The following is a log of roleplay on Star Stones MOO, logged by Dallaney.
All references to the world and characters of Pern™ based on Anne McCaffrey's fiction are copyright© 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.

Backstory: D'aad proved himself unreliable, as usual, and was late in picking Dallan up.  That meant some more wandering, and some chance meetings.

-

Eastern Curve of the Bowl
The weathered face of the northern curve gently melds with the smooth slope of cliffwall that comprises the eastern curve, steepening only towards the jagged peaks of the bowl's rim. Activity is comparitively lessened at this end of the bowl where the golden hides of queens dominate the view and only increases during Hatchings when hoardes of people gather at the entrance in hopes of getting a good look at the eggs.
A steep set of steps leads up to a large rocky overhang which, in turn, leads to the various queens' ledges while another set of steps leads down to the shadowy entrance of a small cavern.
It is a bright, cheery day. Belior is slightly less than a full moon and Timor is almost one half dark. It is a spring early morning.
Maelisa is here.
The following dragons are here: Serenth and Helicyth
From here you can go:
Feeding Grounds            Stairs Down               Northern Curve
Stairs Up                  Hatching Grounds          Central Bowl

Dallaney is on the prowl, again tracing the lines of Telgar's cliffs; she's wearing a frown, but isn't entirely malignant.

Dallaney
Gaunt, Dallan is, grown into a gawky adolescent sturdiness. A mass of indifferent mahogany curls crisps defiantly from behind her ears, huddling to straggle over sharp eyebrows that cap equally hazel eyes in a thin face. Her nose is sharp, her chin well-defined; dark brown cheeks and lips naturally pursed make her no pleasure to look upon. Uncertain growth has given the slender limbs wiry strength, with a simple agility of motion, but she remains shorter than most others her age.
Rust and bronze hues mingle liberally in the folds of her fur-lined tunic, its trimmings inconspicuous but suitable for the cooler months. Dirt-stained with use, the secondhand attire has been stripped down by its most recent owner, hence gives a tattered appearance even when clean; her black belt with its grey buckle complements the ragged look, while it in turn supports knee-length wherhide trousers. The sandals she wears are comparatively inconspicuous: russet, sturdy and under a perpetual coat of grit; the one old rebellion in the new ensemble.
Single-corded, single-looped -- but restored! -- the dark and light colours of Igen Weyr twine on her shoulder knot.
She is awake and looks alert.
Carrying:
Culpa
Mired, but not purposeless.
[13 Turns, 6 Months, and 21 Days]

Maelisa 's standing, rather helpless, on the floor of the bowl, just sort of wandering. No matter how often she comes to visit, she -never- seems able to find her way around!

Maelisa
Relatively young, but by far not a child, Maelisa looks to be somewhere in her early twenties. Her thick, slightly curling brown hair falls in locks reaching her mid-back, shining and healthy. She's a sweet looking face, with open, welcoming eyes, and full lips of a soft pink. Her nose looks similar to a button, her her cheeks easily flush red. Tall and muscled, this woman clearly agrees with hard work.
She is awake and looks alert.

It's not every day one finds a helpless young woman in the Weyrbowl. Dallan tromps by, glancing back with chivalry's memory. But the weyrbrat will just ignore Maelisa for now, since she isn't likely to help her quest.

Maelisa just looked at you.

Maelisa watches the girl move past her, and blinks a second, before stretchign ot an arm, "Um.. Excuse me..?"

One knot and Maelisa could easily pass as weyrfolk. Dallan pauses, ducking away from that reaching arm while scanning for any trace of that identification. "Yes?" she snaps back, contralto curt and crisp with gruff force; only voice distinguishes her from the countless number of 'brat boys frolicking about the bowl's rim.

Maelisa holds herself well, despite being completely out of her place, "I'm looking for Weyrwoman Fiana. You wouldn't be able to help me with that, now would you?"

Dallaney regards Maelisa steadily, narrowing her eyes. "Weyrwoman Fiana," she repeats, sparing a quick glance away. "She could be anywhere. The lake, her weyr--" A shrug follows, but as reluctant as she is to help, reluctance accompanies her backing down as well. "Maybe the headwoman would know. I," and she straightens with clear pride, "--don't live here. Anymore."

Maelisa aahs slightly, nodding in silence for a few moments. "But did, right?"

Helicyth flexes inert muscles, fluidly testing form.

"For a while," Dallan shrugs, lightly, letting it pass. "But I never..." she fumbles with words for a moment, "...never really knew her very well." A right and proper reply? Perhaps.

Maelisa mms a second, and frowns for a brief moment, "Maybe you could show me were I could wait for her, then?"

Dallaney gives way to startlement, to open astonishment. "Wait?" The concept of waiting on someone isn't very appealing. "It's something important you have to see her about?" She gestures on, though, towards the hunk of stone that is the living caverns, and trips onwards a bit.

Maelisa chuckels a moment, a somewhat rich sound, if not quiet. "Yes, I suppose you could say that."

Northern Curve of the Bowl
A symphony of sounds resonate off the weathered face of the cliff as raucous activity dominates this side of the bowl. Wisps of conversations can be heard as weyrfolk to and from the living cavern while riders, brandishing full stomachs, head back to restless lifemates. Shallow grooves, made by powerful talons, mar the sandy floor and make walking a bit tricky as you try to navigate through patchy crowds of people in search of your next destination.
It is a bright, cheery day. It is a spring morning.
Flittering around, you see Wraithe .
The following dragons are here: Nhetoth, Zorath, Sazarith, Diamath, Azraeth, Hotcroth, Kharanth, Lhanath, Jazyth, Lyssath, Daemoth, Pralanth, and Yinxiath

Maelisa walks in from Eastern Curve of the Bowl.

Daymar has arrived.
Daymar walks toward Main Living Cavern.

Yinxiath, tail curled neatly 'bout herself, and body held perfectly, falls asleep.

Dallaney attempts to pry as she strides along, "Do you know her?" she looks back to ask while trying to maintain that spatial distance between them. Her feet are nimble enough on smooth rock not to trip. And she's leading the other along at a healthy pace too, dark hair jogging along with the breeze's whiskings.

Maelisa doesn't seem to have any problem keeping up, as she simply nods, in silence.

Wraithe dozes off...

Dallaney receives the nod, and snorts softly, ducking into the caverns.

Main Living Cavern
Melodic laughter rings throughout the spacious cavern as riders socialize with one another, boasting of adventures a-dragonback, and gossiping about stodgy wingleaders and sordid affairs. Drudges rush past you, their arms laden with dishes and mugs of Klah, desperate to relieve themselves of their burden while pesky 'lizards inhibit their progress.
The light from the glows warmly illuminates the domed cavern and shimmers off the walls as miniscule mineral particles reflect the soft lighting like twinkling stars blanketed in a wintry gray sky. Numerous tables lie scattered across the room, some large enough to hold a whole wing of riders while others were made only for two. Towards the back, a large hearth breathes soul soothing warmth into weary bodies as its flames dance with hypnotic grace and puppet flickering shadows across the spacious stone stage.
Sultry, mouth-watering aromas float in from a small archway that leads to the kitchens while chattering can be heard emanating from a wide hallway.
Flopped atop various perches are Frazap, Syliden, Imricoeur, Aphelion, and Satler.
You see S'am, Ad'niss, and OOC Rules (~*!*~ l ooc ~*!*~) here.
Daymar is here.
From here you can go:
Lower Caverns                Bowl                    Infirmary
Kitchen                      Gaming Room

Maelisa has arrived.

Dallaney scuttles in, hands swinging at her sides like she's been marching; there're beads of damp on her forehead too, from all that bustling about. Not that she's pleased to be back: the frown at the first familiar face in the place says it all. "Here," she waves expansively across the rows of tables, the single hearth, the clumps of riders and weyrfolk here and there. "You should find the headwoman, ask /her/." And not Dallan, who has more important things to do, apparently.

Maelisa followes Dallaney into the Living Caverns, eyes scanning about in silence. She nods briefly to the 'brat, and decides she's better off not with her, as she heads to another area of the cavern.

Dallaney is not trying to be rude, exactly -- she hasn't found her manners yet, and uncertainties still beckon. Not recognising Maelisa's avoidance, she dogs her path, to that part of the caverns the woman is heading towards.

Maelisa turns, then, almost as if she -expected- the other to follow her, "Were you at the hatching last evening?" she asks, totally out o fthe blue. "I hadn't any idea it would come durring my visit, so it's arrival was a plesant surprise to me."

Dallaney's eyes narrow to mere slits even as her nostrils flare with irritation. "I was there," says she, darkly calm. Brows knitting sharply, she cranes to meet Mael's eyes, then looks abruptly away. "Of course I was. Stupid eggs, stupid dragonets." A finger seeks the other's shoulder to push at, in order to direct to somewhere, a table, or the lower caverns.

Daymar wakes up from his musings and looks around at the people in the hall. His fingers twirl the stone in his hand over and over in a newly picked up nervous habit. He spots someone he has had the pleasure of running into before but knows the sorrow surrounding her at this time. With a soft smile, he nods her way in greeting. Then he looks the new person over with warm, "Hello."

Daymar
Unremarkable, at least at first glance. Daymar stands a little less than average height at 5 feet 7 inches tall, his physique diminutive if not down right petite for a male of his years. If time is taken when looking however, unremarkable is far from the truth. Ebon hair slightly mussed falls in tempting waves over a set of purely amazing azure eyes rimmed with golden amber. His eyes are wide set fringed by thick long lashes that most women would be jealous of, with a premature wrinkling at the edges that shows the ease and depth of his smiles. His skin is a rich olive tone, his face narrow with a high forehead and oddly fitting slightly turned nose. His hair is kept in a short cut, curling recklessly just past his ears, longer in front with waves that if allowed to grow could be luxurious curls. Daymar's physique is almost alarmingly small, thin nearly unhealthy he looks as if a good strong wind would blow him over. In truth however, he is perfect. His muscles toned, body trim, he has no excess of fat but also has no under nourishment at all.
A large white robe surrounds this young man. Swept over his shoulders the robe has a large hood to cover his head from the pounding sun of Igen. A light green long sleeved shirt wraps his body while his legs are clad in brown breeches. Black boots complete the outfit.
Over his shoulder, a double cord of black with a single strand of white running through it loops. Entwined in the cord are two ribbons, one of midnight black and a pure white one denote his posting to Telgar Weyr.
21 turns, 10 months, and 15 days
He is awake, but has been staring off into space for a minute.
Carrying:
Stone Link Bracelet

Maelisa blinks, then oh's, nodding in silent understanding suddenly. She turns, though, with a blink. "You were.." she states, having remembered seeing the man with the worry-rock in the galleries.

Dallaney isn't sorrowing so much as annoyed -- vastly annoyed. The familiar voice with it's greeting causes her to turn, and lift a hand to him in defiant question. "Miner," she prefers that, "Happen to know where weyrwoman--" Oops, Maelisa's saying something, and she defers it.

Clunk, the rock is set onto the table as he stands slowly. "Daymar, miner apprentice, at your service Miss uhhhh." He doesnt recall being introduced to the young lady. His green eyes gaze shifts to the brash young woman. "Weyrwoman whom Dallon?" He motions to a chair, "Care to sit and join me ladies." He waves to a passing drudge for another klah for himself.

Kirsha walks into Main Living Cavern.
Kirsha walks toward Northern Curve of the Bowl.

Maelisa Waves off the discomfort of lack of names, and smiles in replace of it, "Maelisa. ..and Weyrwoman Fiana, to answer the other question." She does take the proferred seat, though again waives off, not ready for anything just yet.

'Uhhh' is right. Dallan pauses her single-minded passage to an unknown destination and just shrugs, looking to Maelisa. She's not the lady here. And then the name is caught and tossed out with gleeful ease. "Maelisa." She grabs a seat then, and sprawls on it untidily. "So, have you seen her lately? I haven't noticed."

Daymar retakes his seat slowly while his brow scrunches up in thought. "Ummm well no. I dont think I have actually had the pleasure of meeting weyrwoman Fiana." His mind wanders back trying to recall everyone he has meet so far. A small hand reaches for his old mug of klah bringing to his mouth for the finishing gulp. His lips twist into a big grin, "A pleasure also Maelisa," while he stifles a chuckle at Dallan's boneless sprawl into the chair. "Is that what brings you to the weyr?", he asks since he already knows why Dallan is here.

Maelisa nods, "Precicely. I've a mind to search her out myself, but this is her place, and it wouldn't be right." Despite the formality of the woman, you'd almost think that her words wer mirthful.

Dallaney will grow her bones another day, in another place; she will sprawl in the meantime. "Why wouldn't it be right?" she tries, in a tone that is soft, for her. "Friends visit each other, don't they?" Formality puzzles her, clearly, and she displays this ignorance now.

Maelisa nods at that, and chuckles a little, "But usually, friends expect to know when they're getting visitors."

His finger comes up to lips to gently tap them. He wonders if he has missed something because he is completely lost. Although he does know one thing. Tall people standing over him make him nervous. "Please sit and relax. We are all friendly here." Daymar smiles, "We wont bite. Well ok maybe I wont. Not sure about Dallan." His eyes twinkle in the light, "And if your Fiana's friend I am sure she will seek you out. Everyone here is really nice."

Maelisa gris briefly, "...I'm not even sure she knows I'm here, truthfully." she replies, though she does relax. A little bit.

Dallaney is drawn into the humour of the statement, to offer a grin for Daymar, then Maelisa. "I won't bite you, promise," she intones in all solemnity, though the glimpses of flashing teeth lurk in her features. Suggestion: "Send a 'lizard?"

Maelisa gains limpness at that, shakingher head, "Haven't one to send." is her reply.

Daymar snaps his fingers and nods at Dallan's suggestion, "Yes that would do it." He waves to the drudges around them, "Or have a drudge deliver your message that you arrived." A smile greets a pretty female drudge as she drops off his new klah while taking his empty mug. "I mean there have to be any number of ways to send it. And don't fret not everyone has a firelizard to do things for them. Just look at me."

Dallaney droops. "Oh." And Culpa, on her shoulder, adds his trill to that. "You can have mine," is her generous offer, face lighting up with childish ingenuousness. "But I don't have two to give. Just got this one a few days ago." She sniffs at that female drudge, and Daymar's smile. "Don't trust drudges, I say."

Ramuh has arrived.
Ramuh flitters toward Northern Curve of the Bowl.

Labent has arrived.
Labent pops in from ::between::

Daymar laughs a deep rumbling, surprising since it comes from such a small man. "Oh drudges are like everyone else. There are good ones and bad ones." His slight shoulders shrug, "But yea a flit would be a better choice." He picks up the rocks while leaning back in his chair. Twirl, twirl, twirl the rocks rolls over in his hands. Softly he sighs, "Well at least you have someone with you now Dallan. I was sorry to see you on the sands."

Dallaney has her opinions, and isn't about to change them. "Drudges are drudges. They aren't too clever," she claims, feet kicking out to dangle from the chair's seat. The unexpected sympathy, then, receives her shrug and rapid dismissal. "Didn't really want to Impress anyway." Well, it's easier to pronounce then a long and complicated explanation would be.

Daymar chuckles softly, "Well thats true. But they do have there uses." His rocks stops twirling as his fingers feel a wrong spot which they tap. His brow quirks a slowly at the young woman, "Oh and why is that? To spite your father maybe?" He motions to the table, "Care for anything by the way?"

Maelisa settles and listens for a while, politely refusingithe 'gift' on the other's shoulder. "It's alright..; In time, she'll know I'm here." the only probl;em seems to be, the fact that she isn't sure how the weyrwoman will take her being here.

Dallaney gives the answer she's been spouting since the Hatching, by default. "No. I'm going home, soon," to Daymar, and something else just begs to be asked. "What does 'spite' mean?" Someone has gaps in her education, evidently. And that burden on her shoulder? He chitters, and attempts to feast on a chunk of hair; Dallan has to tug him away by sheer force.

Daymar's head nods slowly at Maelisa's words, "So what brings you here? You seem to have left that part out." The small man's shoulders shakes as he stifles a laugh at Dallan, "Well ummm uhhh." Yea his mind has blanked on how to exactly explain the word. "I dont really know how to explain it to you Dal." His head does shift to the left followed by a question, "Oh you are huh. Well then may your journey be safe. What brings you back there?" He grins wide, "The heat?"

Aphelion wakes up from his nap.
Labent dozes off...
Imricoeur dozes off...

"Yeah," Dallan mumbles back. "It's nice and warm there. Telgar's too cold. Too far away, without a dragon." Like she is now, dragonless. "Hey, I thought you /liked/ Igen," she accuses of Daymar, word for word, though a smile's sly twist still remains, canine-like. She stifles nothing, asks all -- and tactlessly decides to translate for Maelisa's benefit. "He's saying, what do you want to see her for?" Right?

Aphelion dozes off...

Maelisa chuckles. She's just waiting for the chatter to die down; really, she is. "...just to visit, really. It's been a coule turns, at leaast, sinc eI've seen her. I thought due time, about now, to pose a visit."

Daymar hrms and mulls over Maelisa's shadowy words. Then with another shrug of his shoulders, "Well hopefully you will find her soon. And that she is very happy to see you." His hand snakes out to tap the table and point at Dallan, "Hey I /love/ Igen. The gorgeous deserts and beautiful sunsets are some of the most breathtaking sites. But sometimes the people leave a little to be desired." With a flick of his fingers, "Although I am sure you will bring the level of people up. Or so it seems."

Maelisa has disconnected.

Dallaney is being praised? Bewildered, the weyrbrat glances at Maelisa, stares at Daymar. "I will?" She begins to disagree, then shakes her head. "Yeah, right. I will." She laughs, then, softly. "There must be something about those mines that blind your eyes, or something. There're bad people, a lot of them, but..." she gropes for the next phrase "...but not everyone is. I'm going home soon, anyway."

Some drudges arrive to cart Maelisa off to bed.

"Well that is very true. Luckily I havent bumped into any of the bad sort here at Telgar yet." Daymar smirks softly and plays with him mug, "Yea that must be it. I have firestone dust in my eyes. But no really. What is taking you back there? A craft?" He leans forward and gets a wide r grin than usual. "Or could it be a special someone that is drawing you back there?"

It's almost a continuation on her last statement, but not quite. "Do you need any errands run? Messages to give to anyone, for marks?" Dallan doesn't even pause for breath this time. "Don't know the weyrlings here." She fairly growls at him next. "/No/. I don't, don't like anyone in that way. And yeah, a craft. I need a craft. Like yours, but different."

Daymar thinks about your rapid response, "Oh really? What craft could be like mine but different? Possibly a smith?" His lips get tapped by that finger again, "I dont really have any errands. Most of my time is spent in classes and with my rocks." He pats the special one in his lap as he repeats a statement of yours, "Dont know the weyrlings here?", he doesnt quite seem to understand.

Dallaney doesn't savour reiteration, but doesn't deny her duty. "Don't know the weyrlings on transport duty. To get the ride back. I missed the first few dragonrides /they/ offered." She strives to retreat from the maelstrom: "I don't know. Nothing to do with yours, but I don't like crafts." Too much brainpower involved.

Daymar's head nods as it finally dawns on him, "Ahh ok I see now. Sorry if I am a little slow." He smiles a bit though with a questioning look, "Uhh crafts arent that bad that I have noticed. Just need to listen to instructions really." The table thumps softly as he sets his rock down, "Plus they are alot more fun than the wandering life I have had so far." A motion around the room, "But not alot of miners around these days I have noticed. Maybe you could be one of us. How much do you like the dirt?"

"Dirt is okay, especially for making mud pies. It's a bit like sand, but darker, and there're smaller bits," Dallan says, after a period of furrowed contemplation. "But you have to /remember/ so many things. I heard the harpers at their recitals. Practices, whatever. A lot of ... hides and stuff." She doesn't tremble at the thought exactly, but there's a decided crinkling at the eyes and mouth.

Daymar laughs out loud and nods his agreement, "Yea those harpers do have it rough. I couldnt imagine have to do all that sort of thing." He does shiver at the thought, "Plus the idea of having to be all clean and prim and proper all the time doesnt appeal to me at all." His eyes roll up in his head, "And some of them think they are better than others." He brushes some dust from his sleeve, "Just because we work in the earth." He sounds sort of defensive now doesnt he, although he does lean forward to ask his next question. "So what are you interesting in? And please dont tell me." He tries to mimic your manner of speech but fail miserably, "Oh this and that."

That laugh is getting on Dallan's nerves. But the content of his speech -- she approvingly rolls her eyes in tandem -- /that/ she approves of. "What's so funny?" she demands, then nods slightly. "I like going around. Seeing new things. Exploring, like, and ... and new people, sometimes, when they're not dimglows and don't mind sand and dirt." By the way, "You're not."

Daymar's head shifts to the left as he muses on your words, "Exploring huh. And new people." His thoughts shift this way and that as ideas and the words of others bounce around in his head. "Well I was told that the miners are a mobile craft. But I have no clue about the others." He leans forward and whispers in a conspiratorial tone, "I also dont know how the others feel about sand and dirt." His hands flick away your dimglow comment, "Plus you will always find the slow ones wherever you go. There is no way to avoid them." He doesnt try to pitch the miner craft, really he isn't. "Maybe you could be a messagener?", he stumbles over the word as it comes out of his mouth. "How do you like runners?"

Syliden dozes off...

Dallaney gives it a bit of thought, too. "Runners? Besides those in the pens that dragons eat, I don't know much about runners. Don't know how to ride them, either. They're so much smaller than dragons, you know, and not at all the same." Squirm. "But a message runner," and slowly, "Yes. Did that a lot, before I got here."

Daymar's head nods again as if it were on a spring, "Yea well you could do that. Although it seems like a lonely life to me." His fingers twirls in the air, "Riding around to all the cot holds and weyrs and things. Never really settling down in one spot." Yes its finally happened. Daymar is turning into a homebody. Go figure. "Plus frankly looking at you......", which he does, "I just cant picture you on a runner." He shrugs a little, "Course I could be way off on that one. You never know."

The miner appears to have tapped into some weird vein of conversation, and Dallan's really unusually chatty this time. She thumps lanky, still-growing legs against the seat, then hooks her soles behind the chair's legs for balance. "Though minding stuff isn't bad too. So others don't get things wrong." She swoops back from thought, from the aforementioned cotholds and things, to return his look, not bothering to hide her curiosity. "Why not?"

Daymar just looked at you.

A finger is pointed Dallan's way, "Well for one. Your about my size or thereabouts." He chuckles softly, "Of course I could just be putting my fear of large creatures onto you." He also doesnt add that he doesnt thinks you have the lower body for it. That would just be rude. "But if you like that sort of thing. I am sure you could find someone that would employ you around here. T'chia was just telling me the other day that she was getting tired of having to do that sort of thing over to Crom. Of course it is faster with a dragon but still."

Dallaney is of a strange scrawny build, true, and isn't about to gain much thereabouts. But she won't point that out either. "I'm not a big person," she says, in a matter-of-fact fashion. But the idea does have its appeal, and she persists: "Crom's quite a distance away. I could do it, though, /if/ I knew how to ride." And there's the rub.

Speaking of rubbing, his hand rubs his chin as he thinks about it, "Well maybe we could help you find someone to teach you how to ride?" Daymar's rubbing leaves a smudge of dirt on his chin. How typical he doesnt even notice, "I havent meet any herders here though. They seem quite scarce." He waves off to the distance, "But I do think there are quite a few in Crom. Maybe you could go there and learn how to ride?" He smirks at you and takes a long pull of now cold klah, "As for being a big person. Its not so bad as I should know. You get used to it."

"I /am/ used to it," Dallan replies readily enough, watching that smudge take shape; she grins at it. "I don't have much contact with crafts, besides yours. The minecraft's main crafthall is in Crom, right?" The next question: how will she get there? Expression draws downwards, into a variety of sneer. At that klah mug, of course, not at Daymar.

Daymar's spring bound head bobs in another big nod, "Yes yes. The main hall is in Crom. It is glorious to behold. You should go see it, its a very nice place to look upon." He chuckles, "Although not nearly as good as the desert at dawn." He sighs softly and sits back thinking about the desert again, his green/golden eyes take in your sneer, "Care for some juice or something? Or perhaps some meatrolls." Maybe they would put some meat on your body, he leaves unsaid.

Dallaney quiets, hazels turning inward to faint introspection. Her nod, when it comes, is sudden, fierce. "You're right." Right in what sense, she doesn't say, while the polite offer of meatrolls she accepts, not knowing otherwise. Sitting forward, straightening decisively, she chews on half of the pastry, stuffing the other half of it into the brown's maw.

Daymar's fingers rubs the mark on his face as it itches now. "Oh what am I right about?" This is something he wonders about, "I am rarely so. So I would like to know which it is?" He think about your earlier comment, "Why did you ask about the miner crafthall? Are you thinking of possibly joining the craft if the messenger job doesnt work out?" He grins and chuckles, "That is if you are able to ride a runner that is. You seem more suited for oh dragonback but thats just my opinion."

Dallaney acquiesces, cheerfully cynical: "Pity the dragonets don't like me, then." Oh, and she was just showing off, so lets it pass with another shrug across the wiry shoulders, "About the desert. Right about the desert. I like the dust storms too," she adds, in a waning sense. The last of the meatroll is gnawed on. "Okay. You don't know any riders, right?" Just to make sure.

Daymar's eyes crinkle around the edges while he thinks about his beloved desert. His mind comes back to the conversation, "Yes. I know one or two. Not all that well but hey I have meet them at least." He chuckles, "And hey they were both green riders." Oh has he heard about there kind before. "Why do you ask?"

"So I can get a ride now instead of waiting till tomorrow when D'aad comes to pick me up." Dallan can be honest about this much. She wriggles, restless in the seat. "Greenriders are good for nothing else--" but she gains a teasing smirk, then. "--you know them up close?" She's never subtle, is she?

Daymar laughs again even though he knows it annoys you, "Yes well uhhh no. Although even if I have I don't think I would talk about that." He grins, "But then again that doesnt sound like a bad idea." He shrugs, "I am sure there is someone around to give you a ride. I know of a couple that goto Crom quite often." His shoulder do a slow turn, "Plus it has been awhile for me. And it will be awhile longer since apprentices arent usually allowed to do that sort of thing."

Dallaney flicks her fingers at that laugh, at the turning shoulders which display the apprentice's knot. "Not a problem. You could do a favour for someone, or earn your own marks with jewelry. Then the riders would jump to give you rides." Taking that as conclusion, she keeps on smirking. "Maybe I'll get to see the crafthall before you do."

Daymar grins and gets a strange glint in his eyes, "Yes well hopefully soon I will have everyone clambering for my jewelry. I am working on a piece now that will hopefully knock everyone's socks off." His chair squeaks as he almost bounces around in it. His special rock comes out to land on the table, "This is it right here. Doesnt look like much now but it will be something I am sure." His head nods quickly, "You might at that. I think you will like it. Beautiful stonework." A hand waves in the air, "And you are wrong. I truly don't think this lowly jewelry maker will get any free rides around here." He grins, "Except from maybe you and your runner if you get one."

"If I get one," Dallan raises a finger in warning, but sobriety vanishes with her thin-lipped smile. According to Dallan, that is, and speaking of socks, "Aedh would surely like any jewelry you come up with." She nods, too, looking down at the rock respectfully, hand reaching to pick it up. Cautiously, she honours him with a query, first. "May I? -- You know, I found a few rocks lately. Not big ones, but they're kind of interesting too."

Daymar waves his hand over the rock and table, "Well surely." He points to the swirling brown/black rock. "Take a look at it. Isnt it wonderful, it will make great working with." He looks over at the young woman, "Oh really? What did they look like?" Now you have him interested but he stops for a second, "Aedh? I dont think I know her. Who is she?" That only lasts for a second though because now he is back on to the rocks, "What did they look like? Think any of them would make a good piece for some jewelry?"

Dallaney nods, and scowls, faintly. "The other candidates wanted to make gifts for the riders, and I found this neat stone. It looked grey, with white bits. But not jewelry material, no." She turns the rock over for a moment, rubbing dark fingers over the surface, seeking cracks. "Not like this at all." Decisively, she glances back at Daymar. "What's this going to be?" She has absolutely no clue, now.

Rubbing the dirt patch on his chin, he gives you a serious look. "K take a look at this piece of marble." His arm reaches out across the table, "Look at it close." A finger points here and there on the rock, tracing the swirling lines. "Does it speak to you? Saying make me into this? Because it does to me." He smirks at you, "As for what it is telling me. Well that is a secret although as I see it. Its beautiful." Tapping with a fingernail before withdrawing, "What shall it be?"

Dallaney was never the artisan. She eyes the chunk of marble, acquiring a veneer of determined concentration. "I see... a rock. It's called marble, you say? Well," she cocks her head, "Maybe it'd be good, in a slingshot." Practical, she is. "Or, as a rock, to -- to heat things with?"

Daymar flops back in his chair laughing, "Oh my dear, you would so ruin this gorgeous stone by doing either of those things to it." Well his first test failed. Maybe something else along those lines, "Yes its marble. A very good stone to carve into different items. There are alot of other types of stone too." He points to the rock ceiling over head, "Like igneous stone for one. Or gemstones that they mine from the ground." He grins, "Now this rock will be something special for someone hopefully. I would hate to see my talents go to waste to be put away for none to see."

Dallaney never doubts these statements of hers, and isn't about to begin now. "Oh, I would?" she says mildly, snidely. "Well, your stone doesn't sound so impressive. But maybe the final piece will be." The Igenite stands, landing on the floor with a soft thud. "I should be going now," she grunts courteous apology, heading out. "See you."

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