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.
NorthWest Bowl
A shelter from the stronger desert winds that strike across much of the rest
of the bowl, the original founders of the weyr found the lee a suitable
location for the most active area of the weyr. A gaping stone awning
provides covered protection and suitable sunning space for the occupants of
the dragon infirmary. Shallow steps lead into a recessed entrance to the
guest weyr. A much smaller entrance leads to the living caverns.
Perched somewhere up high, you see Rock.
Nest is here.
The following dragons are here: Loralith, Israeth, Chaddyth, Dagath, Tyranoth,
Xuxakeirth, Maestoth, and Peyth
From here you can go:
Living Cavern Infirmary Center Bowl
Guest Weyr Stairs Up Weyr Entrance
Dallaney is trudging in from the direction of the bowl proper, hands dangling
freely while a message tube slaps merrily against her side. Nearer the
awning, she lets out a slight hop or two, jaw tightening.
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.
A robe of light brown, barely feminine, covers most of her long-legged, spare
shape, sending any hints of figure into obscurity. Of Igen make but
self-styled, the linen material sheers ungracefully just above bony kneecaps,
hitched up in folds to allow easier wear and lighter travel. An ungainly, if
quaint, umber belt winds around her waist, binding cloth to flesh and holding
up the robe in ragged manner, keeping it dipping into the dark sandals that
flicker out far below its hem.
Single-corded, single-looped, the dark and bright colours of Igen Weyr twine
on her shoulder knot.
She is awake and looks alert.
Carrying:
Culpa
Nest is leaning against her brown's tail, a small sketchbook in hand and she
is tracing lines on it with charcoal, a few smudges show her forgetfulness
where she has rubbed nose and cheek and she looks up and smiles "Hello
Dallaney, where be you going?"
Not everything turns Dallan's head around like that; the young messenger darts
her sharpest look upwards, forgetting another hop she was in the middle of --
it's comical, almost, the way her faintly pained expression turns to one of
frank chagrin. "What did you call me?" Not a familiar face, that one.
Nest frowns and leans further back against Peyth "Your name be not Dallaney?
I thought you be called that?" She says shyly, managing not to stumble over
the words yet. She shakes her head "I confuse you with someone."
Nest
Hair that is close cropped reveals a small pixie-shaped face and small ears
that are set close to the skull. High cheekbones give shape to her face and
place emphasis on her hazel eyes. Small red lips are a bow in her
expressionable face, twisting in shape to mirror her thoughts. Nest is
shorter than average and her arms and legs are thin and though fragile
looking, they hide a strength which enables her to tackle what she sets her
mind to.
A soft white wool tunic is covered by a jacket of deepest ebony. The jacket is
studded with polished silver-coloured buttons. Over the heart pocket is a
small silvery chain, which swings slightly when Nest moves. Her legs are
clothed in matching pants, which are slightly padded to produce a more
rounded figure - making her seem less fragile. Black boots, lined with white
ovine wool rise to knees to protect calves from harm.
Double cords of maize and jet intertwine in a single, simple loop,
throughwhich runs ribbons of brown sisal and silver, their ends hanging down
in a long tail indicating her rank of wingrider of brown Peyth.
She is awake, but has been staring off into space for 2 minutes.
Carrying:
Nes'ts Wingleader Manual Sweet Lady
More relaxed, more confident but with still ahint of uncertainty in her eyes
Dallaney shovels sand over one sandal with a raised foot, then hisses softly.
But it's a sound she intends for herself, for her next words are tossed
towards Nest in gruff voice. "It's always Dallan. 'Sides, no one's supposed
to know about my... other name." She has to peer up at the rider then,
closing the gap between them with shuffling steps. "How did /you/ know?"
Nest shakes her head "I be sorry, someone said it in front of me so I be
thinking that is your name." She shakes her head "I be sorry Dallan, always
Dallan. Someone knows your other name, they said it." She frowns and shakes
her head "I no not who." Her sketchbook lies forgotten on her knees.
Dallaney tilts her hazels to the wingrider's, her own mussed curls
flip-flopping around the nod she assays. "...Well, then we'll just forget
about it. Must have been some of the weyrbrats though. They play games
sometimes." And never mind if she dissipates into a mumble at the end of
that sentence, shrugging. Hopefully her dragon won't decide to turn around.
Nest smiles and nods "That probably it." She yawns slightly and then covers
her mouth belatedly and looks apologetic "What you be doing then? I not
interrupt you delivering a message am I?"
Dallaney simply indicates her empty message tube, finger twirling across the
polished wood. "I'm through with that last one," she returns quickly,
dashing in a gruff nod. "On early duty today?" So what if she doesn't know
the rider's name--
Nest grins and nods "Just finished, a quick run this morning." She smiles and
shakes her head "I thought we had met before but I must be wrong." She
smiles "They make messengers get up early."
"Or late. But I don't mind," Dallan returns nod for nod, amiable on this
relatively cool winter's day. She arches her knee, reaching to scratch at a
kink in her sole, and there's another jaw-clenching grimace, before the
flashing teeth manage to shape her lips into a grin's semblance. "Think I've
seen you around before. Ever been gossiped about?" she ventures inept
inquiry.
Nest shakes her head "No I be not interesting enough for gossip." She pauses
and blushes "Well recently anyway." She sees the grimace and brow furrows as
she wonders if she should question it. Her voice is tentative when she does
"You be alright?"
Dallaney admits, "I haven't had time for talking these few sevendays." Which
might mean it /was/ Nest they were speaking of, way back then? She's edged
away slightly, and cranes to catch the last question, cocking an ear to the
older woman. "I be what?"
Nest smiles "I thought messengers always hear the gossip." She shifts
slightly and raises her voice a tad "Be your alright, you not hurt, you look
like you have a pain."
Dallaney shrugs it over her lanky shoulders, but raises a palm to her foot
anyway, waving all five digits over her raised foot and its worn heels. "Got
a bite there just today. I haven't had the soles fixed since they were
scratched by that patch we had to go through," she tells the other
spiritedly. "Would've done it too, but I've been out half the night."
Exaggeration doesn't hurt, after all.
Nest ohs as she hears the explanation "Maybe you should get them fixed." she
says softly, not wanting to tell another what to do "That be my suggestion,
so you no get hurt again." She flips her sketchbook closed and tucks her
piece of charcoal away "They should not work you so hard."
"I will--" Dallan agrees, and some memory of manners steals in, to complete.
"--ma'am. And no, they don't work us hard at all. It's just some work here
and there. Better than lying around all day like some people do, don't you
think?" she appeals, a hint of furtiveness lurking in brown eyes. "You
aren't going to do anything about that, I suppose?" The closure of the
sketchbook spooks the kid so.
Nest stands up and stretches slightly, kinks having developed from sitting on
the ground so long and she shakes her head "Not ma'am, Nest. I be just a
brownrider, no one important." She syas quietly and then she studies Dallan
"What be wrong, I no tell anyone but why you fear?"
Oh, but fear's a common thing -- Dallan allows the rider sufficient space to
rise, then remains between the humps and falls of sand, balancing her weight
perceptibly on one foot. "Nice to meet you." Having scurried over the
introductions, the teenager shakes her hand at her, starts to trudge
sideways; reverses into a sudden frown. "I'm still settling in. No point
harping on about other people, is there?" And maybe Nest can figure it out
for herself.
Nest looks slightly confused "I be happy to meet you Dallan, I suppose I
should return to my duties." She shakes her head "You look after yourself
Dallan, no point hurting yourself so you cannot work anymore." She sighs and
shakes her head and starts to climb straps to mount her dragon "I be seeing
you around."
Words, words, words. Dallan doesn't indulge in them much, and only grins up
at Nest now, waving a dark hand up at the rider. "See you," is her short
rejoinder, as she, too, turns to complete her trek towards the caverns and
possible rest.