The following is a log of roleplay on Star Stones MOO, logged by D'ney.
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.
Feeding Grounds
Blood of the weyr's food supply --for beast and human-- spots the thirsty
ground, marks the gory passing of herdbeasts and wherries lost to the
voracity of feasting dragons. Patches of ripped greenery attest to the
struggles that rile within while the odd bone scattered about bleaches under
the hot Igen sun. The rail's smoothly worn horizontals betray turns of
tight-fisted visitors, rider and resident, their nauseous swirl of grain amid
the carnage before them stayed only by wood's timely stability and rigid
pastoralness.
Halis is here.
The following dragons are here: Maestoth, Olexath, and Nhaeth
From here you can go:
Lake Southwest Bowl
The current weather report:
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
IgenW: Center Bowl Area (#5491)
The sky is clear and bright without a cloud to be seen. It is a spring
evening.
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Olexath slinks along for a little while before tireing of it and then he
starts up his hopping again. Hophophop after the beasts he goes. Halis
meanwhile sits on the side carefully oiling the blue's straps.
D'ney stomps in with decisive, albeit exaggerated, clicks of bootheels, Nhaeth
prodding her on with excessive nudges of snout to shoulder. His wings flare
for one wide, dramatic moment before he, too, leaps into the pen, joining the
blue and the beasts. The tomboy's husky contralto seems to come from a
distant place as she trots on, "Told you the herdbeasts weren't special. And
I don't see any porcines around. -- Hello, Halis."
D'ney
Short, slightly gaunt around the edges, this adolescent bears Igen's glare in
the burnt brownness of her skin. Uncertain growth has worked away the
childish plumpness from the avid angles of nose and chin, further accenting
pinched features with their harsh planes and abrupt peaks. Below forehead's
darkness, a primal acidity informs her hazel eyes, restrained by stubborn
mahogany curls -- but flaring inevitably into the compact rebellion of a
muscled shape and habitually agile motion.
A golden-yellow linen tunic drapes from her shoulders, straggling under a
thick jet belt at the waist and falling nearly to her hips. The trousers of
black linen are similarly buckled in to keep the outfit snug against the
hazards of adolescent frolic, its hems disppearing into a pair of
extra-polished wherhide boots.
Double cords of maize and jet intertwine in a single, simple loop, wrapped
with a brown sisal ribbon, to denote her rank as an Igen Weyr Junior
Weyrling, rider of Nhaeth.
She is awake and looks alert.
Carrying:
Rip
[15 Turns, 10 Months, and 25 Days]
Halis
Warm deep klah colored eyes look out from a rather delicate face. Freckles
happily dance across a small alluring nose, barely there pale pink lips
sitting just below. Golden hair stands in odd little spikes and twists all
across Halis' head, exposing her small elfin ears. If they had pixies on
Pern, she'd be one of them. Highlights are noticeable here and there, almost
platinum streaks compared to the rest of her hair. The hair is closely cut
in the back and left a little longer near the front so she can spike it.
Every so often the few highlights still noticeable catch a ray of sun and
sparkle slightly in the light. She is well toned and long limbed but still
has a few curves here and there. Simple movements cause muscle to move and
flex under her smooth skin, and though shy one would never know it by the
simple way she carries herself.
Golden-yellow linen tunic drapes from Halis' shoulders, belted with a simple
black wherhide belt. Black linen trousers tuck into sturdy boots of polished
wher-hide. Though rather plain Halis seems to wear the garment easily enough.
Double cords of maize and jet intertwine in a single, simple look, wrapped
with a blue sisal ribbon, to denote her rank as Igen Weyr Junior Weyrling,
rider of Olexath.
She is awake, but has been staring off into space for a minute.
Carrying:
Halis' Wingleader Manual
Inky dollops of dusty rose salmon coalesce the creases of his vast expanse of
seasoned black cherry hide, cluttering into gangly extremities seeped in
sepia before vanishing beneath a facade of dusky darkness. Sleek sheets of
lengthy mocha-washed wings drizzled with an ethereal edge of frosty pink
coral veins engulf him, cluttering the smooth, rounded ridges that bud from
his elongated neck and rosewood headknobs, leaving only a whim of the large,
expressive eyes that light his nervous triangular head. Hints of deep well
metallicy limn his soot-smudged physique, creating golden glimpses that
overshadow the disproportions and discrepancies and glitter the lengthy
starscape frame from rich hazelnut tail to clever ebon talons with heroic
motes of succulent, suffering incandescence.
Nhaeth is 1 Turn, 2 Months, and 11 Days old.
Waddling into crannies where he has no right to belong.
Bluesteel and ice chisel power the gleaming sapphire purity of his intrepid
bulk with metallic scintillations of light that shimmer into rime at the very
edges of the transparent icicles cresting into neckridges along his back and
neck. Crackling upwards to a hoary fan of brow ridges, a frost-splashed
window of a mask across crystalline eyes and a broad, strong-jawed head, the
tundra ridges sweep downward, too, into a muscular tail glimmering to the
spade in a glistening of frozen cobalt. Wings whipped in gunmetal gleamings
encase all, their brushed turquoise sails bursting against crystalline spars
in an edged floe of lustrous chill that dissolves into the heated steel of
undaunted hindquarters.
Olexath is 1 Turn, 2 Months, and 11 Days old.
Halis blinks as she glances up from Olexath's straps, "What's gotten into you
D'ney?" Yes she really means, 'Hi, how's it goin?' but that's not what she
asks. Olexath happens to think that the beasties are rather special,
especially when the scream in death. Pounce!
(Nhaeth) Olexath sees: Nhaeth luxuriates in the warmth, the scents, the sheer
adrenaline that courses under these poor beasts' hides. A tendril of
surprise worms in, still, as he voices: << Do you know they have blood, like
us? >>
(Nhaeth) Olexath flits in with his usual greys, his deep rumble of a voice
echoing in the quiet << O'course I know. I get it all over my snout each
time I eat. >> To demonstrate this little fact, he bites into a rather large
beast, getting blood all over his nose as he pushes it around for the best
bits.
"Don't like the feeding," D'ney says curtly as she nears Halis and her straps.
Nhaeth's without his, incidentally, bare hide a comfortable sienna in the
fading light of evening. "They get all dirty," which means Work, "and
Nhaeth
thinks too much about his food." A shrug ripples across her shoulders, and
she glances yonder, towards the beast pens.
Halis giggles as she carefully sets aside the freshly oiled straps, "Well I've
convinced Olexath to clean himself up after he eats. Makes life much easier.
'sides, if they don't eat, they die, wouldn't want that."
(Nhaeth) Olexath sees: Nhaeth sounds a trifle distracted, but he returns as
quickly with apologetic swirls of pastels. << My boy says we have 'ichor',
not blood. >> Mulling over that, the next bit of shimmering life is dove at.
Olexath rumbles questiongly and peers over at D'ney before glancing back to
Nhaeth. << Your /boy/? Looks like a girl to me. >> With every movement of
the blue's head blood and fun bits of innards drip all over the place, quite
the messy eater. << And we got blood. Ichor's different. >> So there?
Nhaeth dives at the next herdbeast in line, pinions trembling with a false
delicacy as he rends the animal from head to paw. D'ney watches that with
equally rapt attention, slowly leaning her weight on the rail in front of
them. A grunt is her only reply to Halis's statement. Beyond, a second pair
of hooves thud the sand.
(Nhaeth) Olexath sees: Nhaeth reels with the surface toxicity of flesh and
bone, blood and life. His mind scatters momentarily, then gathers again in
tight, membrane-bound knots of rationality. << We think it is not important.
Dallan thinks he is, and that is what matters, is it not? >> The ichor-blood
question he tosses aside along with the head that rolls so tantalizing in the
feeding grounds. << Ichor is ichor. I wonder if we can drink it and have
more? >>
Halis wrinkles her nose a bit at the non-answer from D'ney and pokes at the
fellow 'ling with a toe, "You seem especially grumpy. Sure it's only the
feeding part?" Glance then goes back to her blue as he fires off a bunch of
rather unusual questions at her.
(Nhaeth) Olexath flits in with his usual greys, his deep rumble of a voice
echoing in the quiet << But ... >> Ok, he won't get an answer that he likes
so he pesters his rider for several moments before returning attention to the
beasties and Nhaeth. His greys flitter in, mixed with ruddy coppers and the
irony smell of blood. << The ones that are the bloddiest taste the best I
think. Nice and jucy. >> Ew, thanks for sharing.
D'ney folds her arms carefully on that rail, the thin line separating the
eaters from their lifemates. Not gracefully, mind you; it is a
mock-casualness of demeanour that colours her face and speech. "Don't you
miss the old jobs sometimes? I got a message from my--an Igen rider--this
morning."
Nhaeth follows a rolling head with his inquisitive nose for a moment or two,
going so far as to take a hop towards it, knees flexing. Blood he has in
plenty, and shows -- nay, shoves -- it at Olexath in the form of a stray leg
he's tearing meat from.
Halis raises a brow slightly and decides to tease, "You're what? And no, I
don't miss the old jobs. I was an appy going nowhere in my craft. At least
now I'm going somewhere." << Thanks to me. >> <Oh hush ya big lug.>
Olexath eyes the leg for a moment and turns his nose up at it. He likes the
really gushy stuff found in the middle of the beasties. Mmmm, lip smackin
good!
"What?" D'ney clamps down on that line of thought, turning away from the
carnage with a visible effort. "Running is /different/ when you don't have a
purpose for it," she grouses shortly, with a shake of stubborn hazel curls.
"Used to be more free." The rules are chafing on her.
Halis blinks slightly at D'ney, "I was a starcraft appy before impressing.
And I wasn't going anywhere at all. Now I've been promoted, even if it is
only to Sr. 'ling." Small cute nose wrinkles momentarily before she
continues, "And I have just as much freedom now as I did then. The same
rules still apply to me."
Nhaeth is a comparatively clean eater, if you look at the messy green in the
far corner of the 'grounds, dipping his head into the flesh with patient
movements and ripping at it with neat strokes of clashing teeth.
D'ney snorts at Halis, in a strange reflection of Olexath's earlier turned-up
nose. "That's because you were an apprentice. Crafts have the most rules --
I chose not to join any." And wasn't talented at any of them, probably. "I
can't wait to get a weyr of our own. Then I could fly when I /liked/."
Olexath could care less how messy or neat he is as long as he gets what he
wants. Halis eyes D'ney for a moment, "We can fly when we want now as long
as we're not inturrupting any of our chores or classes. We just can't fly
/where/ we want yet."
D'ney will just go on slogging till the day comes around. "There, you see,"
she states with a self-righteous nod, "we can't go /where/ we want, nor can
we skip classes." Like she did so inadvertantly sevendays ago when the
others were flying.
Halis wrinkles her small nose again for only a moment, "Would you rather we
could go wherever we wanted to before we were ready? What would happen if
your Nhaeth got caught in an unexpected air current and you didn't know what
to do? You could plumet to the ground, and that would /not/ be purdy."
(Nhaeth) Olexath sees: Nhaeth catches a whiff of his weyrling's thoughts and
accordingly swoops in reflex, winding anxious pulses through this link. <<
These things are very tasty, but something is wrong! What is your lifemate
doing? >>
(Nhaeth) [-] Olexath hasn't noticed anything wrong at all. With a glance over
at his Halis he responds with a rumble. << She's sitting on the fence. Why?
>> Glance returns to Nhaeth for a moment as the blue stops eating
compleatly. << Mine says that she's trying to get yours to be happier about
being a 'ling. I think .... >>
D'ney's eyebrows crinkle in a ferocious attempt to wrench the explicit warning
away. "It won't happen," she mutters with growing firmness, then raises her
voice to tip into hearing range. "You have a point. But it's all this
-supervision- they give us--Nhaeth and me. We'd fly better -- he'd fly
better without it, I'm sure." A flush floods the dark features, not showing
much save where pinkness shades her ears.
Halis smirks, "They're only doing their jobs D'ney. One day you might have to
do the same, then what?" Take that. Pink flood on the other 'ling's ears is
noted with amusement and a little wonderment but isn't commented upon.
Nhaeth pauses in his meal, sending a final bone spinning in an irregular arc
to where it smacks sickly into sand. Unfolding his wingsails, he sweeps them
downwards, unwinding his haunches' crouch -- synchrony comes easily to him
now -- hence sending the brown on a plummeting leap towards the human pair at
the fence. His orbs, if one looks that way, dart from lavender to daubs of
maroon.
(Nhaeth) Olexath flits in with his usual greys, his deep rumble of a voice
echoing in the quiet << What's the matter? >> Blue carefully makes his way
over towards the brown and the two 'lings. He doesn't like conflict.
D'ney starts, more in reaction to Nhaeth's leap than Halis's comment. The
agitated flush fades with exponential rapidity, leaving her clutching at the
fence. "I'd want the weyrlings safe," she ekes out, syllable by painful
syllable. And glancing up briefly, she waggles metal-wrapt fingers. "I'm
okay, I'm okay."
Halis blinks a bit, "Something wrong?" She's rather confused by the odd
behavior of just about everyone but her, "Wasn't anything I said was it?"
Hand reaches out to scritch her blue who's nudging her worredly with his
blood covered snout.
(Nhaeth) Olexath sees: Nhaeth has no words for you now, those being subsumed
in his worried crush of mad-whirling sights and sounds. Nevertheless, his
mate-directed thoughts thrum too loudly, spilling across to you and yours.
<< Where are the Weyrlingmasters? I will tell them we can fly. I can fly.
D'ney cannot be upset! >>
(Nhaeth) [-] Olexath allows a few slips of silver float in with his speach as
his deep rumble of a voice echos across. << You must calm down Nhaeth.
You're only making yours upset. >>
D'ney returns her eyes to Halis. "Was calming Nhaeth," she snaps, then steps
away, loosening the hold upon the fence. "Sorry. I was thinking the wrong
thoughts, and letting them affect him." A brief bark of a laugh shakes her,
head and shoulders both. "Look at that wherry go." And indeed, one of the
large beasts is racing away from the brown with all the speed it can put into
its hurried wingbeats.
(Nhaeth) Olexath sees: Nhaeth lunges left, then right, up, then down, all in
his mind, his mate's and yours. A damp << Oh, >> squelches from him. <<
D'ney is okay. >> A pause, as he strokes a splash of quieter blue across the
previous scarlets. << You are very clever. >>
Halis nods and pats D'ney's shoulder slightly to offer comfort before she
slips down off of the fence, "Well I guess you'll have to work on that." Not
words of wisdom but she's trying?
(Nhaeth) [-] Olexath lets the silvers slip from his voice as they turn back
into the blacks, whits, and greys. << Calm is the key you see. >> Take it
from the blue, he's one of the calmest he knows.
D'ney swings up on the fence as Halis leaves it, reaching out to caress
Nhaeth's arm behind the barrier, and then his head as the young dragon lowers
his dark muzzle to her. A grin's brightness returns to her planed features,
arching her jaw into angular clarity. "Thanks Halis -- you're okay.
Olexath, too." Just another thing to work on, one of hundreds.
Halis is okay? Just okay? Well then. She giggles a bit and nods slightly,
"I guess that I'm glad that I'm okay."
(Nhaeth) Olexath sees: Nhaeth attempts to explain the utter helplessness felt
by him when his mate's in trouble, and does a fair impression of it, weaving
threads of insecure emotives through the contentment that is even now brewing.
(Nhaeth) Olexath sees: Nhaeth isn't very good at it, though, and withdraws
the images into coalescing, soothing lakes soon enough.
D'ney scrunches her forehead at Halis, boot thumping into fence. Inquiry, if
silent; a smile, if slight.
(Nhaeth) [-] Olexath fully understands what Nhaeth is getting at and sends
such thata way.
Nhaeth gives a small, sheepish rumble, swinging his immense head at Olexath.
Halis tilts her head to one side slightly at D'ney and asks, "So what've you
been doing lately?" Subject change.
D'ney goes along with the topic, accompanying response with further slaps of
boot on rail. "Doing drills and straps, like everyone else." Clunk. "Been
too busy with Nhaeth to get that haircut I wanted. She adds, gruffly, "What
about you?"
Halis giggles, "I could cut your hair if ya want. I have to keep mine short
ya know. And I cut Keri's for her." She's been up to the same things but
there's no point in saying so.
"Keri -- whose rider?" D'ney wonders, scratching the brown snout adjacent to
her with absent thoroughness. "Used to chop it off on my own but he won't
let me," she swats at a headknob with mock harshness, stills in order to make
chopping motions with her hands. "Like that."
Halis smiles, "Kei'a, blue Cantoth's rider. She wanted hers cut off."
D'ney peers down at Halis -- a rare vantage, considering her height -- and
kicks at the rail some more. "Are you good at it-- Haven't seen Kei'a about
lately." Even she spares some attention for appearances.
Halis nods a couple of times, "I think she looks purdy good." Of course she'd
think that anyhow. "I do my own. It doesn't look bad does it?"
D'ney lets herself down from the rail, slipping nimbly onto the ground. "Then
let's go. And you'd better not cut all my hair off, I still need some.
Think there're drills later."