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.

You follow the stairs upward to emerge in the living caverns.

Living Caverns - Ista Weyr(#94RJa$)
    Vibrant environs enclosed by smooth stone walls, these caverns are the very heart of bustling Weyr life. The largest is massive and designed to house almost the entire population of the Weyr at once, with tables and benches arranged in perfectly neat rows that run almost the entire length of the half-circle cave. Tapestries are flung from the ceiling, draping down in bright hues of Istan black and orange as well as colorful scenes of past heroics detailing all the fiery glory of Pernese history. Hearths line the walls, at least one of which constantly burning with a pot of stew and a pitcher of klah set there to keep warm.
    Tunnels branch off from these central caverns, leading deeper into various parts of the Weyr. To the east lie the infirmaries, both human and draconic, beyond a small wooden door to minimize the noise that will filter through. West are the kitchens and the storerooms from which emanate delectable smells at nearly all hours of the day or night, drudges bustling to and from with dishes and platters. Stairs lead down into the lower caverns while a man-sized tunnel cuts through the stone and back out to the bowl. Smaller tunnels diverge here and there as well.
Auntie Iza
Dragonpoker Table
Obvious exits:
Lower Caverns Stairs     Kitchens      Infirmary     Bowl

--** Local Weather Conditions **--

Misty pinpricks of moisture far too small to be termed as rain, drift endlessly downward, drenching the earth in their chilled embrace. Clouds have descended from the heavens, and banks of sparkling fog drape over the land beneath the flat plane of a slate-grey sky. Shot through with paler spirals of lighter vein, it keeps a drab and unforgiving watch over the island. There isn't a breeze to move the eery mists away, and they lazily lift up ghostly tendrils in every which direction. Vision is obscured to the point that one side of the spreading bowl cannot be glimpsed from the other.

It is currently late at night on day 1 of the 12th month of Turn 198. 10th Interval.

Coming to a decision Serriena says, "Maybe it should be an eye for an eyeball, tooth for a toothball type situation. If found, the culprits who locked us out should be made to sit here as we are."

The first words to describe Serriena would be "sweet and cute." Diminuitive in size and stature, she is only 5'4" tall and not very buxomy as some of the girls her age. Her skin is a light tan color from swimming in the ocean of Southern Continent. She has white blond hair that she keeps pulled up in a ponytail. She has bangs falling across her forehead and some wisps of hair escape from her ponytail to curl about her temples. She has a heartshaped face, with a small nose, high cheekbones and a small chin. Her deep blue eyes sparkle with intelligence, friendliness, and curiosity. Her eyes are framed by long dark lashes and dark blond eyebrows arch delicately above them. Her mouth is small and a bit pert, tinted pink by nature. Serriena wears a deep blue tunic that brings out the blue of her eyes. She wears white trousers with her brown boots laced up to her calves. Around her neck, as always, she has one simple leather thread, knotted in a circle.
Buff Hide
Tan Hide
Cream Hide
Blue Bag

Ineban is being good, I swear. He's just sitting here drinking his klah, quietly waiting for an answer from Belena. Just..just, it's his restday, okay?

        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, 11 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 a primarily orange and black knot with a strand of white pulled through; the mark of an Ista Weyr candidate.

You'd almost think Zarvind was involved, if he weren't here. But he does put up an appearance -- and the news hasn't filtered down to the sleepy candidate barracks as yet. "Hello there," comes his amiable greeting as he tromps by the group of fellow candidates and riders alike, heading towards the corner where sit another trio.

A mop of black caps an awkward seeming demeanour, dripping askew over one ear in unpractised roguishness. His face is highly angular, sly curve of cheek almost childish in the peak of youthful delicacy. Grey eyes and clipped chin straggle casually together with the rest of this youth's sturdy but slightly lanky form, long legs claiming a striding gait as an obscure slur marks alto voice.
A spare pair of sandals fits loosely over Zar's feet, chapped flesh evident on the exposed toes. Otherwise, his clothes are ordinary, Weyr issue, brown tunic clapped over mid-length middling umber trous reaching to calf level. Crinkled, his outfit at least appears clean, without frills, but his knot surpasses his clothes in its mundanity: a single white knot identifies him as an Istan Candidate.
He is 14 Turns, 3 months, 8 days old.

Vesta blinks at Serriena and looks down. The towel is beginning to dry and stiffen about her long torso. It will almost stay up without her hand holding it, but she isn't about to let go. She can't help but smile at the thought of the gigglers having to sit out here in a towel, but she frowns, "They've probably come out to see what happened to us by now." That causes her to swing her glance about the cavern suspiciously.

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 16 turns of age.
She wears a dark blue halter top bodice that is cut off at above the bellybutton that shows off her even tan and matches the color of her eyes. Her thighs are clad in red shorts that 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 and wind about her calfs, ending in a tasseled bow at the knee. Her exposed toes have bright pink toenails, and her only other adornment she wears is a jade bracelet carved with leaping shipfish. Her hands with their impossibly long fingers are rough and calloused from a life climbing rigging on ships asea, but the nails are painted the same bright pink as her toenails. She wears the knot of an Istan candidate.

Belena raises her brows at the dark look from Kheri. She moves to sit near Ineban and, speaking low, "Someone locked them out of the Barracks like /that/." Clearly she is talking about their 'naked but for a towel' state. "I think they're trying to come up with a punishment for the culprets...either that or Vesta and Serri are naming thier own punishment for running around in towels. I'm not really sure..."

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, 6 months, 5 days old.

Ineban double blinks, swiveling to pin a look on the unfortunate candidates. "Oh my." -- "Well," he decides after a moment's thought, fixing a wry smile on Belena. "It could be worse." How? He doesn't say just yet.

Eye for an Eye? Now that catches the greenrider's attention. "Guys you say they are, right?" Kheri inquires for clarification, a hint of a grin tugging at her lips. "Now to put them in a towel as large as yours wouldn't be fair at all. And sit in here to eat?" She shakes her head, "Nah, they should serve people, shouldn't they?" Oh yes.. an interesting punishment that this greenrider is clearly going to enjoy dealing out.

        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. Light pink lips retain an ever present pout, even when stretched in the friendliest of smiles.
        Kheri's tall, well-muscled form--portraying turns of strenuous work yet still soft enough not to overshadow womanly curves, now marked by the small swell in her stomach--is clothed in a tunic of long, airy sleeves rolled up to reach just below her elbows and the front dips down in a deep-scope neckline. Dark mahogany trous - held up naught by a leather belt, as it usually might be, but by the thickening of her waist - conceal her legs down to the cushiony sandles she wears on her feet.

Zarvind begins conferring with the small group of lads immediately on reaching them, combined with a few gestures to the main huddle and a furtive laugh from one of the young candidate-boys. Zar doesn't ask what's going on, but his grey eyes glimmer with clear interest as he eavesdrops-- no, happens to catch a few words of the ongoing discussion.

Goldean is here yep the fallen boy is up and following fellow females around, ooh she's pretty, nope that one, ahh but that one has hips, choices choices choices

Goldean stands tall with a set of wide shoulders and broad chest. His head sits on his shoulders balanced on a wide neck. He has a set of cyan eyes, light and clear, which sparkle with the even nearest glint of light. He has golden hair that shine in healthieness. A few streaks of a blondish white streak through bleached from the sun. His hair is straight and parts into the middle of it. Goldean's skin is a deep tan, which has soaked in many years of Ista's warm sun. He is strong and has power in his arms and legs. His weight evens out as his height reaches just a bit above the average height. Goldean is 16 Turns, 8 months, 14 days old.

Vesta hmms softly at the rider's words and just nods, "I suppose that would be fitting punishment." She seems to be making a mental note of some kind. More than likely it is NOT to get into trouble that would require a punishment.

Ineban catches movement in his peripheral vision and abruptly whirls, snapping his head 'round. "You know, Goldean, you're going to make it look like *you're* the culprit, and I doubt you want the wrath of angry females falling on your head. I guarantee you none of us other guys will back you up."

Dakar comes up the flight of stairs from the inner caverns.

Goldean shrugs and he shakes his head, "I didn't do anything." He just looks blank not even sure what he didn't do, but hey it wasn't his fault
"Tell *them* that," Ineban replies lightly, lifting his mug in something like a toast to Goldean's funeral. Oh, and there's Dakar, and he waves him over.

Serriena bites her lip and simply looks around nervously and shamefaced. She colors a bit more at ever spectator there. "It would only be fitting," she says.

Zarvind makes the mistake of breaking out with a tenor chuckle of his own, which a stocky companion of his hisses at: they're not about to be noticed, nor to be as conspicuous as poor blank Goldean is. However, as a closer look at the situation seems possible, Zar files over to join the other candidates. Just another slow night at the Weyr.

Dakar scratches at his rugged jaw as he enters the cavern, carrying--for once--nothing with him. His pale, blue eyes note everyone present, Ineban snaring his attention first and eliciting a friendly smile. The two have grown close over the past months, being males of nearly the same age, both with adventurous streaks. He heads over to the young man, standing there and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Mucking duty is...somethign you'll remember for a long time, isn't it?" He looks to note that Cymber is here now, and for once, his expression isn't bloody murder, but somethign softer.

He is dressed in a simple tunic of white cotton, under which he wears pants of pale brown leather, which accentuate his long legs.Hawkish is the best way to describe his face. Dominated by an angular nose and two domineering eyes of pale blue, this young man gives the impression of age, though he is obly now nearing his eighteenth turn.

His hair is as black as ebony, cut short and combed to one side. No adornment does he wear save the white knot of candidacy, which hangs just off one shoulder.

Goldean looks around he didn't do anything, he's the idiot person who falls on floors, "Why would you think I'd do something like that?" He asks toward Ineban, "I mean a prank from me would a least be more civilized."

Belena, who is sitting with Ineban, nods a greeting to Dakar and follows his eyes to Cymber and for the first time she notices the candidates knot! "Cymber!" she gasps, and then quickly covers her loud mouth.

Dakar's comment spurs a chuckle in Ineban, and the lad lifts his mug once again. "Indeed it is. I had it about a sevenday ago. There were a couple'a guys in your chore group who thought to laugh at me then; you know who I'm talking about. The little ones. Ural and Piran, right? Twits." The fingers of his right hand rearrange to point and jab at Dakar's chest. "If you see them, point out to them that *I've* got the rest day and *they've* got the cr.." A pause, a look to Kheri. "..muck." Goldean recieves only a look of mild disbelief.

Dakar has caught glimpse of Cymber and Kass out in the bowl, and he leans over, squinting to make sure, before he nods to himself. "I'll be back later," he intones to his friend, before moving off...

Dakar disappears through the narrow tunnel to the bowl.

Well, now that that has been confirmed.. oh no, wait. Ineban's little conversation with Goldeanis picked up by Kheri and she all but butts in, "He didn't do it." And thats all there is to it. "So.. Shall I be on my way, Vesta, Serriena?" Dakar's hasty depature is watched for a moment, but not commented on.

Goldean looks toward the pair from his childish stance he's seems to be of young age yet he isn't pout. Another look toward Ineban, "See she doesn't think so." He sighs as he goes back to sipping some juice, yummy!

Ineban hmms and nods, waving Dakar off. "Yeah, sure. -- Oh." That latter bit was directed at none other than Kheri herself, so he makes to humor her with an odd sitting bow. "You'd know better than I, of course." Uh huh.

Belena goes home.
Belena has left.

Vesta umms softly, "Could we please go and change into something a little more...well, just something more?" The meatroll she was nibbling is gone, and the mug of juice is empty. She is definitely interested in getting into something more comfortable and a long rest. Her eyelids are beginning to droop a bit, and everytime they drop a bit, so does the towel. She recovers quickly and looks askance at Kheri.

Ineban grins impishly at Vesta. "Like I said, it could always be worse." He pauses dramatically. "It could always be cold in here." He leaves the implications of *that* up for grabs and hides his face in his klah mug.

Kheri waves a hand dimissively at Ineban. "I've no time to deal with, alright?" Apparently, she caught up on a bit of sarcasim in his voice. "Go to the resident dorms for now, alright? I want to take care of them first." Smiling softly, she waves Vesta off. "Someone'll let you borrow some clothes for now."

Zarvind drops in as he sidles up, hands couched carelessly in his pockets, "you know the culprits aren't likely to confess to this." He glances at Vesta, Serriana. Considerate he isn't, but snide comments aren't beyond him: hence the agreements. "Yeah, its late to be wearing those."

"I should like to change as well," Serriena says softly, "I am not tired however." In fact she looks wide awake. When Kheri gives her directive Serriena nods and stands up trying to keep the now dry towel from falling off of her.

Vesta grins happily as she is permissed to go find clothes and hops up, rearranging the now dry towel, "Yes m'am." She gives Zarvind a *look* as she moves off.

Ineban blushes a little at Kheri, but manages to shrug it off rather quickly. And then his expression contorts to something like, "Foo, I'm out of klah," which becomes evident as he flips the mug upside-down, watching a few drops dribble out onto the table. With a sniff and a rub of his nose, he stands to get a refill.

Vesta heads down the stairs, deeper into the Weyr.

Moving faster than she's ever moved before, Serriena hurries from the living cavern only giving mere glimpse of a well formed cal calf before disappearing behind Vesta.

Serriena heads down the stairs, deeper into the Weyr.

Zarvind looks, too, after those tantalising glances offered by the escaping girls.

Zarelle has connected.

Jonah comes up the flight of stairs from the inner caverns.

Zarelle disappears through the narrow tunnel to the bowl.

Ineban misses it. Oh well. He's got klah, anyway.

Serriena comes up the flight of stairs from the inner caverns.
Serriena disappears through the narrow tunnel to the bowl.

Jonah waves at everyone and walks by the serving table for some leftovers and a cup of klah. He grabs a nearby seat and feeds himself.

A tall slender young man, dressed in commoners clothes.

Zarvind takes himself off, and nearly gets to the serving tables before he's called off by a yelled request for help, from the kitchens this time. He disappears: head down, step loud.

You head into the kitchens through the swinging wooden door.

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