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.

Main Living Cavern

The careless glitter of rose quartz reflects and refracts the light from
within its bed of granite, each beam bringing a new shifting, a new subtlty
of sight. Rows of long trestle table are seated in orderly awareness under
the carven vault of the ceiling, centered around a great dais upon which sits
the best-made one; this, too, shows the roughness of the others, but a
roughness smoothed by time, and accented by the complexity of beams that show
Turns-taken tesselation in their upward arch. Neither tapestries nor
coverings mar the marbling of wild beauty, leaving unadorned grandeur that in
naturalistic simplicity provides comfort to the occupants of the cavern.
One archway, the only covered by a drape of black and gold, shields the
entrance to the bowl from the blow of sand; another, almost unobtrusive,
marks the entrance to the lower caverns through a short, winding and
uncarefully-carved tunnel.

Perched somewhere up high, you see Pinot and Satler.
You see Rushweed Basket, Ierie, Canyon, and H'an here.
Kalaera and Quchai are here.

The current weather report:
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
IgenW: Center Bowl Area (#5491)
It is a bright, cheery day. It is a spring morning.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kalaera is seated at one of the long tables, surprisingly empty for this time
of the morning, with her quiver in front of her and her bow across her lap.
A half-empty mug of klah rests beside the quiver along with a length of
sturdy twine, no doubt material for her bow. Nimble fingers run along the
smooth, sleek wood like a lover's caress, Kala searching out any cracks or
imperfections that might mar her hunting trip for today.

Quchai walks in from the lower caverns, probably coming from his office or
from playing his its-way-too-early-in-the-morning-for-this dragon cards game
at the game hall. He sweeps over to a table with fruits and such, picking up
a few and sitting down near were Kalaera. He picks up the paper on the table
and begins to read about recent weyr events.

D'ney steps in, slapping her gloves around in the bowl of one palm; her
shoulders are held stiffly straight, and the path she weaves between the
early-risers of the Weyr is steady, down to the easy scooping up of the klah
pot, of which she pours a generous helping.

D'ney
Igen-burnt, Igen-born, dusk shades her in, settling over shoulders broad in
comparison to her slight build and tanning arms a rusty brown. Vigilant
angles heighten the harsh peaks and abrupt gullies of her face, accenting
pinched features drawn by a miser's brush. Below forehead's darkness, a
primal acidity informs hazel eyes, capped by stubborn mahogany curls shorn
ragged at ear-level, but flaring freely, fiercely, into a rider's easy
agility and a controlled drawl.
Feather-light, a swash of light brown robes her, tucked in at the appropriate
places and bearing the Duneraider wingpatch at the lee of one shoulder. The
design is simple, conspicuous almost for its lack of one, and the result
clings drearily to point of shoulder, curve of arm, trailing down to her
kneecaps, there to be matched by a pair of cut-off sandals.
Double cords of maize and jet intertwine in a single loop, trailing into a
tail; a brown ribbon plays accompaniment beside.
She is awake and looks alert.
Hair's still short and stubby, but the rest of her has gained the sheen of
clean, even mahogany.

Babette wakes up from her nap.

Kalaera's emerald gaze lifts, hearing the arrival of more weyrfolk/riders into
the caverns. "Hey there..Quchai, is it?" She offers a light finger waggle
in his direction, nearly dropping her bow on the ground. Oops. "Any news
going on that I should be updated on," she queries with a slight grin. Kala
turns her head at the sound of slapping gloves and offers D'ney a wave as
well along with a nod. "Morning to you, D'ney. Wary the first plate of
rolls --they're a bit, er, spicy." One way to put it.

Quchai waves towards D'ney, welcoming her into the 'early-risers' group
they've just made at this table. Spectacles peer over towards Kalaera, while
they slope down to his nose. "Oh, well. One child got a piece of sweetroll
stuck up his nose. It was removed, though." he confesses. "As you can tell,
there's nothing pressing." he states, a quiver of a smile appearing.

D'ney doesn't hear, doesn't see -- or does she? Can't really tell, over the
bustle that happens at this hour. There's a rider yawning right at her
elbow, stretching long arms over his head, and /he/ just gets a glance from
the wingrider. Reaching out for the plate of rolls, predictably, she closes
her fingers over one, then stuffs it into the thin-lipped mouth without
preamble. Face bland, she turns towards Quchai and Kalaera's table, strides.

Kalaera offers Quchai a rather blank look, followed by a shrug. "Meh, typical
weyrbrat follies. Unusually quiet, then. Typically this weyr's got all
sorts of interesting gossip flying about, pun intended." Her lips twitch
with faint amusement as she finally succeeds in removing the worn string from
her bow. She curves her gaze back to D'ney, brows raised as she selects one
of the rolls, yet says nothing except sliding out a chair for the rider.
"And how're you and Nhaeth faring this fine, early morning?"

Kalaera
Chestnut tresses surround her delicately featured face within a soft,
sun-streaked curtain of silkiness that cascades along the slender lines of
her neck, shoulders, and back. Emerald irises ringed with darker jade offer
their verdigris gaze with faint amusement glimmering in their crystalline
depths, framed by long onyx lashes which serve to only emphasize their
alluring glance. A petite nose and sculpted cheekbones flow towards the
curve of her full, burgundy-stained lips which perpetually bear a coy little
half-smile; coquettishness at its finest. Her 5'4 figure is a tempting
combination of both skilled athleticism and pure sensuality; trim, firm
muscles bear witness to her life as a huntress whilst the soft, seductive
curves of her bosom balance out her trim waist and sleek, feline-like thighs.
The canvas for the sultry aura about this young woman is her skin --tanned to
a soft, flawless shade of cinnamon, it lends an air of the exotic about her
features.
Onyx hugs every curve on her body like a second skin, revealing nuances in her
bosom, waist, and thigh, without leaving much to the imagination. The
neckline dips low, exposing her collarbone rather sensually, the sleeves snug
just as tightly clear down to her wrists. Trousers are equally black, and
equally tight, disappearing into well-worn black boots which bear a slight
heel to them. Around her waist hangs a loose belt with a few clips for
necessitites when needed and her ubiquitous dagger, constant company for this
huntress girl. A polished sliver of bright silver winks from her left ankle
in the form of a simple, yet eye-catching Silver Anklet.
Jet intertwines in an unending war with gold to gain possession of the knot
upon her shoulder, proving her a resident of Igen Weyr.
She is awake, but has been staring off into space for a minute.
Carrying:
Cabernet Chianti
Her eyes carry the smoldering embers of a passionate soul within them, the
emerald light flaring to a seductive brightness whenever she laughs.

Quchai munches on his fruit, shrugging. "Indeed, this is true." he states in
agreement. "Oh, D'ney." He's heard the names as he's had reviews of rosters
and such, but he's never met her. "I am Quchai, Igen Weyr's Steward."

Quchai
Rebelious black curls trickle down from the crown of his head towards his
shoulders. Layered hair slants from bangs, on his forehead, slowly decedning
to his shoulders in the back of his head. Sky blue eyes are clear and lucid,
rid of clouds. A bony nose sticks out from from his face, not being one of
his most attractive features. Large, maroon lips are fastened to Qu's face,
often in a frowning position. Oval-shaped face is sloped, with a small scar
close to his ear. Build with bulk, he isn't your next Fabio, but he's still
pretty strong.
Ruby red intwines with brick red, a formation of colors blending together and
becoming one. A vest of red is worn, and pants to match the color. A loose
blouse-like shirt of deep red is worn under the forementioned vest. A small
bowtie is wound around his neck and ends with some fluff in the front of his
vest. Black shoes are tidy, clean, and generally polished for the event.
Red twists with yellow in a double-corded loop. A thread of gold wound around
the knot shows that this knot comes from a Major Hold or Weyr. Two long
tassles cascade off of the knot. All in all, this displays Quchai as the Igen
Weyr Head Steward
He is awake and looks alert.
Carrying:
Quchai's Medallion
Quchai's Guide to Raising Kids
The role of Steward is just setting into his bones. Now, is he realizing the
responsiblities that actually come with the job. Oh, Telger Red - what pain
you bring.

D'ney looks from one to the other, faintly startled from her reverie. She
takes the chair, however, with a appreciative mumble. It might be "Fine,
thanks," or something of the like. Gloves sprawl over the chair's back, mug
tips its bottom on the table, and she settles in with a nod to the nearest.
Just one, yes. "Day could begin better. Thank Faranth the klah's okay,
though."

Kalaera chuckles quietly, pausing to snag a sip from her mug. "Sorry, my
manners haven't quite woken up yet. Quchai, this is D'ney, rider of brown
Nhaeth. D'ney, this is Quchai." Okay, so she's a bit late on intros, but
hey --she did them, no? "Oh! Since I've both your attentions, I have a
proposition. Betha and I were discussing the prospects of going down to
Southern for a sevenday or so, sort of an impromptu hunting / vacationing
trip. Either of you game?"

Quchai looks at D'ney and gives a grand bow. How on-the-town. "Nice to meet
you." He watches a young boy come in and tap him on the shoulder. "I'm sorry,
I'm being called. It's nice to see you both." and with that, he old-man-jogs
out.

Quchai walks with a sense of determination in mind. toward NorthWest Bowl.

Weyrling lessons never did drill manners into this ex-'brat. D'ney is
interrupted yet again from her contemplation of the mug. As such, she
blinks, and then her mouth curves upwards to reveal a grimace, the smile's
kindred. Several shifting motions later, she chortles softly, shakes her
head. "A real trip? I would like it, and Nhaeth too. Better than going to
some silly place no one's ever heard of, don't you think?" She waggles her
hand, a goodbye for the Steward.

Mharikka has connected.

"A real trip," retorts Kalaera as she snags the shiny new length of twine,
giving it an experimental tug. "Betha and I were chatting about hunting
skills, etc the other day by the lake, and she offered up the idea. Prolly a
bunch of us, the more the merrier, heading down to Southern Weyr." Her
fingers wind one looped end of twine around one end of the bow, stretching
the other down to the bottom. "I've been anxious to try my hand with those
wild felines myself. Heard their pelts are gorgeous, and might fetch a few
marks. Ever been there?"

Mharikka goes home.

D'ney nods, nods again in the space left by her first, "Yeah, find a day when
there're no drills, get away from it all." The dark-eyed scrutiny latches on
Kalaera, abrupt as ever. "We haven't been to Southern, but we--I--heard the
felines are dangerous." The latter she underscores with a tap of nail
against table.

Isziyl has connected.

Kalaera grunts slightly, curving the resistant wood of the bow back as she
attempts to latch the twine onto the other end. "Shar--dit..." Another good
squeeze, and she gets it. Kala twangs the string a moment, listening to the
reverberating tone with satisfaction before setting it against the table.
"Yes, so have I. Which is why I think it'd be a fabulous challenge. Of
course, I wouldn't /dare/ hunt them without backup. They tend to hunt in
packs, I believe. But it'd be a right thrill, don't you think?" Yes, Kala
is an adrenaline junkie. Obviously.

D'ney adds slowly, "--So you can use that bow of yours." Thought runs in
cautious bleeps at this hour, even after activity, and the gusts that do come
are shrouded by wariness. "The dragons could get them, I think, they're big
enough for any animal. But what do we need these, pelts, for?" She has no
sense of fashion, you know.

Summersett walks in from NorthWest Bowl.
Summersett walks toward Kitchens.

"Aye, I can," Kalaera replies, pulling out the arrows in her quiver and
beginning to inspect each one. "I've been hunting with the bow for almost
two Turns now. I love it." She slides a soft caress through the feathered
tail and along the shaft, finally testing the tip with her finger. Sharp.
Ouch. Glancing back at D'ney with a bright glimmer in her eyes, she answers
"The fur is incredibly soft, and quite, quite pretty. Especially the spotted
ones. The weavers like it to line coats with, and folks use the larger one
for rugs, smaller ones for their beds. Ever see one?"

The scrawny rider either can't see Kalaera's point or refuses to -- D'ney
shakes her head without further thought. "Don't know how the weavers work,
'sides when they make clothes and leathers for us. The cots I've seen are
simple, no fancy stuff on them." So you may deduce that all cots everywhere
have no pretty linings? "You should just stick to wherries."

Kalaera grins at D'ney's comment, slipping the second arrow back into the
quiver gently. "Neither do I --I just hand them the pelts I get from small
game, they hand me marks, and we're both happy." She draws a foot up on the
chair, snagging her mug again for a moment. "Wherries are so dull, though.
They flap, caw, make a mighty loud ruckus, but otherwise if you hit them
right with the arrow, they drop like a stone from the sky." Not a challenge
at all. "I have a harder time hunting the smaller avians, ones tha flitter
around like firelizards. Some are tasty, though --ever seen 'em?"

D'ney is asked another question, and chews over it and the drink. Muffled,
her reply is. "A few, but there're more 'lizards than avians where I go."
The rim drops to reveal a tiny grin struggling into place. Wry, "So you skin
the 'beasts and they give you marks. I suppose it's dirty work." Which
warrants some respect, if you ask her.

Kalaera nods, eyeing the tip of the last arrow with a slight frown. Dull.
Useless, unless she replaces it or gets a Smith to sharp--oh wait! She has
her whetstone. Retrieving the stone from her bag, she begins to sharpen the
metal bit with a soft, rasping sound. "It is, though not as bad as one
believes. As long as I don't hit a major blood vessel, it's just minorly
bloody. But shells if it isn't a good workout." Rasp rasp goes the tip
against the whetstone. "And be assured, I use every bit of the creature if I
can. A waste, just to leave the carcass about."

D'ney isn't much for conversation most of the time, but this she brightens at,
eyebrows rising in the tanned face. The metal bit has a most attractive
sound. "Reckon you can't just eat the thing," she hazards, "And no one would
want it for a game. Except for firelizards--"

"On the contrary, it depends on the kill. Some of the wild ovines have a
unique flavour, when their meat is grilled. I know this only because I've
cooked it up myself." The grim topic really doesn't phase Kalaera,
unsurprising considering her job. Lifting the tip to her finger, she frowns
again and returns it to the whetstone once more. "Firelizards, though. Arg.
They flock around me whenever I skin, and tend to be annoying. Luckily my
faire keeps 'em at bay enough so I can get work done."

D'ney seems to be enjoying the grimness. Her gaze studies the whetstone
briefly. "You've killed ovines?" In the desert? To the rest, she'll drop
an 'Aye' and leave it at that. Firelizards are a queasy topic, with the
usual shoulder-ornaments scattered around the Caverns.

Kalaera nods matter-of-factly. "Sure have. Up in the mountains of the
Reaches, there's some wild ones that have /quite/ the talent for clambering
all over the mountain." And were /those/ a chore to hunt. "Annoying as it
was to chase 'em, it was a challenge. One of the few things I miss about
living near the desert, though even here Igen's got it's fair share of
challenging game. The question is finding the little buggers." Grin.

Trekking over the mountains isn't too far from riding over empty stretches of
land, if you think about it. D'ney doesn't, but nods on instinct's pulse.
"You don't want to move back?" she squints at Kalaera. "To the 'Reaches?
It's cold there; we visited. They had ... ice." And water, and the whole
package.

Kalaera shrugs nonchalantly, slipping the now-sharp arrow back into the quiver
to join its sisters. "Nah. I've lived there long enough, and though it was
pretty with the snow and all, well. I can always visit if I get the urge."
She grabs the bow again, tests the string for tautness, then settles it onto
the table with a soft tick. Swiveling in her chair to fully face D'ney now
that her preps are done, she cocks a faint smile, asking "Are you from Igen
originally, yourself?"

D'ney seldom has this question asked of her in such a polite manner. She
ducks her head into the mug, emerging with a klah-painted mouth. "'Course,"
she says, alto wavering into sharpness, "Been here for turns and turns."
It's not a tetchy topic, but she steers away anyway. "You're hunting today?"

Kalaera nods her head with a tilt of her lips, allowing D'ney to change the
topic. "Yep, but only until noon. I'm heading off to the riverside, I
think, to see if any of those furry little rabbit-type creatures are around.
The desert ones have a unique flavour to them, even if their fur is too
course to be of any use. I can snag you a few, if you like?" Granted, if
she manages to track any of the light-footed critters.

Coarseness, what else? D'ney smiles openly this time. "Bet Nhaeth would like
some." He does, as a quick conference discovers, and the brownrider affirms
the same. After some consideration of the term and draining the klah's
dregs, she adds, "Are rabbits the ones that run around? Near the river?
Small, furry, scare runners away."

"Would he? I'll be sure to snag a few extra then," Kalaera replies quickly
with wicked glee. "And yes, those would be them. Rather quick little things
with large ears. They're kind of cute, in fact --but they're /everywhere/,
so I don't feel bad culling the masses a bit, if you will. I can prolly
catch about 5 of 'em, and offer you two if you like?" Bargaining, dealing,
trading --not her strongest point, but an incessant part of her job.

"Get rid of 'em," D'ney tacks on with equal glee. "They jump like vtols.
Used to spook the runner I was riding. Big brute of a 'beast and scared
of--" she rolls her eyes, sarcasm stealing in, "--/Cute/ things." A pause
for the bargain to sink in. Then, "How much are you asking?"

Kalaera slides her chair back with a soft screech, rising as she gathers her
quiver and bow with a laugh. "That's okay, I know of runners who frightened
at the mere sight of a trundle, of all things." She shrugs the bow over her
shoulder, holding up her other hand with a wave. "No no, no payment needed.
The hunt itself is payment enough for me, and considering there's no offering
of pelts involved, consider it a freebie." Kala tips her head with a smile
towards D'ney before ambling out towards the bowl. "And speaking of, if
you'll excuse me I may as well start out on the trail. See you this
afternoon, hopefully successful, yes?" Turning on a heel, she clicks her way
out towards the bowl with a light, jaunty step.

Kalaera struts in that sexy way toward NorthWest Bowl.

D'ney finds goodwill enough to call to Kalaera as she ambles away, ignoring
the looks from her wingmates: "Then a ride to 'Reaches when you want it, just
look for Nhaeth and I!" Her thanks is lost, though, as she scrapes up and
away.

Back to Logs Page