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.
You see Rushweed Basket, Ierie, Canyon, and H'an here.
Halis and Ralya are here.
The current weather report:
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IgenW: Center Bowl Area (#5491)
Relentless, and close-kept, it's almost unbearable going outside. And Rukbat
well, it is a blaze of glory. It is a summer midday.
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Ralya reaches out with one skinny arm and grabs Hagvin by his messy brown
hair. The boy squeals in surprise, yanking himself free from the angry
teenager as she is distracted by Halis's curse. "What are you yell--" she
begins crossly, before recognizing her semi-sister. "Oh, hi, Halis. You got
some loud kids." She peers down at her clenched fist, where a tuft of dirty
brown hair is still held. She wrinkles her nose at it and stuffs it in her
pocket.
D'ney arrives on the wake of a puff of dust. Indeed, there's more of it
littering the ground behind her as she enters the caverns proper. "Hey," she
yells greeting towards the Duneraider table, cutting through the noise
omnipresent in the cool indoors. A drink's found, a mug of klah, despite the
heat, before she trudges on.
D'ney
Desert-born and -burnt, dusk shades her in, settling over shoulders broad in
comparison to her slight build and tanning lanky arms a rusty brown.
Vigilant angles heighten the harsh peaks and abrupt gullies on her face,
accenting pinched features drawn by a miser's brush; the same quirk of
bloodline informs the boyish figure, paring skin close against bone. 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.
Smooth, once-shiny hide covers her, a casement against high winds and
treacherous Falls. The original light brown material has been scuffed by
time and scarred by work, reducing the sheen of weaver-made wherryhide; the
leather itself is warmly lined, with a stiflingly high collar and a panel
that slants down the front, secured with tarnished pips to her shoulder.
Around her waist winds a broad, thick belt of wine-red, studded with small
rings. Long, thick sleeves disappear under slightly oversized gloves when
the latter are worn and flutter out extravagantly when they are not, a match
for the flamboyance of tan leather that reaches to mid-thigh, hiding dyed
hide trousers tucked into high boots.
Double cords of maize and jet loop and intertwine, acquiring a wisp of brown
ribbon and a Wingsecond's tassle along the way.
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.
Halis sighs and shakes her head, "They're only a couple months old and I can't
get them to sleep and eat my lunch and I missed out on quite a bit of sleep
last night so I'm rather iritable today." She nods at Chairs, "Hold her
please." Milis is then taken up by the sparklie one who gently rocks him
while humming, "C'mon now, nice nappy time." D'ney's spotted and gets a nod
in hello.
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 has begun to grow now that it's no longer
being chopped off regularly. With the lack of weight it's curling ever so
slightly. Now it rests just barely atop her elfin ears, looking like a pale
sparkling cloud. Highlights are noticeable here and there, almost platinum
streaks compared to the rest of her hair. Skin has become a deep tan and no
tan lines are visible regardless of what she's wearing. 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.
Around her neck is a small carved pendant. The carving is the wingbadge for
the SandStormer wing.
Far from standard issue, it would appear that Halis went out and found a way
to have her leathers made just for her. The tough strong leather conforms to
the minute curves present on her thin toned form. Clean and polished to a
near shine, it would appear that these leathers have never seen a fall since
they were made, and so far that would be a correct guess. Pants go down to
her ankles where they meet boots of a deeper tan. Vest and fleece lined
jacket are the same pale color of tan, nearly blending in with Halis' own
soft tones. Running down the outer sides of the pants, deep clear blue
stitches run in medium X's. The only purpose is decorative of course. The
vest has no visible means to fasten it around Halis, and infact there are
none, it simply is tugged on over her head. The jacket has strong blue cord
along the front to fasten it shut for trips ::between::. Wild Feline Tooth
Necklace hanging around Halis's neck.
Double cords of jet-black and gold are twined together, looping thrice, ending
in a single tassel. A silver thread holds it all together and a silvery blue
ribbon is carefully wound in and around the jet-black and gold cords, showing
that Halis, is rider of blue Olexath, and a wingsecond at Igen Weyr.
She is awake and looks alert.
Carrying:
Aerieki
Content and glowy.
Ralya
Seagrass irises stand out brilliantly against olive-tinted skin that remains
unmarred by the ravages of time, while pastel lips pucker beneath an upturned
nose. Thick brown hair creates an ornery mop atop her head, tumbling around
oval face and down past slight shoulders to her middle-spine. Long-limbed and
trim, maturity's curves nonetheless make their appearance at breast and hip;
she carries herself carefully, movements made sinuously and with
determination and control.
Appropriate for Igen's summer heat, she wears a light, fluttery sundress of a
cottony fabric, colored a faded goldenrod. Over said dress, a long and
featherlight robe -- open-fronted and long-sleeved for optimum skin
protection -- dances, dyed a much lighter yellow hue. Upon feet: sturdy
ankle-boots, and tangled into her mass of hair, a devastatingly cheerful
yellow headband.
A single cord in Igen's desert gold loops once about her shoulder.
She's just reached womanhood, and carries herself proudly in regard to that
fact.
She is awake, but has been staring off into space for 6 minutes.
Eyes are bright, cheeks aflush: healthy girl.
"Huh?" Ralya stares at Halis as if she is crazy. "You want me to... /hold/
it?" She eyes the baby suspiciously, as if it might jump and attack her at
any moment with small, sharp teeth. "Why hold it? It looks just fine where it
is, in that little basket thing you store them in." Hagvin peeks around a
doorway, eyes asparkle, and sticks his tongue out at Ralya. She sees him. She
shrieks: "You little tunnelsnake! I'm going to beat the tar out of you when I
catch you!" Hagvin, smartly, disappears.
D'ney squints at Hagvin while holding the mug carefully aloft. She opens her
mouth, about to say something, but he flees. "Was that one of H'gin's?" the
brownrider addresses the girl who was with him, dropping her own nod to Halis
along the way.
Halis sighs again and nods, "Yes, please hold /Charis/ for me? She won't
bite, no teeth yet. Since you nearly knocked her over onto the hard ground I
figure it's the least you can do." Milis finally calms though tearful eyes
gaze intently at his mum as he looks to be on the verge of crying again. To
D'ney Halis calls lightly, "How ya been dear?"
Ralya turns her attention to D'ney, green eyes still livid. "Him? Yes. One of
them. All of those boys are nothing but spoiled little boys who think they're
something special for being a dragonrider's progeny-- brats, all of them,"
she spits. Eyes flick back to Halis. "Uh, allright." Ralya picks up the baby
girl, holding Charis under her armpits, held out gingerly at arms' length.
"Knew him from before," D'ney informs Ralya, alto crisp; she hovers
momentarily near their table, somewhat wary of the babies. "Been busy Halis,
how have you been?" From her tone, she's referring to the twins more than
anything else, though there's a wisp of warmth buried by her klah.
Halis laughs outright at Ralya, "See how I'm holding Milis? Sit down here and
try holding her the same way." Charis meanwhile is just staring blankfaced
at Ralya, drool starting to roll down her chubby face. To D'ney Halis nods,
"Aye, busy here as well. And everyone's been doing well. Weyr's a bit
crowded but that's fine since I get to get away now and then."
Ralya plops down in the chair next to Halis in a fluff of yellow fabric.
Charis is still held at arms' length. Gingerly, she moves to hold the child
in a more appropriate position, but a bit of that drool manages to land on
Ralya's sleeve, and -- again -- she gives one of her indignant shrieks (she
is a shrill young woman, really), and holds the baby back out at arm's length
again. "It leaked on me!" she accuses indignantly.
Of course her weyr's crowded, with four in there, though D'ney doesn't voice
that, choosing to nod instead. She tugs a frown, sidelong, at the leaky
girl-child Ralya is holding. "It must get loud at night," says she,
shoulders a-twitch, then adds, "But a little drool won't kill you."
Halis peers over at Ralya, "Dear if you don't support her neck I swear ..."
She trails off with a tired sigh, placing Milis back into his little basket
now that he's asleep. She then reaches for Charis, "Here, give her to me.
As for leaking .. that's /nothing/." To D'ney with a giggle, "They sleep at
night. Nice and quiet."
"It's dis/gus/ting!" Ralya grumbles to D'ney, eyeing her yellow-fabric sleeve
unhappily. "It'll probably stain," she sniffs, "and then what will I
do?"
Quite happy to be rid of the little squirmy-leaky-thing, the girl hands
Charis back to her mother. "Here, I think she likes her mother better'n me,
anyway," she notes. And she is very glad of that fact.
D'ney prods Halis' argument for holes, "In the morning, then, when they don't
sleep." And there's a grunt for Ralya, and Charis too, whom she avoids
staring at /too/ much. "Clean it. Get some soapsand. It's only water."
The klah handle's jiggled, dark head lowering to sniff in the thick scent.
Halis smirks as she glances at Ralya's sleeve, "It's a dot of moisture, hardly
a worry." Then to D'ney as she rocks Charis lightly, "It does get noisy
then. Worse in the afternoon before their nap though."
Ralya shakes her head at D'ney. "It's not water. Water is /not/ slimy." The
sour expression on her face makes her look like something akin to someone who
has just taken a bit of something that tastes exceedingly unpleasant. She
snatches a napkin off the table, and dabs fussily at her precious sleeve.
"How can you stand having two at once?" she asks Halis conversationally.
D'ney shuffles a step nearer, pulling out a chair with a hand; the other
totes the klah out of the way of everyone else. Mug lands with a 'clunk' on
the tabletop, D'ney leaps more lightly onto the chair, which as always seems
slightly larger than her slight figure can fill. Folding her arms -- all the
better to guard from the babes? -- she shakes her head at Ralya. Offers:
"Just don't drool over your own kids when you have 'em."
Halis smirks slightly as she gingerly moves Charis to her basket, "I didn't
choose to have two at a time Ral, that's just how it happened. And I
wouldn't have it any other way." Ralya with kids ... scarey. It's scarey
enough that one of the brood already has two kids. No need for more to
populate the weyr.
Ralya eyes the babies suspiciously for a bit longer, then shakes her head
firmly. "I definitely have no plans for children." So she better be careful,
eh? "I don't think mother would appreciate being a grandmother at her age,
though I guess you could say it was her own fault for having a kid when she
was seventeen, eh?" She ponders this. "Heh, I'm older than A'ea was when she
had me." Oh, the observations.
Betha walks in from NorthWest Bowl.
Suspicion abounds, and around two seemingly harmless babies. An odd sight,
certainly. D'ney, showing no maternal kindness, states, "There are too many
children running around as it is. H'gin's brood, R'lik's-- you wouldn't want
to add to that." Logic creeps after her so-witty commentary, rearing its
ugly head. "Did you say A'ea? You're /related/?" There's another one?
Halis giggles, "Ral, Aly's a grandmother already and she's not much older than
A'ea. Not that she's stopped by to meet the kids though." Slightly amused
pout before, "Ral and I are related by the fact that Aly and A'ea are
weyrmated for the time being. But she and Rana are half sisters." She
reaches for her food finally, happily eating, stomach growling happily.
And then there's Betha's brood. Twin boys. Of course they aren't prone to
running around like a band of savages. She'ld send them between if they ever
did that. Blue rider walks with sycopated gate.
"And Alaera's, and Eilish's, and R'il's, and /especially/ my father's!" Ralya
adds to D'ney's list of Those Who Overpopulate. "But H'gin's are the worst of
'em, in my opinion. All those snot-nosed boys. You would not /believe/ the
things they do..." She pauses to explain to D'ney the intricacies of the
confusing family: "Ranala and I have the same father, and Ranala and Halis
have the same mother, but me and Halis aren't related by blood."
D'ney never did work out the family charts for /this/ brood. She subsides to
gnawing at nothing, jaw moving fitfully. "Oh. But I thought Alaera had
Ranala and--" She's speaking together with Ralya, who's obviously much
better informed on this topic, so pauses to absorb the rest of the
explanation. After all that, she nods. "Right." Does this mean she got the
last word on the subject?
Halis laughs, "I'm a half sister to anyone that Aly gave birth to, but some,
like the triplets, ya know, Kala and the others, are full siblings." She
won't say what happened to her poor da who she's never met.
Klah and niblets of food are taken up as Betha passes the foods left from past
meals. She looks around and decided to sit near the chittering group.
She'll just listen and snack until she's had her fill of food.
"I'm a half-sister to half of Southern Weyr," Ralya grumbles unhappily. "Do
you even know how embarrassing it is to find out that the handsome
bronzerider you were flirting with has the same father as you?" she asks,
cheeks turning rosy. One might think there is something more than
hypothetical to that comment.
D'ney shifts her shoulders, the leather emitting a faint squeak -- they, along
with her brain, require oiling -- "How many has she had who are in Igen now?
I'd like to know before I meet more sisters of yours," she asks Halis
seriously, flatly, cleverly. "Or brothers, that is. Are they in Southern
too?" Somehow, other words have been filtered into the mix.
Halis laughs, "Just me, Rana, and Kala here now that are Aly brats. Last I
heard anyway." Betha's spotted and gets a warm smile, "Hello Betha dear.
Didn't bring the boys?" Hand reaches out to gently rock Milis as the tot
starts to whimper, don't want bawling to spoil chitchat.
Betha turns with a smile, sitting sideways in her chair to get a better look
at the crowd. "Oh, no. The little darlings are sleeping right now. Hard day
of washing dragons, firelizards and swimming." She regards Halis's tot, "How
darling." Smile turning broad and brite.
Ralya goes home.
Did Betha sit down with them? D'ney bends at the waist to duck a glance at
her wing's table. She isn't supposed to be here, precisely, but fortunately
the table they're at is clearing as evening comes along. "And your father?"
she asks lightly, to Halis. "Hey Betha."
Halis wrinkles her nose, "He only had me, and can have no more." She won't go
into that just now. To Betha, "Their nanny couldn't watch them nor could
A'zan's so here I am. N'sure where Kayre or her daughter got to or they'd be
with them while I try and eat." She winks and puts more food into her mouth
while she's got a chance.
Betha isn't eeeeeeven going to offer to be a nanny. Last time she did, she
couldn't live it down. For those of you who missed it. She scared another
mother by telling her she could be the child's milk mother should the need
arise. That didn't go ever well. Nope. "Oh, I hate when that happens." She
smiles at D'ney, "Hey there D'ney." To both, "How you two doing?"
Weed wakes up from her nap.
D'ney leaves it, then, and indulges in cold klah while the temperature drops
around Igen. "You'd best wrap them up," she tells Halis, "It's getting
late.
We're fine, though, Nhaeth and I. Fine." Mumble.
Halis grins at D'ney, "We're heading home soon actually." Then to Betha,
"The
whole lot of us are doing well." Might as well answer for everyone in her
weyr people and dragons alike.
Betha glances at the pair, maybe missing something. My, how hath the gossip
failed her. "Good to hear it, good to hear it." She'll leave the motherly
stuff to Halis. Betha certainly hated it when folks told her how to raise
her children. Ha! Especially that famous child rearing healer, Master Healer
Spock. "You both, I mean you all leaving?" She pouts, "Well see you
later."
"We should be getting back," D'ney agrees, "I have some hides to
read." And
Nhaeth's bugging her to write more for his sake.
Halis grins as she stands and gathers up her kiddies, "Yup, me and the twins
are heading to bed. And I want to see if Kayre and her daughter are there."
Mmmmm, bedwarmer...moving along. She smiles at Betha still, "Visit me
sometime ok? I hardly see you anymore." Same goes for D'ney too.
Betha grins, "You got it! Oooh, by the way! We're having a hunting/gather
party at Southern. If you can make it stop on by."
Halis walks with a returned spring to her steps, toward NorthWest Bowl.
Make that five in one weyr. D'ney hops off her chair, shoving it back in
place when she's done. Another creak, long and dusty. "Heard of the trip
from Kalaera, I think. When will it be?"
Betha smiles, "We'll be pre-staging gear within a seven day then we'll be
taking that gear in and setting up. After that we'll have the core folks
come in."
"All the wingriders the Weyr can spare?" D'ney inquires wryly; a smile spreads
after, contagion from another source. "Fresh stock would be nice. Smaller
beasts than the holdbred herds, but I reckon they'd have younger ones too."
"Well it will go for several days, so who ever would like to come by, even if
it's only for a day would be wonderful.", says Betha with a smile. "Do some
hunting, play some games maybe if the weather is bad. Who knows what.
Kalaera will be doing the hunting with who ever, she's going for those giant
felines they have there. I hear they are rather nasty beasts to tangle with."
D'ney dawns a grin. "Yeah, the Southern felines. I'm looking forward to the
hunt." That's if they meet any, and her lifemate is willing. "The pelts
should bring in some marks for the hunters." The aforementioned Kalaera and
whoever.
Betha rubs her hands together, "YOu got it girl. Can't want to give hunting a
shot. Only did a little snare hunting. Nothing big. And Remorth is looking
forward to finding some plump wherry, and maybe some wild beasts to nibble
on."
Blood and gore, so on and so forth. D'ney nods and spins Betha a satisfied
smile. "That would be it. See you later, then. Get Remorth to inform
Nhaeth when you decide to go." And she steps off smartly.
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.
Leather as brown as his dark hide winds over his bony length, whorling
patterns where the ridges shrink into nothing and girding his underbelly's
frail jet.
Nhaeth is 4 Turns, 9 Months, and 25 Days old.
Sketching out a personal starscape.