The following is a log of roleplay on Threadfall MUSH, logged by Zarvind.
All references to the world and characters of Pern based on Anne McCaffrey's fiction are copyrightę 1967 by Anne McCaffrey, all rights reserved. The Dragonriders of Pern« is registered U.S. Patent and Trademark Office, by Anne McCaffrey and used here with permission.
Cast: Belena, Crisa, Zarvind in Ista's bathing pools; Llilian, Ineban in the living caverns.
You head into the steamy cavern of the bathing pools.
Bathing Pools - Ista Weyr
Thick, misty tendrils of steam fill the room, coating the walls with a thin sheen of condensed steam in the form of tiny droplets. They hang there, stubborn and shiny, occasionally beading down to form tiny pools of water at the base of the walls. Clinging to everything, this steam has a tendency to dampen clothing and towels left here for too long, and has long-since invaded and imbedded the wooden benches left here beneath similarly sodden wooden shelves which almost always boast all the bathing necessities.
The pools themselves consist of four interconnected depressions in the stone centered over a small, natural spring which bubbles to keep them constantly refilled and fresh. Three smaller, chamber-pools surround a large, deep, central one which has a thin layer of roughly-granulated sand coating the bottom to keep bare feet from slipping on wet stone. Running and climbing are discouraged in this area, for safety's sake, though the occasional daring youth does manage to climb up to one of the numerous small ledges, to jump into one of the pools. A thin outlet delves back into the walls of the Weyr, letting soiled water seep out to be absorbed by the mountain to keep the water impossibly clean.
Belena is getting cleaned. She was covered in soot from cleaning the hearths. She is currently recieving a backrub from Crisa. Belena jumps as Crisa wakes her, "What? I...oh!" she giggles, "Sorry Cris, just felt so good...relaxing...sleepy..." she starts to drift again...
The first thing that you notice about Belena is her fire red hair, followed by her sparkling green eyes. Eyes that have a somewhat piercing quality when focused directly at you. She is quite beautiful, with high cheek bones, creamy skin and delicate pink lips. Her blazing locks are kept tied in a braid that falls to her mid-back. She wears a light sleeveless tunic of deep forest green, tied at the waist with a brown leather belt. Soft hide pants don her legs and she wears black ankle high boots on her little feet. She stands about 5'3" tall. Muscular but very curvy. Belena has a sweet smile and a devastating smirk which only illustrates her mischievous nature. She wears only one piece of jewelry, a golden ring on her right hand, it is a signet ring with the letter R' ornately carved into it. Belena is 16 Turns, 5 months, 6 days old.
Crisa ruffles Belena's hair again.. "Wake up silly wherry! I can't drag you out of there."
Even if this young woman is small of stature, she demands attention. Not by words or deeds, but by her simple look. Crisa's hair is a lustrious brown, as dark as the oldest of tree trunks and just as thick. It spirals down around her face framing it much like a picture. Her eyes are deep set green and angular, giving her a slightly exotic cast. A small button nose and full lips fill out the woman's features.
She's wearing a loose open blouse of flax, white in color. It is almost airy with the way it moves and just drapes on her. It is also nearly translucent. It holds her blossoming form well, her body curving with the swell of bosom. It is not tucked into the shortened skirt that she wears, which is a deepset blue. The skirt is of the same material but is of course, not translucent at all. It ends around her knees. The rest of her body is left bare and tan. Even her feet go without shoes for almost the entire Turn. Around her shoulder is the Knot of Ista Weyr.
Zarvind slips into the room and up to the pools--those smaller ones at the edge where he can watch people frolick. He strolls idly thence, fiddling with his tunic with those slender fingers. "--Hey," soft greeting, slurred.
Belena perks up, "Okay, okay..." she turns so that Crisa can't get her shoulders and back anymore, "Perhaps I should just scrub off now." She suddenly hears a voice and looks up, Zarvind! The firey red head groans, "Not again!" and dashes for her towel before any can snatch it and quickly covers her nakedness as fast as she can!
Crisa blinks a few times and nearly falls into the pool.. "Belenna!"
"Belena," Zar grins too, boyishly. Shedding the tunic, he steps off into the pool, lingering for just a moment above water, just enough to keep his modesty. "Nice to see you again." The commotion interests him, certainly, and he bobs the tousled head still above, towards the pair of girls.
A mop of black caps an awkward seeming demeanour, dripping askew over one ear in unpractised roguishness. His face is highly angular, sly curve of cheek almost childish in the peak of youthful delicacy. Grey eyes and clipped chin straggle casually together with the rest of this youth's sturdy but slightly lanky form, long legs claiming a striding gait as an obscure slur marks alto voice.
Unclothed, the angularity of his face is heightened by the knobbly arms and knees. His physique is rough, unshaped, uncallused; his round shoulders: compact, tanned rather than muscular, dulling to a light brown sheen at where nape meets neckline.
He looks to be about 14 Turns, 2 months, 8 days old.
Wet, sooty features stare back at Zarvind, "I've got to start learning to wear clothes when I bathe." she forces a giggle, knowing that her dash from the pool to the towel probably offered a bit more of a view than she would have liked...still, she is now covered. "Zarvind, uh, nice to see you too. How's life as a free man?" Now that she's no longer exposed, she's ready to tease.
Crisa sighs as she leans against the edge of the pool.. "Whew.."
Zarvind has a big grin on, for a change. "I'm doing well, thank you," he shoots for snobbishness, then adds, "though I wouldn't mind seeing you around more often like this." A wave of arm that includes chasing a spray around his pool. Brown shoulders hoist to above water level and under again as he dog-paddles. "Miss me already?"
Belena snorts, "I bet you would." She sighs, "Well, perhaps I /would/ miss you if I wasn't so busy. You know, candidate life, always doing chores." Belena moves to sit casually on one of the wooden benches. "What have you been up to lately?"
Crisa moves over to sit next to Belena. She whispers into her friends ear.
Crisa giggles and blushes deep red at something. "uh huh."
Belena grins conspiratorially at Crisa, green eyes dancing.
There's a bench between Zarvind and the others, which is good for them. "Pity," he comments. "Good that you have things to keep you busy now, just like you kept me busy back /then/." Tit for tat, he means. As the girl-talk goes on in the backdrop, he goes on with that lethargic pseudo-swimming that doesn't get him anywhere much. "Who's your friend there, Belena?"
Belena nudges Crisa, "She's the daughter of the pastry baker, you know, the one that makes all of those wonderful deserts? Her name is Crisa."
Crisa meeps gently and nods. "Yeah, that's me." She says, softly.
Zarvind squints beneath his tan, the light umber he's trying so hard to cultivate. "Ahhh, Crisa, of course. I remember you," he nods knowingly, kicking off away to lean on the convenient ledge that overhangs the pool. "I'm Zarvind." The one who does nothing and still gets paid. "I stay with Bil and Laira, those traders who ran off last sevenday."
The carveress smiles and nods her head. "Pleasure." Crisa turns back towards Belena..whispering
Belena turns in to Crisa and whispers back...
Crisa blinkblinks at Belena.. "ME!?" She meeps out.. "Why?"
Belena giggles, "You're so lovely my dear!" Her greens are dancing with delight. She turns back to Zarvind, "Ran off? Did they leave you?" Nice diversion...maybe.
Zarvind shifts into the crawl by stages: his palms go up, his head goes down and up again for a gulp of air, he moves along a slight distance. Up, for air; he speaks. "Oh--I didn't want to go with them. Trading's un-unprofitable, you know. I don't mind at all. Encouraged it, in fact."
Crisa blushes and stands.. "I um.. I have to go find some more wood."
"Won't you swim?" Zar tosses out for Crisa's benefit, a beat after she stands. He's loud, but might go unheard, its some distance away.
Belena hopes Crisa didn't miss that one in her rush to leave...
Crisa looks over at Belena and Zar. "I have to go.. sorry."
Belena sighs, "Okay, get out of here." playfully she swats at Crisa's bottom.
Crisa has disconnected.
Zarvind shrugs, and eyes the opposite end of the lip glumly, but that's normal for him.
Belena giggles at the girl as she scurries from the pools. Then to Zarvind, "I think she likes you."
Zarvind turns his lips on startlement for a fleeting moment before he says, through a falsified grin and swipe of jet hair. "Of course. What's there not to like about me?" Its rhetorical, definitely so. "Why did she go away so soon?"
Belena snorts a little at the comment, "Well, I think she was embarrassed. That girl has the worst case of shyness I've ever seen! But she sure seemed to think you were cute." Bel's green eyes sparkle at her friend, "She's simple though, so I wouldn't put much weight in it if I were you." She grins devilishly at Zar.
"Looked simple to me," Zarvind agrees ambivalently and shrugs one shoulder, again; flashes a grin back at her. "You aren't shy. You're a candidate too, and she isn't," he analyses briefly.
Belena quirks an eyebrow, "Oh no? What's that supposed to mean, anyway?" She tilts her pretty little red head.
You say "Nothing. Nothing at all." Zarvind evades. Its a logical train of thought that's leading to something, but he isn't asking. "Maybe that's the difference." A scowl; he aims for another shrug. "Forget it."
Belena's curiosity is piqued now, she isn't about to forget it. It's just not in her nature. "Zarvind, come on, tell me. I know you /want/ to explain what it is you're talking about." She moves a bit closer to the pool he is swimming in and sits on the edge, dipping her little feet in, towel still wrapped tight around her.
Zarvind glances at Belena. His grey eyes are bleak, warily hooded. He shades his forehead with one hand, the other creeps to the ledge's edge nearer her. "I don't know," he says. "I met someone once who was shy and /she/ didn't have any problems getting on in life. It isn't that, is it, that makes people move on, move along?"
Belena raises her brows a bit, "I didn't say that she had problems getting on in life. I just said that you're apparant 'cuteness' made her feel so shy she ran off...at least, I /think/ that's why she left."
Zarvind isn't referring to Crisa at all, now. "Don't know," he repeats, and plonks an arm into the water, just to watch the drops splatter at her. "Now that you're wet--join me?" a wink, as he unshades his eyes. "Its not cold at all now."
Belena stands, "Love too, except I'm not wearing anything under this towel," she grins, "Besides, I think Valin is probably wondering where I am. I told him I'd only be away for a few minutes while I wash the soot off."
Zarvind examines Belena with a critical eye. "Yeah--" he concedes. "Since you're clean," and he's not about to leave the comfortable water, "--and Valin is waiting for you, you can swim with me some other day." Its an assumption.
Belena gathers up her soot covered clothes, "Maybe, when I find the culpret who stole my bikini!" she sounds rather bitter at the loss of the suit. "Until then, I'm afraid I must swim with a female only crowd." She heads for the exit, "Goodnight, then, ex-servant Zarvind."
Belena goes home.
Belena settles into Belena's cot.
Belena has left.
Zarvind is dissatisfied with being left; he should be the one leaving. "Night, my evil Lady," calls he. Exit, into the water for a dive.
(Log pauses, till a bit later, when Z'vind has finished his bath.)
You follow the stairs upward to emerge in the living caverns.
Living Caverns - Ista Weyr
Vibrant environs enclosed by smooth stone walls, these caverns are the very heart of bustling Weyr life. The largest is massive and designed to house almost the entire population of the Weyr at once, with tables and benches arranged in perfectly neat rows that run almost the entire length of the half-circle cave. Tapestries are flung from the ceiling, draping down in bright hues of Istan black and orange as well as colorful scenes of past heroics detailing all the fiery glory of Pernese history. Hearths line the walls, at least one of which constantly burning with a pot of stew and a pitcher of klah set there to keep warm.
Tunnels branch off from these central caverns, leading deeper into various parts of the Weyr. To the east lie the infirmaries, both human and draconic, beyond a small wooden door to minimize the noise that will filter through. West are the kitchens and the storerooms from which emanate delectable smells at nearly all hours of the day or night, drudges bustling to and from with dishes and platters. Stairs lead down into the lower caverns while a man-sized tunnel cuts through the stone and back out to the bowl. Smaller tunnels diverge here and there as well.
Lower Caverns Stairs Kitchens Infirmary Bowl
Llilian seems to hae situated herself at the far end of the living caverns, a small pile of mending set to her left, hands busy as she works at a rend in what looks to be a man's tunic, a song hum breaking the silence that seems to have floated up around her.
Eyes, burnished grey, flecked with hints of silver, bound by thick bands of black around her irises. Wide-spaced, with a hint of almond shaping to the outsides, they're capped by dark arched brows, and long, full lashes, they're made engaging by the sutble play of emotions that dance so often within them. Her face is a bit more ordinary, high cheekbones accented by a light etching of colour, uptilted nose dusted by the faintest kiss of freckles, strong jawline, and full cupid's bow lips. Her skin is dusky, a deep, copper brown, with hints of bronze. Deep red hair, so dark it very nearly looks black, frames her face, caught up from a high widow's peak in a series of measured bands and secured with black leather ties from the back of her head, along the length of her hair, at three inch intervals, until the final one secures the end, which brushs the line just above her knees.
At best, her clothing could be called utilitarian. Simply cut shirt, in an offset shade of dark grey, with a high collar, and black leather ties, sleeves loose, falling to tight cuffs at her wrists. Long-boned hands reach out from beneath the cuffs of her shirt, the darkness of their skin marred by scars of white and pale creme, palms hard, and already calloused. It's a thing made for comfort, rather than display, as it makes no attempt to do anything save hint at the shape of the body beneath it. Pants of a matching, slightly darker grey cover her legs from beneath a heavy, wide leather belt. The material fits loosely, easily, the bottoms tucked into a pair of hard-soled, leather boots, the tops of which reach just below her knees. For adornment, she wears a travel-pouch on her right hip, a waterskin directly before it. A pair of supple, wher-hide gloves are tucked into the left side of her belt. At her right shoulder, a plain white knot has been affixed.
19 Turns, 8 months, 15 days
Its late, but when has Zarvind ever bothered about time -- he slinks in, clad in barely a towel, lank form swishing from table to table in the gloom where few glows touch. The sound of humming alerts him as he passes; appraisal follows, directed at Llilian. "...was hoping to find the place empty. What's that song?"
Llilian's eyes rise, even as her hands still on her mending, "Well, I won't apologize for being here, and the song's just something I heard down at southern during the harvest, Journeyman Corrigan sang it for us while we were working." barely a glance, is given to your clothing, after all, it is warm, and whatever you feel comfortable in, after all.
Ineban comes in through the narrow tunnel from the bowl.
Llilian sits mending and humming to herself, Zarvind somewhere among the tables.
Zarvind drawls in casual sarcasm, "Yeah, I was hoping for an apology." The lad wends his way to the hearths, as near the fire as he can get. "But don't worry about it." A glance backwards, before he extends his hands to the warmth, clothes still tucked at his armpit and towel straggling at waist.
Ineban pads on in, a little sandy around his shirt and the seat of his trous, but either oblivious or simply indifferent, he makes his way straight to one of the hearths.
Eyes of muted hazel look winsomely out from underneath a strong brow, deliberative and shy, framed at the edges by finely crinkled laugh lines. Their quality is almost golden, ever-rippling irises delineated by thin bands of pine, and when distant, as they so often seem to be, are overshadowed by a veil of silver fog. At 18 Turns, 10 months, 0 days of age, and a somewhat imposing height of six-foot-two, it's perhaps unusual that someone of his age and wide-shouldered size would have such an air of insecurity; his thin-lipped smile, even when broad underneath that straight nose of his, has a certain anxious flavor. To compound matters, he's dimpled, with a firm chin on a round face, and flaxen hair that grows thick and uncut atop a high forehead - a rarity in the Pernese. Even his eyebrows are blonde: a striking effect in contrast with his skin, bronzed by a lifetime's exposure to the harshness of Ista's sun.
At the moment, Ineban is sporting a shortsleeved tunic of cream with a laced collar frequently left untied; tucked into a pair of dark brown trous, the garment disappears mid-calf into two sturdy working boots of black. Pulled through a row of beltloops is a wherhide belt of midnight color, conveniently matching the boots, and from it hangs both a small pouch and a utility knife. On his right shoulder he dons the simple orange and black knot of a resident at Ista Weyr.
Llilian shrugs, at that, dismissing the boy, as she returns to her task. So late into the night, she's probably just hoping for a chance to finally make it to bed once her chores are finished. Quick eyes flick to Ineban as he enters, and she offers a nod, but again, nothing more.
Ineban is low-key himself, and accords Zarvind only the most fleeting of nods as he pulls up next to the boy. Quick eyes search for and locate the klah pitcher, and with a mug soon filled, he turns -- oh, there's Llilian (he nods to her as well) -- and settles into the nearest chair.
Zarvind is at the hearth, true, where he's wriggling his
fingers at the licks of flame. Sandals squeak with the shift of weight from one foot to
the other. Llilian is dismissing his presence, and that's fine with him--wouldn't do to be
caught without a chore to do, after all. He acknowledges Ineban with a grunt; a sideways
flick of dark hair from glow-lit eyes.
(Nary a pose after that, so I slipped back into reality.)
[ Previous ] [ Back to the Logs ] [ Next ]