Logs:Altitude
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| RL Date: 5 December, 2015 |
| Who: Quinlys, T'gar |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: T'gar and several other weyrlings fly for the first time. |
| Where: Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 18, Month 6, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
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| These warm, summer days are perfect for young dragons to test their wings: the breezes aren't too strong, and no one has to get too cold (or too wet). Quinlys and her assistants have been bringing the younger group of weyrlings out for their first manned flights in small groups, preferring to keep a close eye on their attempts. Today, T'gar and his Asaroth are one of a small group called outside by Olveraeth's trail of stars: « Outside, with your straps. We're going flying. » The redheaded weyrlingmaster leans up against her blue's forelimb, face angled up towards the afternoon sun in a contented, relaxed kind of way. These days, the dark of the Weyr has been more suitable for the bronzepair since having gotten a silver thread. T'gar seems to have taken the whole program seriously, the man caught studying more often than not away from the usual weyrling class haunts. This day, he has his bucket and tools in hand to suggest a good Asaroth wash when the summons come through his bronze. It only take a moment before the pair emerges - the dragon usually proceeding the weyrling with straps in hand - and when he does appear to find the Weyrlingmaster in such a pose, he couldn't help to comment for her ears only, "Too bad I suck at drawing. This is worthy of a sketch drawn forever." Pause. "Ma'am." As if adding the last makes it sound polite or so. Then he goes to stand with the others, beside his dragon in wait. "You know I pose for your amusement," comes Quinlys' response, made without a shift in her pose. It must be Olveraeth who lets her know that the weyrlings are ready, because she moves in her own time, abruptly straight-back and professional as those blue eyes turn from one weyrling to the next, down the (short) line. "Right," she says. "Today, we're going to test out those straps of yours. Do you trust your lives to them? It's time to make that decision. Get them on your dragons, and we'll give them a good test." It's a return smile that indicates that T'gar has heard her response to him, his own stayed in the face of the class at large. Once it's announced that they're to try their first flights today, he like the rest of them turn to put his straps on Asaroth. "Are we going to go somewhere?" he asks a loud while doing so, looking back at Quinlys. "Go somewhere? No." Quinlys dismisses that with a look of amusement, and what might pass as good-natured scorn. "Today will be about making sure your dragons can support your weight, not to mention get a feel for how that weight will change them in flight. Give it a seven or so, T'gar, and we'll go as far as the hot springs outside the Weyr. Baby steps. Who wants me to inspect their straps first?" The grin is wry from Rat as he cinches here and there the straps on his erstwhile dragon. "You'll hold my weight," he says a loud to Asaroth, a bit too cocky in that regard before taking a step back and angling towards the Weyrlingaster with a nod to allow her to inspect his strapwork. "Baby steps," he echoes now. "Familiar." « How do they feel? » Olveraeth is direct, focusing his heavens upon Asaroth with intensity. « Do they rub? Constrain? Hurt? » Quinlys lets out a huff of something that could be amusement, or even irritation, and otherwise makes no further comment as she steps in to begin her examination, poking and tugging and inspecting all the way around the young bronze. "Do you trust your own handiwork? With your life?" Asaroth is that dark, dank cave. The silence is profound, but Olveraeth perhaps would sense that the bronze is both watching and listening with intensity. It's a long moment before he does speak, though, with a raspy whisper of a rotted carcass being dragged through the mud. « I approve. » Rat steps aside further so that Quinlys could approach and examine at will as he answers her. "I trust Asaroth with his life," is his answer. "Killing me will kill him. That's something he and I share, at least. My handiwork is solid, otherwise." His confidence is, too, by the tone and the grin. Olveraeth also approves, then; approves of comfort, approves of trust. « You will say something, if something feels wrong, » he prompts, firmly. « You will land immediately. You will. » No arguments. "Mm," agrees Quinlys. "I suppose that's so. All right-- that seems sufficient. If you trust, who am I to argue? Pay attention, though. If anything rubs... you don't let that hang around." She doesn't wait for answer, and instead moves on to check the straps of the other weyrlings, one after another. Finally: "Mount up." Asaroth agrees through a series of putrid smells. Maybe Olveraeth understands, but nothing further in words come from the bronze. Either way, he must be eager to fly for he's moving his wings and seeming to prepare himself for it. "I'll keep my eye on you," Rat vows to Quinlys on paying attention, the double meaning likely not missed as he slaps the bronze on his side as he gets there and makes a show of mounting up. He settles firmly on his bronze, seeming to test his weight along with Asaroth bouncing a little in doing the same. The little sound Quinlys makes is audible but not intelligible, though she's probably exasperated (as per usual) by T'gar and his double meanings. In lieu of further comment, she turns back to her own dragon, climbing up into position. « When you're ready, » comes Olveraeth's command, no doubt passed on from his rider rather than yelled from dragon to dragon. « Push off from the ground. Not too high: test your wings before you try for any altitude. » Asaroth is the first to push off from the ground, from the moment that Olveraeth gives the go-ahead. It's an over-eager push that jumps the bronzepair up abruptly enough to have T'gar scramble to tighten his hold on those straps, those wings outstretched. Like the rest, the bronze hovers as he works his wings this way and that, seeming to settle the weyrling's weight against him. Some of the others in the small class get the hang of it quicker than the others; Asaroth seems to be taking his time despite that initial rush to touch the sky. Olveraeth waits until all of them are in the sky before joining them, his own launch smooth and even; unsurprisingly well-practiced. Quinlys' gaze fixes upon each weyrling in turn, obvious even from the necessary distance between them all-- that red hair certainly makes it difficult to miss her. « Try a glide, » suggests Olveraeth. « A little altitude, and then glide. You can even yourself out that way. She says-- she says you're all doing fine. And you are. » T'gar and Asaroth are still in the testing phase a little longer as they watch a couple of the other weyrlings attempt to glide. Once they attempt it, the bronze slowly rises higher up before he glides ---- and falters. One side dips too far at an angle before Rat is seen leaning forward with words to the bronze and the sharpness is corrected to something even. The bronze's mind touches Olveraeth's, the touch a chilled and wet one, as he obviously tries to mirror the blue's position. Even the image he sends to the blue is one of a question in correction since he doesn't voice the question aloud. Olveraeth's stars lose their twinkle as Asaroth falters, though he presents a path nonetheless: let the stars guide him, show him that better way. Yes; like that. Just so. « Two beats, » he says. « And you should be righted. Mindful of your bulk. » He, of course, is significantly longer than the bronze, still-- but everything is relative. « If you need to, land. » But if he can stay up, that's all the better. Asaroth is definitely working hard to keep afloat, as it was, his presence in the blue's mind lingering as he does so. He attempts a tentative study of whatever breeze he and the other dragons hover on, the image of the 'land' being covered with deadly shards of ice being sent to Olveraeth for his response on landing. Not if he could help it! Instead, he tests and he adjusts, tests and adjusts, perhaps being instructed by T'gar himself since the weyrling could be seen gesturing about - as if he knows how to fly himself. In reply to that, the blue has honest amusement, albeit tinged with a note of caution: there's nothing wrong with landing, if that's what is required. They all need to land eventually. And Quinlys, her eyes narrowing, continues to watch. Olveraeth adjusts his own wingspan, carefully demonstrating the use of those wide wings to even out his own flight. Like so. Asaroth goes higher still, his growing confidence felt in his touch as well as in the way he hovers. His visual to Olveraeth at least now returns with a square patch of normal dirt ground, surrounded by those ice shards. Comical? Perhaps so! What does show is that the bronzepair appears to be working together, even if the hover is a bit on the wobbly side despite the copycat. Olveraeth's moves are constantly watched, but the bronze hasn't found that sweet spot of just so yet. Olveraeth's stars twinkle again, this time with the suggestion of amusement. Comical, yes. « You're doing better, » he relates, approvingly, on a narrow band aimed for the bronze alone, and not his other charges (who are also doing just fine, as it happens, but then, they didn't have that initial upset). « Try some altitude. Stretch. » Altitude. Asaroth, communicating with T'gar, raises his altitude only after a few moments. It will be awhile before the bronze builds back up his confidence and settles into an ease with flying higher with T'gar on his back. The bronze seems to enjoy the feedback from Olveraeth as well since his damp touch is still there as he makes longer movements that smooth out from wobbly. « Good, » returns Olveraeth. « Good. » That dampness turns into clouds within the blue's mind, but these are clouds of a different kind: solar winds, perhaps, and distant nebulae, tinted brilliantly as he suggests a path upwards through the lower skies. « We might take a circle around, and then land, » is aimed at the entire group. « We will fly again tomorrow, though. » And the day after that, too. Asaroth revels in the flight and it's clear in his shared touch. He's probing those solar winds and stars and nebulae with interest enough for the beast in the cave to peek out only briefly enough to be seen, sending Olveraeth « We would like that » in return to thought of flying again. Asaroth will speak for him and Rat, yes. As for the weyrling, his face is flushed with the eagerness of the flight as they follow the blue's lead further into the sky. Olveraeth's thoughts are open for the probing, though there's a nudge every so often: pay attention. Focus. He leads the way, though, taking the small group on a careful circuit of the bowl, not quite reaching the furthest curves, and not travelling too high. « Tomorrow, » he says, « we might go so far as the rim, or the star stones. But for now-- » For now, he'll wind his way back down towards the ground beside the weyrling barracks themselves, wings furling in upon himself as he demonstrates a careful landing. Landing is, after all, much more important when one's very breakable rider is in residence. Asaroth is fascinated by the universe of Olveraeth's thoughts, it appears, until he returns his focus to the task at hand. He follows behind most of the lot, still working on smoothing out every wobbly kink in his flight as if he was aiming for perfection. He manages to keep up with his class with some work on his part before the blue lands, and he - much slower than the rest - follows likewise. His wings brought in neatly, Olveraeth's words must be shared with Rat since he's nodding with a pat to his dragon as he dismounts. "Been wanting to see up those star stones from the moment I stepped foot in this place," he comments aloud once he's on ground, working circulation back into his legs. "I promise," says Quinlys, dryly, "You'll have plenty of opportunities." She's the first to climb down, at ease with the motion and in no way stiff from her time in the air. "You'll need to learn them pretty well, all of you: they're the best thing to focus on, once it comes time to start training for between. They'll be your first destination. For the moment, mind, no flying unaccompanied. We'll give you leave to do so once we're more comfortable with your dragons, but it won't be so long, now." "Promise, huh?" T'gar can't help the slight grin, it seems. It's all he says though (perhaps thankfully), as he listens along with the rest of the class. Some look disappointed that they can't go gallivanting about on their dragons already, much to his amusement, and adds for their benefit, "At least soon we'll be able to reach those hot springs. Soon. That, too, right?" Quinlys' gaze rests upon T'gar for a moment for that comment, but hastily moves on again. For the last, "Yes, that's true. Once your dragons are comfortably flying within the bowl, we'll start further excursions, and that will include the hot springs. That would matter more if it were winter, of course, but..." She smiles, abruptly. "They're nice. For now, I suggest you all give your dragons a good oiling and keep an eye for any aches and pains. Injuries now can mean being grounded for a long time; play it safe." T'gar nods along with the rest appearing mollified about further excursions. The class is in accord, and a couple is already looking towards their dragons to check them for any discomforts and injuries. Rat does the same with Asaroth, though he nods to the Weyrlingmaster in understanding along with the rest as he starts to remove Asaroth's straps. Quinlys has her own straps to remove, and these, once removed, get slung over her shoulder before she makes her way into the barracks, and towards her office. She has, it seems, other things to get back to. |
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