Logs:An Unfinished Inquiry
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| RL Date: 30 May, 2015 |
| Who: R'hin, Keysi |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Keysi seeks out Savannah's wingleader following a particularly strange night, only to be interrupted by the summons to Fort's Hatching. |
| Where: Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 11, Month 12, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
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>---< Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr >--------------------------------------<
Ringed by rough granite walls to all sides but one, this end of the huge
bowl narrows from the even broader plain to the west, continuing the ever
so slight downward slope toward the blue and green of the Weyr's lake and
surrounding foliage. More open to sun and wind than the western bowl, but
less frequented when there aren't weyrlings in residence, the bowl's
grassy tufts keep the topsoil in place and thicken into a bloodstained
meadow within the feeding pens that adjoin the lake.
At the base of the surrounding cliffs lie entrances to several caverns,
including the dragon infirmary and the weyrling barracks: the former to
the northwest near where the spires begin, the latter opposite to the
southwest. Both archways are large and dark enough for any dragon to pass
through, but it's the infirmary's that is haunted by faint smells of
redwort and numbweed, as though over generations they have seeped into the
very stone. To the southeast, between the weyrling area and the lake,
there are a handful of structures built into the floor of the bowl,
standing out amidst otherwise an empty space.
The snowfall is light and intermittent throughout the day until it tapers
off completely into a frigid night. The ground is damp, though very little
sticks. If the mind's consciousness is a freshwater pool calm for the most part, Neianth's touch is like that of a drop in it. Disturbing the serenity, making waves, ripples that at first seem gentle, but escalate swiftly in number and strength until it is unignorable without effort. His voice even for a young one is heavy, encompassing, commanding even if he means it not, « Leiventh. » It's a curious touch first, though no less in confidence as he's not yet sought out this particular bronze. « Mine seeks yours with questions. Does he have time for a meeting? » (To Leiventh from Neianth) An ever-present presence up on the rim of the bowl, Leiventh is undaunted by the wintry weather of High Reaches -- unsurprising when his very mindtones are made up of the cold, blustery winds of the same, stirring that pool into further movement as the touch draws his attention. Taciturn by nature, the bronze doesn't answer immediately, listening further, the winds seeking out the furthest corners of those pools, with an odd familiarity, more than one might attribute to merely another dragon of the Weyr. From on high, he does not stir, but eventually the winds coalesce into an image of the wintry bowl, the snow that's drifting stirred around by his winds, and the tall figure of his rider striding out there with confidence. (To Neianth from Leiventh) Ripples receed, the pool settling once more to give way to serenity defined simply by the hazy images of mist-faded mountains within the reflection of his pools. Gratitude present as calm winds swirling the heavy mists, but short-lived as Neianth receives what he asked for and quiets back into the swarm of the Weyr's draconic consciousness. (To Leiventh from Neianth) It's not long at all after the exchange that Keysi steps out into the light of the Bowl. Snowfall is not utterly unexpected and apparently doesn't phase the girl a great deal as she emerges from the weyrling complex with a destination determined already in her long quickened steps. Stride would eventually hesitate once far enough, blinking into daylight cloudy as it may be, her gaze swept from those present near to far. The brown, incredibly small as browns go though the way he holds himself doesn't show he notices it, trails not far behind her as has been his tendency since hatching. His dark-hewn limbs and pinions a shadowy backdrop close at her heels. For a moment, the winds pursue, stirring those mists, but eventually they die down as Leiventh retreats -- or loses interest, hard to say. (To Neianth from Leiventh) R'hin's making his way over from the lake, his head and shoulders already dusted in enough snow to suggest he's been outside for some time. His strides are long, yet sure in the snow-covered ground, slowing only momentarily as he catches sight of another figure, veering towards her. The Wingleader's gaze is, first, for the bulk behind her, pale eyes regarding Neianth, before an amused smile quirks his lips and attention shifts to the brown's rider. Brows go upwards in silent curiosity as he comes to a standstill to allow conversation, yet he is not the one to initiate it. When intense grey eyes fall on the wingleader, Keysi's not slow to finish the distance, albeit slower than the near-trot she'd come out of the complex in. "Sir, I'm sure you're busy." The formality comes easy to her, easier than playing games certainly. "This may be entirely inappropriate of me to ask, but," Her words are rushed at first, but as she starts to struggle for wording, they become slower and more selected in turn. Still, her tone manages to stay level, her face that level sternness that makes pulling unspoken details out of her difficult. "I don't dream like I did the night after we played, after that drink. I never asked what it was, but I've been bothered since..." She trails off, not usually one to give details, and perhaps thinking herself stupid for bothering the wingleader with such a thing. "Was there anything in that tea?" Finally, out with it. Blunt and to the point for the sake of time. Neianth is quiet, observing, unintrusive to the conversation though one eye is angled on R'hin unmoving. It's difficult to tell whether the laugh of the Wingleader comes from the weyrling's assertion that he's busy, or the sir that follows it. Either way, the amusement lingers in R'hin's expression as he regards her, curiosity still lingering in his gaze. His brows go upwards, marginally, as she talks, and yet he waits until she's fully finished before he responds. Typically, he doesn't answer her question, not directly yet, anyway: "What did you dream of?" the question, while intrusive, is posed casually, the way any good mindhealer might. If he's conscious of the brown's scrutiny, it doesn't sway his gaze from the girl. Keysi regards him with light, narrowed-eyed curiosity at the laughter, uncertain what promoted it. The fact she doesn't get an answer isn't missed, and she waits patiently as if that would grant her one. Failling that, her gaze flicks away. Embarrassment? There's a clear squarring of her shoulders, though, just as she's done in light of all the mindhealers who have tested her before. But, words would come as they wouldn't to any of her Healer colleagues, "It was different." She starts, as if that's all she intends to give. Grey eyes sweep around them once. No evesdroppers? Good enough, "It was incredibly.. mm.. interactive. I have many dreams of my past, but not like this. Not where I.... win." There's pleasure in that, somewhere down deep that simmers just slightly at the surface. "But it was too different to be my own making." She persists at the end in place of divulging detail. "Win," R'hin echoes her, with some amusement, and a hint of satisfaction, too. "There was not anything in the tea." The emphasis is slight and yet deliberate. "The tea itself grows in a very remote part of the Igen deserts, and the nomads use it to, hmm," he pauses to select his words deliberately, "Give them insight. Of course, the tea they use is far more potent." He glances sidewards, a moment, as the snow swirls, stirred by the wind of Leiventh's sudden descent and arrival beside them. "Insight." Keysi echoes him as he did her, though perhaps with a bit of accusation inflecting her tone. "It's very distinctive." The tea, she must mean, though whether she means the taste or the aftereffects could be either. "How potent? That was harmless, I suppose, but obviously effective. Could you use it-" Words are cut off as the large bronze arrives. Nieanth's black-touched wings flare, tail switches back and forth once, and his steps taking him back in the shadow of Keysi stepping back in time; as if of the same mind. "Do you need to leave?" The subject changes, appropriate of the arrival. "No." The fact that Leiventh's arrived is no coincidence; he stretches a hand towards Keysi in offer: "Coming?" is what he asks with a flicker of a smile, nodding his head toward Neianth in acknowledgement. "Fort's clutch hatches." After a considering beat: "We can talk about that later." It's more reactive than accepting as Keysi takes the extended hand. She questions everyone's motives, but given the wingleader's rather immediate excuse, she ignores arguement for time's sake. "It won't be long." The statement is given to the brown who is clearly displeased with the intended departure- a hiss his external goodbye but likely not nearly the end of it between the two. However, he's settled enough that the weyrling's absence won't cause him any particular problems. "If you say so." The last, to R'hin, but her focus is quickly shifted to Leiventh and further words are lost to travel. |
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