Logs:Calling, Again
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 11 October, 2015 |
| Who: Torlynna, Z'kiel, Ahtzudaeth |
| Involves: Crom Hold |
| Type: Log |
| What: Ahtzudaeth decides Torlynna is missing the right knot. |
| Where: Courtyard, Crom Hold |
| When: Day 21, Month 13, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Light snowfall. |
  |
>---< Crom Hold(#1196RAJ) >--------------------------------------------------<
Like many Holds of Pern, Crom is built within the shelter of a solid panel
of rock. An expansive courtyard rests beneath this shelter, leaving up
towards massive stone-wrought doors and a wide deck of smoothed boulders.
The distinctive shadows of the watchdragon's ledge, the drumheights, and
the fireheights rise high on the cliff and dotted along the wall are
windows that are either flung open or shuttered depending on the weather
or, more dangerously, Thread. Vegetation is lacking in this mine-based
Hold, though the carts and beaten paths of miners returning home weave in
twisted circles about the Hold, leading far off towards the furthest
reaches of the few mines untouched near Crom itself.
A proud Hold, the crests and banners of the family flap in the wind,
hanging from the highest windows of the stone walls.
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. The slow swirl of falling snow is briefly interrupted by the manifestation of a bronze, one that circles high above the hold before angling toward the ground in a calculated spiral. Ahtzudaeth lands lightly in the courtyard and utters a low, throaty sound that edges toward a chortle of all things. Z'kiel dismounts and shoots a goggle-hidden glare at the beast. He quickly exchanges goggles and helmet for a knitted skullcap and scarf - and he adds a heavy bag while he's at it, slinging it crosswise over his person. The man grunts at the bronze, the bronze grunts back, and the rider starts off at a slow, measured pace toward the Hold proper. The Cromese peoples are still enjoying the days of Lady Crom's turnday festival. That might explain why Torlynna is milling around one of the weaver craft vendors with her eyes coveting a long wool and fur cloak on display. It's the sort of item far outside her budget given her quality of clothing and the lust burning in her narrowed eyes. It's so busy, however, that she gets a few chances to stroke the thick pelt of the hood while the crafters are busy making actual sales to people with coin. The first few days of the festivities might have made her jerk around to gawk at arriving dragons but the thrill of seeing the big beasts has worn off now or, perhaps she's so absorbed in her daydreams that she doesn't notice the additional dragon and rider arriving. At last, and with a big sigh, she pushes away from the cloak and starts towards the hall, putting her path in line with Z'kiel so they are strolling together towards the source of warmth and protection from the snows. It is, perhaps, somewhat heartening that the festival doesn't linger beneath the shadow that passed over it not that long ago. Ahtzudaeth, for one, doesn't seem terribly troubled by the situation - and, as dragons go, he seems far more interested in watching the swirl of people than in engaging with the other dragons scattered about. He pads a little closer, his steps careful - and, somehow, thoughtful. His head moves this way and that, luminous eyes bright with a mirth that's reflected in the slight gape-grin of his mouth. Z'kiel, grim-faced as ever, doesn't share in his better half's amusement - nor does he seem interested in anything except doing whatever he's there to do. The bronzerider cuts a look askance to the young woman that joins his course and studies her with eyes that are narrowed - habit, that, rather than any overt sense of distrust. His study is cold and strange, predatory for a fleeting moment, and then it just stops.. So does he, for that matter. Abruptly and with an audible hnnnh. Torlynna has her mind on other things. Lust of goods most likely. Her jaw clutching, indio gaze fixed on a spot in the middle distance as her long legs carry her forward. It's only when the taller man beside her stops does it seem to dawn on her that he head has been in the clouds and she's completely ignored the man. Her own narrowed gaze softens and she forces herself to release the clamped teeth to offer a slanted smile to the dragon-man. "Happy Gather." She calls, tossing a hand up and towards him but she's not stopping it seems, long strides widening a little more. The bronze continues his approach - at least until he can go no further. Booths and the crush of people make it all but impossible for him to move forward. Ahtzudaeth settles back on his haunches with the utmost of patience, head held high and grin widening. Z'kiel, for all that he looks back at the dragon, ultimately shakes his head with a slight pinching of his brows. It's only when the tall, young woman raises a hand and calls to him that his attention is wrenched back into the here and now. But, when he speaks, it's not to wish her the same. Rather: "Wait." The word falls hard, Igen-accented and laden with grit. It's aimed her way, but a few other passersby slow down or stop in confusion, looking at him, then at each other, as if uncertain as to just which he's speaking to. Torlynna takes another two steps after the call for her because, well, why would the stranger need her? Then she realizes that she's not going to make it to the warmth of the hearth just yet and stops, turning to regard the man with eyebrows swung up over narrowed eyes. "Hhmm?" Another woman who was also nearby stops as well, smaller and more reactionary, the little woman's eyes widen and round as she makes fluttery movements with her hands. Torlynna is less responsive but curious, glancing from the woman to the dragonrider. "Need directions?" She asks, not unkindly asked, maybe a touch of sympathy. Of course, now that people have stopped, Z'kiel's the one left looking confused. He shoots a look back to Ahtzudaeth who, helpfully, rears up a little more and raises a forepaw in a queerly human-like gesture to point at someone. From the distance and angle, though, it's impossible to make sense of it. "The worst. That's you," Z'kiel grouses just under his breath. Torlynna's words are caught just above that and he exhales sharply with an equally sharp shake of his head. "No." He winces a little at the sheer weight of the word and shakes his head again as if that might dull it. "No," he tries again. "Something- no. Someone is missing something here." There's a tilt of his head, an indication of the not-so-distant bronze and his odd gesticulation. "And he's not helping." There's a brief clench of his jaw, then: "Come with me. The lot of you. Not you," excludes the two or three young men, leaving perhaps three other young women in the summoned lot. "Please," is an afterthought, grated out with frustration that's dragon-centric. Torlynna's eyes are drawn towards the movement of the rearing dragon and the oos and aaahs of the crowd close by to the magestic beast to witness this show. Torlynna's head tips slowly as she squints at the dragon and slowly shifts her focus to the dragonrider, sweeping a look over him consideringly. Beside her, the gush of the smaller woman drowns out whatever she might have said. No way she's making a scene like that. Instead she folds her arms over her chest and lets the little woman dart in front of her, trying not to get tripped up. At last her expression settles into amusement, why not? SHe opens her mouth to ask but it's the simpery little woman who bolts headlong, "What's missing? Oh! Missing someone! Oh my!" And such excited blustering that Tor glances at the rider with a widening smile. Yup, more sympathy there as she trails with the small group. "Not. No. Not-" Z'kiel gives up, his jaw tensing again. He gestures, sweeping Torlynna, the smaller woman, and the other two along - not unlike a canine herding ovines, except without biting. It's only when they draw nearer to Ahtzudaeth that the bronze settles down again, settling into a languid posture; on his belly, forelegs crossed just so and with his head tipped down. The former Igenite rubs the bridge of his nose and steps aside, letting the bronze do- well, nothing, from the looks of it. Nothing except look very intently at each of them, with equal measures of time for the two others, the smaller one, and Torlynna herself. "Which one? The least you can do is not do the thing you're doing now." The beast chortles again, amused. To the women: "Someone's missing something here. Not you," he settles on, pointing at one of the younger women in the lot. Sixteen, maybe. She shuffles off with a pout. Torlynna keeps her arms folded over her chest in a protective set of shoulders as she moves along with the others. She's at liberty to admire the dragon up close. It could be said she's looking him over with the same intensity fixed on her. Then she lets her focus shift, turning to the dragonrider, tightening her thick arms over her ample chest as he begins to translate. "How can he tell someone's missing anything?" She asks and watches the younger woman drifting back the way they'd come. With the field narrowed slightly, Ahtzudaeth turns his attention more keenly to Z'kiel, who glares at him with a slight shake of his head. With a snort, the bronzerider shifts his gaze from the beast to Torlynna when she speaks. "Has a knack for it," he replies. "Somewhat. Some dragons look for something that's there. He can't make it easy like that." Another woman is sent off - mid-twenties and pretty, though she looks mostly relieved that she's turned away with that gesture. "But what he sees is- different. One of you two." Torlynna and the smaller woman that came with her, that is. "Names?" The question is barely a question and asked with a note of uncertainty that's slanted right back to the utterly still bronze. "Why is that even important," isn't a question at all and is definitely for the dragon who is, for the moment, looking utterly and completely smug about something. The little woman shoots a look up at Torlynna as though they are in some contest and hurriedly gushes out, "I'm Marandra Dragonrider sir. Dragon. Um..." She twines her little hands together and fidgits, almost vibrating with excitement. She might fly appart at any moment. Torlynna for her part just wings up her eyebrow and rocks back on her heels a little. In contrast, she's calm and reserved, but her smile is there, her expression curious and mild as she gives the little woman a reasuring smile for her eagerness. If the prize was for the most eager, the little chit would certainly be in the top awards. "If you're really asking for our names, I'm Torlynna. And yours is? You have a strange accent." Not worldly enough to know where it might be from though. Marandra gawks at her for being so forward, distracted from her nervous shivering. "Marandra." The name is rolled around a bit, then it's on to "Torlynna." Z'kiel sucks his teeth, forehead furrowed. "He's curious about them," comes the eventual clarification. "Not sure why. But." One shoulder rises and falls, with the 'Reachian rider looking from one woman to the other with a growing sense of consternation. "I'm Z'kiel. He's Ahtzudaeth. We ride for Alpine Wing at High Reaches Weyr," though that bit might be unnecessary; his knot is pinned to a shoulder. "I was from Igen Weyr. You're from here?" Hnnnh. "He likes your energy Marandra," the emphasis clearly added by the dragon-half of the pairing. "But you." Z'kiel's eyes narrow a bit more as he studies Torlynna. "You're missing something. Something here." He points at her shoulder - or, more specifically, at her knot, of all things. Torlynna's narrow eyes squint a fraction more. "Pleased to meet you both. I'm Lemos born but Woodcraft apprentice by trade and posted here." Her arms loosen from the shield they'd provided over her body and long fingers touch at her shoulder. "It's gather day, I left my knot--" Marandra scowls at her, still full of that nervous excitement. Tor ignores her in favor of talking with the dragon-man. "He could see my missing knot from all the way over there?" Torlynna asks, sounding skeptical. "No. But," Z'kiel glances at Marandra again, before all but dismissing her for the time being. She's not sent off - not yet, anyway - but there's a more pressing situation at hand. "No," he tries again. "He just knows the knot you have is the wrong one. Doesn't matter if you wore it or not. The one he sees is missing." He speaks slowly, as if trying to make sense of whatever the bronze is relaying to him. Ahtzudaeth starts grinning again, as it were, and he issues a low rumble of satisfaction. "Torlynna. There are two clutches hardening on the sands at High Reaches. He says he likes how you look. Our Headwoman will have the right knot for you." A beat. Then: "He is calling. He says the young ones are, too." He's not certain of that last, but it matters little. He continues, slow and somber and serious: "Will you answer? Will you Stand at High Reaches?" Torlynna stares at the bronze dragon hard. "I have worked very hard for the knot." She tells the smiling dragon and then turns back to the rider with a starlted, 'oh', when he explains more fully. A sudden smile breaks across her face as she listens and at last gives a single nod of her chin. Though she might not fully believe her good fortune, she's not one to say so aloud. "I'd be honored to stand for the hatching!" Marandra wrings her hands together a little more and wobbles from one foot to the other, mouth opening and closing around a mixture of hope and dread. That she's not been sent away seems to give her the courage to stay put rather than dashing off. Torlynna glances at the smaller girl and then back to the rider expectantly. The bronze rumbles and ducks his head; Z'kiel nods, unconsciously mirroring that very gesture. "You worked hard for it," the rider echoes. "But. They'll let you keep studying your craft." He'll not take it into 'just in case' territory, though; he leaves it there, with a glance angled to Marandra again. Another grunt. Another round of narrow-eyed teeth-sucking. Then: "No. He doesn't... see that with you." There is no apology for it; no consolation prize. Just: "Enjoy the rest of the Gather, Marandra. You," Torlynna is looked at again. "Get what you need. We can bring you back for the rest. I have a spare jacket and helmet," so, at least, she won't freeze Between. There's that, at least. The two women exchange a look. Tearful and jealous on Marandra's side and compassionate on Torlynna's though the little woman whirls away and jogs off through the snow so as not to be caught with tearful eyes. Torlynna worries her lower lip in her teeth and then lets out a quiet sigh, nodding to the dragonrider. "Right." Seeming to take his lack of apology to heart--it's just the way it goes. "I'll just be a moment." And she is only gone a short time, returning with a small pack and scarf wrapped around her throat. Her eyes gleam with excitement despite her attemps at being cool and reserved. Riding a dragon is worth getting a little bubbly about! |
Comments
Faryn (08:06, 13 October 2015 (PDT)) said...
Don't you tell Ahtzudaeth he's the worst, you butt. He is clearly the best searcher EVER. And yay for Tor. I look forward to seeing more of her!
Leave A Comment