to start doing his pushups. He has nice form, having had plenty of practice.
Knees, Z'vind? Oh well. Kassandra, for her part, grins at Jalani's comment, and just stays well out of the way for now.
Jalani smiles sweetly. "Thank you gentleman. However, Z'vind, I except full pushups unless I say half pushups? Shall we try that again?"
[My extended metaphor added to a grammatical mistake caused the misinterpretation.]
D'kar freezes at the top of his last pushup, not getting to his feet, or even moving from that rigid pose, until he is told to do so. His eyes are kept squarely on the sand before his face.
T'rrent simply waits, patiently, for the torture - er, I mean pushups to end.
Nimoth drops down to a landing from the sky overhead.
Vesta dismounts Nimoth's back, sliding the last meter or so to the ground.
Jalani blinks, looking amazed, frankly, at D'kar. "Err, at ease there, weyrling."
Z'vind does it right this time, and even makes it look effortless. His tunic of the flashiest gold doesn't show much of perspiration anyway. The brown 'ling gets back to his feet, with a brief scowl. Humph.
Vesta dismounts Nimoth easily and begins removing the dragon's straps. As the last bit of hide peels from the brown hide, Nimoth immediately leaps for the waves. Vesta turns towards the Weyrling class and the leaders and salutes smartly, "Evening."
D'kar pulls his long legs into a grouch underneath himself, and pushes off, to stand. That done, he salutes once more. Not sarcasm, mind you; simply dotting the proverbial i or crossing the needed t.
Nimoth splashes into the water, leaving the beach behind for now.
T'rrent waits until they're all finished before he opens his mouth again. When he does finally speak up again, it's in his best, booming, leadership-type voice. "Alright... I assume you all know what this particular lesson is about... Though I would hope you'll never have to actually use what you learn this evening, every dragonrider should know how to defend themselves regardless. Now, I'm not here to teach you how to hurt people. Violence, in my opinion, never solves anything. With this in mind, we're going to forego learning how to use a beltknife for the time being, and focus more on the basics of defense without one." Pause. "Now, how many of you, here, have had experience with something like this in the past?"
Jalani forgoes the smart alec answer and simply waits for the weyrlings to respond.
Kassandra remains quiet, having already heard this lecture. She's here primarily for the extra emphasis of watching it again. Really.
D'kar loathes bringing attention to himself, but he must speak up to some extent. "Some, sir," he says, as succinctly as possible. That done, he simply works on being as invisible as possible.
Z'vind was always the tackled, never the tackler, but he's not about to say that. He utters, well, little of use, offering a shrug for reply. "I've done some slugging in the past. Not--much."
Vesta goes over to settle next to Kass, dropping into the sand with a sigh. She tilts her head towards the Weyrleader and Assistant Weyrlingmaster to listen. Nimoth, meanwhile, frolicks happily in the waves.
J'nah shakes his head, "Just some quarrels as a youngster, nothing more."
Oh, then he'll just love this... T'rrent nods to D'kar at
his quick, precise answer, motioning to the sand directly at his side. "Come up here,
then, if you would, Weyrling." And as the request is filled, he adds in the
following. "In your own experience, Weyrling, what is the most important advantage
one can have in a fight?" He alters his stance in the mean time, planting his feet
shoulder width apart, standing up nice and straight. Prim and proper, or something.
T'rrent asked that of D'kar, by the way.. Heh. Oops.
Kassandra grins, and looks over at Vesta. She doesn't say a word; her arched eyebrow says it all for her.
Vesta rubs her shoulder and shakes her head wryly. Kassandra gets a wry grin.
D'kar moves to the spot so indicated by the weyrleader, and when he comes to a halt, looks to the man. "Leverage, sir," he intones simply, glancing over to Marcath and then arching a brow at the sound the dragon makes, which seems to be quite like a chuckle.
Jalani leans against Meriath, idly buffing her nails. She quirks an eyebrow, remembering something and reaches in a side pouch, bring a package out marked. First Aid. She sets it on the sand in front of her.
Dragon> Kealath bespoke you with << I was just looked at by D'kar. >>
[Trouble with Kealath's size-- Agent gets to it. RP pauses.]
Z'vind mutters: "Size," quietly, shoulders bunching, arms crossing broodingly. It's true for Zar, once.
Vesta glances over at Jalani and grins, actually winking at the assistant Weyrlingmaster. Hmm...is that allowed? Then back to T'rrent and Dak her full attention, "Hope you fair better than I did, Dak," she calls softly.
Jalani purses her lips, staring at Vesta pointedly. "Pay attention weyrling."
T'rrent listens to D'kar's response, and then to the muttered replies of some of the other Weyrlings, considering each before he deigns to speak again. "Leverage is certainly a good thing, yes, especially if you mean to drop your opponent to the ground. Leverage goes hand in hand with balance, actually - the two are very closely related. A very well thought-out answer, D'kar." And he offers the lad a smile, before turning back to the rest of the Weyrlings again. "Most people, when asked that question, typically respond with 'size' or 'strength'. Again, they're very nice things to have in a fight, but they're not necessary. I've seen a scrawny little 13 Turn old take on a man nearly twice his size and win once, based simply on speed and cunning...and I'd like to demonstrate this for you all right now." Pause, and he turns to D'kar again. "I'd like you to shove me over, if you would."
Kassandra is paying attention. She's just watching.
Vesta bites her lips and sobers, paying lots of attention.
D'kar leans over and tries to shove the weyrleader over. But unfortunately, the other man is expectign this, and is braced rather well for it, and D'kar's effort comes to naught.
Z'vind eyes D'kar's move, tilting his head to one side. All the better to look on the attempt.
Indeed, the Weyrleader's feet are planted firmly against the ground as if he's braced for an impact, and he moves nary an inch. He nods to D'kar at his attempt, though, before going back into a more casual stance. "With your feet planted properly, you can keep your balance no matter what hits you, pretty much. It is imperative that you keep your balance at all times during a fight. Otherwise..." And he glances to D'kar again, nodding once more as an indication to try again. "...even the largest, strongest opponent will be knocked flat on the ground."
D'kar does as he is commanded, pushing the weyrleader. There is a flip side to every coin, and while he manages to uproot the man--who has made it so that he can do so, to illustrate a point--so then does he overcompensate, not realizing what it is that T'rrent has done. And seeing as how he has been growing like a weed all through weyrlinghood, and is only now getting back into knowing how to control his body as well as he once did, he follows, landing on the weyrleader in a heap.
Kassandra winces. Ow. That's gonna leave a mark.
Vesta covers her mouth to hide...a smirk? a grimace? a wince? She closes her eyes for a moment and then opens them to peer over at the pile of Weyrleader/Weyrling.
Z'vind's grey eyes acquire a certain glitter just then, and he approaches in a step, fist grounding into palm. He stays, watching, learning.
Jalani rolls her eyes but quickly schools her face. She idly comments. "Watch that technique folks."
T'rrent, as he'd expected, topples to the ground like a wet sack of tubers. He hadn't really expected the bronze 'ling to follow suit, though, so he hasn't the time to move or attempt to soften the young man's fall (with his own tremendous, pillow-like bronzerider ego!) as it happens. He does his best to catch him, though, in an effort to stave off serious injury. Laughing softly, he asks, "You alright, Weyrling? Guess we proved the point a little too well, hmm?" Grin.
"My apologies, weyrleader," says D'kar, chagrined at his clumsiness. He is not used to this; he is used to being an athletic person well in control of his body. The spurt of growth which is bringing to a close his teenage years has been meddlign with that quite nicely. Father would be proud. He rolls forward to his feet, and then offers a hand to the other man. He is too embarassed to say anything else, however, so he just settles on feeling foolish.
Z'vind chuckles, a soft, hollow sound that ne'er extends beyond his vicinity. Interesting move there, if flawed, but he keeps criticism to himself, concentrating instead on what's going on. Namely D'kar and T'rrent, naturally.
Vesta glances over at Kassandra, uncovering her mouth to reveal...nothing. Her expression is completely bland at the moment. But she doesn't look away from the scene before them long. Nimoth, who is skimming the waves awing, banks and turns, trailing a brown wing in the waters just off the beach.
T'rrent lets out another soft chuckle, shaking his head a bit. "Nothing to apologize for. It proved the point quite nicely, actually." With the young man's help, he gets to his feet again. "As you can see, it is, indeed, incredibly important to keep your balance at all times." He pats D'kar on the shoulder, nodding back toward the rest of the assembled young people. "You may return to your fellows, Weyrling," he says to the bronze 'ling before adressing everyone again. "But even speed and balance cannot help you sometimes. How many of you here have ever been in a beltknife fight? A serious one.."
J'nah watches the pair topple and grins, pondering who that could have been avoided.
Jalani has disconnected.
D'kar returns to stand beside Z'vind, hands finding the small of his back and locking just so, as he returns a pale gaze to the weyrleader as the man delivers his lecture. He says nothing now, apparently never having been lucky enough to have been in a serious beltknife fight.
Kassandra's previously pleasant expression sobers abruptly. The mere mention of beltknife fights seems to do that to her.
Z'vind shakes his head, wordless. "Not I," he admits, "but knives can cause serious damage to a person." He glances to J'nah, as the next down the line, then to D'kar. Face scrunches into a faithless doubtfulness.
Jalani has connected.
Vesta sighs, "Aye. They can do quite a bit of damage." She wrinkles her nose, shuddering lightly at some image only she is privy too.
T'rrent, too, clasps his hands behind his back again as he awaits responces from the remainder of the Weyrlings. "Actually," he comments with a slight smile, "I'm relieved to see that none of you have. I, myself, have only witnessed a couple, and only participated in one..and you're right, Z'vind. Beltknives can cause serious damage to a person. In my case, I was lucky in that I was armed at the time, as well. This isn't always the case, though. What would you do," he asks of all those gathered, "if someone, armed with a beltknife, attacked you whilst you were unarmed?"
"You run," says D'kar, his odd, subdued sense of humor quite a dry thing. He likely speaks that little...joke? For the benefit of Marcath, whos eems to find it quite the funniest thing he has heard in awhile.
Run away, don't come back again another day? Z'vind looks to the others for the second time this day, shoulders rounding a little. Hand, knuckles crunched into tenseness, tightens. And he wouldn't joke-- but snicker he does, droll. "Not if our lifemates were nearby."
Vesta grins at both Dak and Z'vind, eyes twinkling.
"Precisely!" shouts the Weyrleader upon hearing D'kar's reply, a bright smile alight on his face once more. "You run. You run like you've never run before. You either run somewhere nice and crowded, where there are plenty of people around to hold the combattant back, or you run somewhere secluded and open," and he shoots a grin at Z'vind, "where your lifemate can land. It's like I told your fellows yesterday: someone is much less likely to attack you if there's a huge, winged, clawed beast at your side." Pause. "Now, I'm not saying to be a coward. I'm not telling you you should run from every battle you face..just that if the odds aren't even, then it's not worth the risk. Now, there are some times when it isn't possible to get away, or to call your lifemate, so the last thing we'll do this evening is learn how to disarm someone. I'll need two volunteers - a male and a female."
Kassandra blinks, eyebrows wrinkling together at T'rrent's last line. "Did he do that last time, Vesta?" she asks curiously.
Jalani nods firmly. "We don't want dead heroes who died in sake of their honour."
D'kar does not volunteer this time. He has been in the center stage enough this day, and he understands the value of moderation. If he catches T'rren'ts eye, he nods over to Z'vind, a not so subtle hint that perhaps the man would like to be 'volunteered'.
Vesta shakes her head, "Nope...didn't do that." She grins, "Wanna volunteer, Kass, or shall I?"
T'rrent nods at Jalani's words. "Exactly. I'd rather you all used your heads in an aggressive situation. Fight intelligently, if at all."
"I'll do it," says Z'vind, bravely, not meeting Dak's eye. "So long as I don't get to be stabbed." He's the best one there, you see.
Kassandra looks over at Vesta, slightly dubiously. "I dunno. I'll do it, but only if they both promise not to hurt me." She stands up, grinning down at her friend.
Vesta chuckles, "If they do, I'll come and revenge you."
T'rrent smirks as he catches D'kar's glance and nod, returning the gesture with a nod of his own. Ah, but the young man volunteers on his own, and the Weyrleader motions him up to the front. "And...you," and he points to Kassandra with a grin. "No one's going to get hurt, hopefully - not if you both pay close attention, anyway." He motions for her to come up front as well, scrounging around for a properly sized stick in the mean time. "Z'vind, here, is going to be our attacker, and Kassandra is going to be the unarmed defender." He picks up a stick, and holds it out to Z'vind. "Here's your trusty weapon." Grin. Wink. "Now go ahead an attack her whenever she's ready, but go slowly - I don't want anyone getting hurt. Kassandra, you stand here," and he points to a spot a couple of feet in front of Z'vind, "and catch his wrist when he attacks, ok? Then I want both of you to stop, and I'll explain what to do next."
Jalani has disconnected.
Kassandra remembers this much, actually. She walks over and stands in said spot, setting her feet. "Ready," she says, after a moment.
Z'vind winks too -- at Kassandra, boyishly, cheerfully. He takes the stick from T'rrent's grasp, and nods at her, then lunges, wielding the stick in a wide arc from the side that wouldn't be too effective were she a real defender. But then, Z'vind wouldn't make much of a fighter either. "Ready!" he confirms, even, and swings--
--and Kassandra catches his wrist, exactly like T'rrent said to do. And then she stops, and looks over at T'rrent. "What now?"
"Ok, stop!" directs the Weyrleader, "And keep hold of that wrist, Kassandra... Perfect. Alright.. Well, since most people can only fight effectively with one hand, you've pretty much got your attacker at your mercy. There are any number of things you can do to make him drop that weapon. Wrench his arm behind his back, smack his forearm into your knee, kick him in the stomach," or worse. "Any one of those would work just fine.. They aren't terribly impressive looking, though." And here's where the Weyrleader adopts a grin once more. "Ok, Kassandra, still holding on to that wrist, step forward off to his right - your left - and hold his wrist behind his back..." He'll wait for that part to be completed, before he continues.
Kassandra can probably think of a number of 'worse' things to do to incapacitate a male...but that's neither here nor there. Instead, she steps off to her left as directed, winding Z'vind's arm behind his back. "Okay."
Z'vind would agree that those aren't terribly impressive. This brief indignity he will suffer, though, for the lesson's sake. The hand flexes spasmodically, but he relaxes and allows the motion. "Hrm. What then?"
"Alright," says T'rrent as the actions are carried out. "Now pull his wrist away from his behind, hook your arm under his - still holding on to that wrist - and sorta..bury your elbow in his spine. In a real fight, you'd want to do this as fast as possible, but for now try to keep it slow so as not to hurt him." As this is done, he explains further. "Now, not only do you have his wrist, but you've got his arm held behind his back, braced by your elbow. There's not really all that much he can do to get out of it, short of twisting around, and possibly dislocating his shoulder." He turns to Kassandra again, and smiles. "Well, he's a little on the helpless side, but he's still holding on to that knife. Kick his feet out from under him." This is why we're on the beach - sand doesn't hurt all that much.
T'rrent adds, "And be careful."
If Zar only knew -- he smiles, all amiable, jerking a wink at the defending Kassandra. "Go on, as hard as you like." The 'knife' dangles from his wrist, haplessly, but not a muscle is moved.
Kassandra's expression becomes a strange combination of puzzlement and mischeviousness. "Okay, if you're sure about that..." And kick she does, though out of niceness she doesn't kick nearly as hard as she could. Seeing as how she's in boots right now--that could Hurt.
Did T'rrent's admonition of 'be careful' not forestall any of th-- "Oof" the weyrling grunts. Grunts only; holds back from flinching, successfully. That does hurt some, and it's by force of will that Z'vind manages to fall, and fall neatly, rear landing on the ground. "--Hey," he starts, and stops again.
Vesta watches the demonstration with wide, interested eyes. She smiles softly as Z'vind gives Kassandra carte blanche and then winces as he hits the ground.
There. T'rrent's lips quirk into a grin again and he nods at Kassandra's and Z'vind's 'reinactment'. "There you go... Now once you've got them on the ground - and trust me, if they've taken a fall like that on the hard ground, there ain't no way they're going to be still holding on to that knife - kick the thing away. Far, far away from them." He takes a look around, then, noting the time, and clears his throat softly. "Alright, that's it for tonight. Unless Jalani has something further for you, you're all dismissed."
[Lani's gone. Storm.]
So...assume she doesn't. There. "You're all dismissed," says the Weyrleader, after no one tells him otherwise. "We'll be going over more of this kind of thing as the days progress, but, as usual, if you'd like to learn more than what I normally teach, feel free to ask in private."
Z'vind lifts his head; nods. Even grins falsely as he finds his feet from under him. "Good one," he tells Kassandra. The stick's surely gone -- far -- and he rubs at a bicep. "I'll remember that move, Weyrleader, thank you," he then raises his voice to say, raises a salute with the other arm.
Vesta nods at T'rrent and salutes him again before hopping up and going over to watch Nimoth swoop over the waves.
Kassandra grins, a little bit ruefully, at Z'vind. "Thanks...I didn't hurt you, did I?" she asks, before grinning and saluting to T'rrent. "Thanks, Weyrleader," she says cheerily.
J'nah gives the Weyrleader and the Weyrlingmasters a salute and a nod, then turns and walks back up the path.
J'nah follows the path up toward the jungle, disappearing over the brough of a sand dune.
D'kar steps up to Marcath's bent foreleg as the Bronze crouches low with a gently whirling eyes. D'kar swings up easily and settles between two neckridges.
Marcath launches himself into the sky with a spray of fine black sand to mark his passage.
T'rrent offers a further smile and nod to Kassandra. "My pleasure, Weyrling." He stays all stiff-like as the gathering slowly dwindles down, nodding to each as they leave. He has to look respectable whenever he can, right?
Vesta has disconnected.
Z'vind rubs at the skin of his cheek, and grins on that same note at Kassandra. "Not hurt, not the slightest bit," he informs. "Hmm, see you later," says he to the dwindling gathering as he picks his way back to Kealath, the brown crooning glad greeting. "We've got our own Weyr now, Kea! -- Remember that?"
Kassandra chuckles softly at Kealath's excitement. "Good. I'm glad," she says to her fellow weyrling, before looking up at T'rrent with a grin.
Z'vind is young, after all, and so is Kealath. Slinging a jacket on roughly over one shoulder, lad and dragon stroke for the skies. Maybe an eye would linger on the pair once they get above, but he's polite in these things. Away!
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, 9 months, 20 days, measuring 23.7 metres in length, with a wingspan of 35.55 metres.
[The proper desc! For once and all, for posterity.]
On, over, all aboard! You approach Kealath, the brown offering a descending foreleg for an extra step up, then drop into your customary cave on the broad neck.
** And T'rrent still just stands there, hands clasped behind his back, as the Weyrlings all depart. He sees Kassandra's grin, putting up one of his own for ante, and raising her a quirked eyebrow. "Something on your mind, Weyrling?"
** Kealath swings all 23 proud metres of him into the air, huge wings unfurling with a /snap/ and lofting both of them upwards.
You spring aloft, finding the currents to carry you into the sky.
Northern Sky - Ista Weyr
Weyrs Upper Sky Southern Sky Down
** Kealath bugles courteously to Marcath -- clutchbrother, indeed -- before the thermal and his weyrling's impatient call drives him on. Onward.
You follow a breezy thermal to the southern sky.
Southern Sky - Ista Weyr
The view - in a word - is breathtaking. All of Ista Weyr stretches out beneath you, her stony environs speckled by greenery within and the jungles that surround her. Stony fingers protrude toward the sky, their jagged, sharp outlines casting crooked shadows on the floor of the bowl. The small, green oasis that surrounds the waterfall pool is easily visible from this height, the greenery melting into the meadow of the feeding grounds. Tiny, herdbeast figurines mill about there, their shapes only slightly larger and more discernible at this height than the small silhouettes of people.
Ledges dot the walls, their shadowed interiors occasionally illuminated by hearths or glows lighted within. The bowl is directly beneath with the living caverns in the southernmost wall and the waterfall in the northermost. The Hatching Grounds and Weyrling Barracks are accessible to the east, while ground Weyrs and feeding grounds located along the western walls.
Weyrs Star Stones Hatching Grounds Upper Sky Northern Sky Down
Z'vind's and Kealath's Weyr
Spacious if not exorbitantly so, the stone environs of this weyr are relatively clean. Some remnants of residents past remain, however, in the way of a stray rug or an old pillow. Otherwise, the weyr is mostly empty with a cot in one corner and a chest of drawers in another. A stone couch has been hollowed into the floor and the ledge reaches out over the bowl, scratched by the talons of countless landings.
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