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.
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 Zippo and Bob.
You see Rushweed Basket here.
Saine is here.
From here you can go:
Kitchens Lower Caverns
Bowl Infirmary
The current weather report:
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IgenW: Center Bowl Area (#5491)
Light clouds wisk along high in the sky. Belior is one quarter full and
Timor is almost one half dark. It is a fall early morning.
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Devon arrives.
Trenton has connected.
It's the time when night wanes and day waxes into blossom, and it's Dallaney who scampers
in with a few of the drudges, from lower caverns to main. They busy themselves and so does
the weyrbrat, who stoops to a corner to retrieve a dishrag, fetching it to one of the
tables.
Dallaney
Gaunt, Dallan is, grown into a gawky adolescent stockiness. A mess of mahogany curls
crisps defiantly from behind her ears, huddles 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 pair of leather pants, patched at the knees, hang on by the bare grip of a hide belt
winding around her waist. Too long by design, multiple folds serve to hitch the pair up,
echoed by the tucked in, tucked up shirt the boyish girl wears. A jacket attempts to cover
it all: its adult standard issue and proudly bears the pips of a thrice-corded medal. As
dusky as she is, her garments attempt to outdo that by their solid umber shades; even the
loose sandals are intensely russet.
Reluctant Igen Weyr colours twine on her shoulder, threatening to spill over to the
browned neck.
She is awake and looks alert.
[13 Turns, 2 Months, and 29 Days]
Muttering under his breath, Devon strides into the caverns from the bowl; his gaze wanders
those present, seemingly looking for someone, a carrybag casually thrown over a shoulder.
His footsteps still near the entry passage, before his vivid gaze falls upon Saine, and he
begins to make his way towards her.
Devon
Ebon-dark hair falls in a conservative cut just above his collar, slight curls haphazardly
causing locks to sometimes fall over his brow. Penetrating brown eyes, the color of the
earth, are set amidst a stubborn, somewhat square set of features, long jaw and slightly
large, aquiline nose giving testimony to his stubbornness. Slightly shorter than is
average, this fellow's build is stocky, not unfit, but not lean either, his thick frame
tanned lightly from sun.
Simple clothing garbs this man's stocky build, a dark brown tunic without a hint of
ostentation molding to his form, a matching pair of black trous upon his legs. The cuffs
of the tunic is fastened with brown buttons, and the collar is buttoned to the neck. A
pair of scuffed and worn brown-leather boots rests upon his feet.
A double-corded knot of purple and white rests upon this fellow's shoulder, a single, long
tassle curved into a single loop displaying his rank as a Journeyman within the Healer
craft.
He is awake and looks alert.
Saine is perched in a chair, legs drawn up into a position that looks rather uncomfortable
-- never-the-less, the healer somehow manages to keep her balance, a mug of klah cupped in
her hands. Steam lifts from it, unsubstantial whisps curling up; the mug is lifted to her
lips and a soft breath shifts the mist away before she takes a sip. "Mmmmm, Kla--
Devon!" Fellow healer is greeted with a wave of the cup that sends liquid sloshing
over the edge to drip onto her pants. Whoops. "Only just managed to get away? I was
expecting you earlier -- have you got it?" Grin curves her lips. "Not that it's
not great to see you, anyway, but we've none left, and we're beginning to get some
complaints -- can I interest you in a mug of something? Some wine? Food? You name it, I'll
get it..."
Saine
The vivid green of emeralds gleam with intelligence touched with a sparkling vitality,
fathomless eyes emphasized by lashes curling with thick, dark innocence. Yet, the shape of
this girl's eyes contrasts the innocence; an elfin tilt that hints at a cheeky mischievous
shared by the curves of her lips. A deep, rich red, they are shaped with a hint at
sensuality muffled by childlike softness. This vivid hue is accented by the fine hair
twisting in delicate curling waves of polished copper, stealing the light to burn with a
promise of fire. The fire smoulders in the mature curves of the woman's supple body,
shaped with lightly sensuous curves offset by a petite frame.
Warm autumn hues fall over Saine's front in a loose tunic, the warm colour imprinted with
spreading stains of shadowy dirt, scattered ash snowflakes. The light reflects faintly off
a leather belt, drawing the tunic around a slight waist. The buckle is dark, a simple
square of burnished silver ever so often catching the light. From under the tunic's canopy
of dying leaves, flows dark breeches. The ebony fabric is hardened with dirt and other
substances which lend a rather, ah, unappetizing smell to the girl. Pants are folded up at
the end; two calf-high tanned boots peak out. A heavy covering of mud grows from the toe
of the shoes, gradually fading to small spots of darkness on the raw sienna leather.
She is awake, but has been staring off into space for a minute.
Carrying:
InSanith Babe
Saine just looked at you.
Mikado wakes up from his nap.
Nakiram walks in from Lower Caverns.
Nakiram walks toward NorthWest Bowl.
Dallaney is trying to be unobstrusive as possible: something that doesn't work well with
such as her. First, there's a smith she has to nudge aside to get at /that/ spot, but she
does bend assiduously over it once there, emitting a hefty sigh that shakes the thin
shoulders before glancing briefly at the speakers, then back again. Anonymity's the word
today.
Devon just looked at you.
Trenton has never been particularly good at being unobtrusive, and he's not about to learn
now. With a loud, barely-contained sneeze he announces his presence. "Oh...shards.
Not again!"
Trenton
A tanned, squarish face is lightly freckled, and surmounted by an unruly mop of deep brown
hair. From under his long fringe peer deep blue eyes, flecked with brown. Laugh lines
crease the corners of his mouth. His muscular stature is not very good, but cooking
doesn't really require muscles the size of a herdbeasts, does it?
He is wearing a dark maroon tunic, with four dark blue buttons up the front. On his right
breast is embroidered a stylised dragon, on his left, a large pocket. The hems of the
shirt are trimmed with double stripes of royal blue. His trousers are navy blue, supported
by a sturdy leather belt threaded through six belt loops. His feet are covered by dark
blue socks, and a pair of fairly new boots, polished up to highlight the rich mahogany of
the leather.
He is awake and looks alert.
Trenton just looked at you.
Lifting a hand to wave to the anonymous Dallaney, Devon's lips curve into a grin,
"Sure, you only want me down here for the herbs I bring, I see how you are."
Stifling a soft chuckle, the man sets his bag down carefully upon one of the tables,
saying after a moment, "Well, tea would do wonders, if you would...I could use it, I
was up late last night, working on one or two things..." The man trails off, glancing
towards Trenton as he sneezes.
The sneeze causes a small leap, and a grin towards Trenton -- "Wrong time of the turn
for hayfever -- d'you need anything for it? Or is it more of a cold?" Super Saine,
never off duty! Well... "Oh, I admit it, you're right, I'm only interested in you for
your aloh, so what've you been up to? Tea it is!" Saine somehow untangles her legs,
standing; gaze shifts around the room. "Anyone else want anything, while I'm
up?" Only then does Saine glance down and notice the spreading klah stain on her
shirt; she winces, putting the mug aside. "Anyone got a cloth I can borrow, Ma always
said I had all thumbs, I guess she was right -- look at this mess, and I only just got it
cleaned yesterday, from when a kind patient... anyway, I'd better be quiet and not put
people off their food, no?"
Mikado dozes off...
Trenton shakes his head, a hand covering his nose while he fumbles for a handkerchief.
"Never mind...I'm fine. I just think I have a cold, is all."
Dallaney waves avidly back, head raised above the table's level long enough for her to
check out the caverns, and to twitch her nose disgustedly at a weyrbrat at the next bench.
Then it's back to work again in the next instant, jacket's flaps swaying down nearly onto
the rag. She flicks them away, but heavy wherhide can be terribly irritating; hence
Saine's question gives some relief, and she sighs, scuttling over. "This clean enough
for you?"
"See! I /knew/ it..." Chuckling as Super Saine questions Trenton, Devon shakes
his head, stretching easily as he adds, "Let's hope you don't do physicals like that,
you might lose the glowtube in someone's ear..." Now wouldn't /that/ be a show.
Someone walking around with a tube stuck in their ear...anyway. Devon watches her catch
the cloth thrown by Dallaney, and says, "So, have you been up to anything?"
Then, remembering manners-- he does, sometimes, you know-- he adds to Dallaney and
Trenton, as they're close, "My name's Devon. It's a pleasure."
Trenton finally manages to wipe his nose, and he gets up to greet Devon more personally.
"Assistant Cook Trenton. Well met." He offers the hand that /doesn't/ touch the
hanky. "What brings you to our little corner of the world?"
"Oh, you're a lifesaver!" Saine gazes at Dallaney like a maiden in distress
might eye the hero that saved her. Oh, Dallany, my hero. "It looks clean enough for
me." Trenton' introduction is overheard, and the woman adds: "I could brew a
echinacea tea, if you like: it's great for colds, and might reduce the sneezing. Oh, and
I'm Saine." With that, she ducks and weaves her way towards the table on which the
drinks are; not quite out of ear-shot, she busies herself with preparing a tea. Looking at
the ammount of leaves she's using, it's probably going to be a very strong one, too.
Dallaney would certainly have tossed the cloth, if the healer acquiesced. "I'm
Dallan, Devon-- hello," she calls over. Posted crafters wouldn't be likely to know
more of her name. Since the cloth's there, she strides over as well, a small frown
touching her lips. "Healers, right?" She has good eyes. And, "It's
/Dallan/, Saine, not that other name," she shouts towards the drinks table.
Trenton nods, turning to peer at Saine. "That sounds like a good idea. Put lots of
sweetener in it, though, unless that will affect its potency - I have a little sweet
tooth."
It's a very good thing, then, that Devon likes strong teas. Keeping an eye towards Saine a
moment as she threads her way towards the side, he responds to Trenton, "Journeyman
Healer. It's a pleasure to meet you." He opens the front of the pack, one of the
small seams, and digs through it, then shrugs and re-closes it, and mutters under his
breath, "Must've left it at Telgar."
"Sweetener it is!" Saine hollars towards the table, adding: "Dallan? Dallan
it is, then! Though have you ever considered changing your name to something longer?"
From necessity, the healer shuts up -- it's hard to shout a babble, even for this healer.
A package of herbs is pulled from a pocket, and used to brew a second tea -- the woman
then liberally applies sweetener. Very liberally, in fact. Soon, she's heading back, a mug
in each hand -- one smells distinctly more pleasant than the other, and that one is passed
to Devon, the other one offered to Trenton. "Drink it up, and ignore it if you don't
like what it tastes like, the worse it is, the better it will work. Oh, I haven't been up
to much, Devon -- mostly rushed off my feet with a few flu cases, barely a moment to
myself." Poor girl. The rag, which had been placed into her pocket while she brewed
the teas, is pulled out and Saine begins to dab inexpertly at her blouse. A mumbled
grumble escapes: "Come off, you nasty thing."
As long as she's going to keep that thing, Dallan might as well hang around their table.
She eyes Devon and the cook once there, turning her face aside to rub fingers at a grubby
nose. A sniff then, as she returns the dark gaze to the healer's pack. "No I haven't,
name's fine as it is," she hollers back liberally at Saine -- the caverns are teeming
with noise today. "Eww, tea," she adds, and grins at the other tea-drinkers.
Trenton takes the tea, with one or two misgivings, and takes a sip. A strangled choking
sound comes from Trenton's throat when he realises how horrible it tastes. "By
Faranth's Egg, this is dis/gus/ting! What did you say it was?"
Stifling a chuckle and shaking his head, Devon watches Saine dab at her blouse, saying
with a soft chuckle, "You really should be more careful, Saine." A slow sip is
taken, and the man sets his mug down, asking after a brief pause, glancing at Trenton then
Saine, "I do hope you put wattle root in there?" He says this with a straight
face. Really.
Devon has disconnected.
"I did warn you -- it's echinacea -- a narrow-leaved purple coneflower? It won't kill
you -- well, no one has died yet -- and it's really good at treating colds, flu,
respiratory tract infections, vagi-- well, lets just say that its really helpful for a
number of problems." Saine beams towards him, glancing up from her blouse though she
continues to dab industriously. At Devon's suggestion, a snort and giggle escapes from the
healer, before she assumes a more calm expression. Well, attempts to. "Not this time,
though I have been considering adding a little to Master Iylle's tea, the next time he
drags me away from something important to make him one. You're not a tea drinker, Dallan?
Are you sure you haven't considered renaming yourself Dallenariannali? I think that'd suit
you so much more, and it's such a pretty name, don't you think?"
Trenton stares at Saine. He definitely picked up on the word she was /going/ to say.
"Right...good thing I have just a cold then, isn't it?" He takes another sip,
almost gagging at the horrible taste.
Dallaney chokes on her laugh, and gleams startlingly white teeth upwards, lips pulled back
in a somewhat canid manner. She's shorter than the others, however, and the feral
expression might go unnoticed. Manners, boy. "Wattle root?" she echoes Devon,
ever the suspicious questioner. Lucky thing she didn't have to take it. "What's
wattle root then?" The question's turned to Saine -- the rest of her speech can be,
well, ignored.
Devon has connected.
Saine glances over Trenton, lips quirking as she does so: "I'd be really worried if
you were taking it for the other benefits." Dallaney's question causes a suspicious
twist of Saine's lips, as she tries to control her expression. "I could perscribe
some, and you could find out through experimenting, it's relatively harmless with no
long-lasting effects." Voice is completely innocent -- well, almost completely
innocent. Well, darn it, she's /trying/ to make it innocent -- that's got to count for
something."
Devon stifles a chuckle; he remains simply quiet, not attempting to answer the question.
Instead, he lets Saine do that, sliding into a seat as he glances from Saine to Devon, and
back again, and stifles another, adding to Saine, "I'd be careful, Master Iylle might
prescribe some for *you*."
Dallaney has got some serious gaps in her education. Her "oh" says it all,
hopefully, as the short-cropped head tilts back again. "I wouldn't /ever/ experiment
with herbs and that kind of thing. Too dangerous," says she scornfully, flapping a
palm to the back in dismissal. Healers are suspicious figures, yes. Meanwhile, she drops
back onto the bench too, letting out too loud a breath. Relief, you know.
Trenton drains the cup of that disgusting tea, and shivers violently, swearing softly for
a few seconds about the taste. "Shards! I'm off to get something to take away that
taste...maybe cake. Back later...Oy." He strides in the direction of the kitchens,
muttering under his breath.
Trenton walks toward Kitchens.
"Argh. Perhaps I ought to just stick to the anti-depressants." Saine grins at
Dallaney's response, shaking her head slightly so copper curls bounce. "I wouldn't
suggest anything dangerous. Uncomfortable, maybe, but never anything that might harm your
health." Very uncomfortable. Trenton is eyed as he leaves with a slightly raised
eyebrow. "It's a good thing that I didn't cook him up something that /really/ tastes
bad."
Aironz flitters toward Kitchens.
Konge Hjerter flitters toward Kitchens.
Devon grins towards Saine; he says, quoting an old Master he once had, "If it doesn't
taste bad, it won't Heal you." Winking, the man leans back, crossing his arms as he
glances towards Dallaney again, before asking Saine, "Had any problems of late?
'sides the aloe, I mean?"
Dallaney looks amicably upon the pair. "Looks like he daren't take his
medicine," she concludes, jerking her chin towards the kitchens. The nails take heed
to run through her untidy curls then, even as her sharp-featured face peeks out from
behind these to mull over the current topic, umber eyes a-sparkle with genial interest.
"The patients complain if it tastes bad, and complain if you give them anything that
tastes good that it isn't working -- you can never win." Saine shrugs her shoulders,
slightly, with an evil glint in her eye. "So, I try to make my medicines as
unpleasant as possible so that they /know/ it's working." Actually, she just likes to
see the faces they make, but lets ignore that, okay? "Other than the few cases of the
flu, we've been pretty lucky down here lately -- how're you all in Telgar? Oh, excepting
the triplets -- how strange is that? Doesn't happen often, at all -- I'm surprised that
they're all healthy." Based on her tone of voice, surprised is an understatement.
"And relieved. The mother is a friend of mine -- I diagnosed twins, and had been
keeping an eye on her, but I wasn't expecting triplets. I would've locked her up in the
infirmary, if I had."
Devon has disconnected.
Devon has connected.
Devon nods slowly; he says, listening to Saine, "Oh, I quite agree, but then, we get
used to all the sour looks, don't we?" Chuckling, Devon stretches lithely, adding
with a nod, "As for the triplets, yeah, that's very rare, and in your shoes I would
have as well." His fingers pick up his mug, taking a slow sip, before setting it down
again, "It's rather nice that things did turn out well, though."
"I'm just so relieved -- but I'm still keeping an eye on all four of them. You know
how complications can develop, and I don't want to be caught unawares." Voice is
strained, slightly, Saine slipping slightly out of her casualness. "I don't want to
see her in any more pain." Her tone suggests she's not talking about physical pain.
Throat is cleared, and Saine gathers up a smile. "Ah, anyway. You haven't answered --
anything up at Telgar, recently?" Smile extends towards Dellan, Saine adding: "I
don't suppose you've got any good gossip?"
Dallaney silently takes her rag and polishes at the spot below her nose. Won't do for the
nanny to catch her now, would it. "How do /you/ manage to get up so early?" she
puts in to the pair, crossly, tangential. "And with Igen and it's heat--" She
sniffs, nudging a jar aside for an auntie to take. "--what? No, I don't listen to
gossip much. It's not my business to listen to gossip." Bravely, very bravely.
"Usual rider... stuff. Dragons going up and coming down." And their riders, of
course.
Devon shakes his head, admitting, "I'm afraid I'm not really one for gossip. I tend
to just do my job, and try to keep away from that sort of thing." A corner of his
mouth quirks into a wry smile, and he murmurs, "I really am boring in that regard, I
guess." Glancing towards Dallaney, Devon nods, shrugging as he glances back at Saine,
with a grin, "Sorry, you'll have to ask someone else, for gossip."
"Pity --" Suddenly, Saine's name echoes through the caverns, a bellow
originating from perhaps around the infirmary. "Well, there's your reason. Master
Iylle calls -- it's off to work I go." With a mock-groan, the woman pulls herself to
her feet and draging herself towards the entrance.
Devon has disconnected.
Saine has disconnected.
That dread Voice echoes from the vaults below-- the caverns, that is, and Dallan makes a
quick exit, flying with rag in hand to respond to the call. "Yes, I've cleaned the
place up, Nanny Reesi. Really," she can be heard to cry as she disappears down some
steps.