Logs:Diverted
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| RL Date: 6 August, 2014 |
| Who: H'kon, Leova |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Crom Hold |
| Type: Log |
| What: Some skybroom has gone missing. G forces have not. |
| Where: Crom Hold |
| When: Day 16, Month 6, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Warm sunshine and cloudless skies make for a beautiful day and pleasantly warm evening. A breeze tempers the heat with no humidity lingering in the air. |
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| Crom Hold 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.
Arekoth and his rider look up as one. H'kon's face sets. Arekoth holds his position. They can do that. She's coming. She doesn't hesitate. Down down down, swept-back wings near-invisible from that angle, foreclaws extended. Soon she'll reach the point where even a green as agile as she might not be able to veer off. Then she passes it. Arekoth rolls, into his own dive, bringing his talons to face the approaching green, while H'kon hangs on. Tightly. He doesn't hold his course, though it gets them both more distance. She does. Down and down, no rider visible on her neck, down. She's headed straight into his claws. They might even touch, there's heated dragonhide and Vrianth's own spice and a wild energy and. And she's gone. That touch comes with a crackle of pink radiation, gone - from Vrianth - at the same time she disappears. Arekoth is quick in adjusting his wings, pulling them to skim over the courtyard, bringing them back up for a second approach. Even once they've landed, H'kon still has very much the look of a man trying desperately to hold on to consciousness. He makes no move to dismount. Vrianth's rider is sitting on the edge of the fireheights as though it were a chair that she hasn't noticed is too large. Her sandals, from this vantage, can be tilted to nearly cover the courtyard itself. No sign of Vrianth. It's Arekoth who is doing the searching; it's Arekoth who finds her, while H'kon blinks and then gives his head a shake, slowly forces his hands to release from where they'd gripped the straps ahead of him. « You forgot your rider. » Overhead, of course, is where she's found: up and, this time, away from the sun. Floating downward, this time, her dark spars outspread. « As if I ever would. Arekoth. » "Fireheights." It's said softly, and Arekoth waits until H'kon has given one good rub to his neck before taking to the air. It's a grimacing brownrider brought to eye level, if well enough away from the ledge that his dragon's wings can move. H'kon stares. Arekoth moves upward a bit more, nearer, toward a better landing approach. Leova refocuses, visible even from that distance with the way she tilts the hand that's shading her eyes. She waves, then, her head lifting to track them. Vrianth... floats. Awareness is what they were waiting for. Arekoth drops in lightly, but H'kon is still loth to get down. "Were you guarding?" "Wouldn't call it that." Leova's half-turned now, one knee up on the cliff's flat instead of its edge. "Look at the courtyard. Notice anything?" There are wagons pulled up, people moving back and forth, a couple of them arguing about something inaudible from this distance but without the body language that suggests fists or knives are soon going to fly. H'kon settles back on his dragon's neck, while Arekoth folds and re-folds his wings until he is satisfied with how they lie against his back. "Conditions have not been ideal," shrugs the man, "in the last turn." "Mm." Behind them, Vrianth lands. Leova has to look away from H'kon, has to watch her do it. Her Vrianth. As she prowls over, though, the greenrider can turn back. "Still sweeping Nabol, mostly?" H'kon turns bodily to look to Vrianth, careful of the neck that he knows will become tense, tender, soon. "Primarily," nods the wingsecond. "Tillek, rarely. Crom." A gloved hand reaches to flick fingers over the courtyard below. "More. Fresh territories refresh the eyes, at least." He frowns down at the wagons below. Vrianth doesn't come terribly close. Doesn't make the looking easier. Also doesn't seem to be bothered in the least by her rider's sitting on the edge with the other two between them. It's a long fall. "They do that," her rider agrees. Then, "Saw this train when it crossed the border from Telgar." If perhaps not first. "Had quite the supply of skybroom logs, then." "Hm," H'kon all but grunts, leaning a bit more forward once again, arms bracing as green eyes move methodically, from wagon to wagon, in a defined pattern. H'kon is unhurried here, with clear skies and stopped trains below. "Following the main road." Surely. "Aye." Vrianth's taken up prowling again, starting to circle behind Arekoth. Leova's just looking at H'kon, mostly. "Left off about a half-day's ride out of here. Runner, that is. Not like they were hiding." "Mountains? Or south?" H'kon is, now, looking squarely at Leova. Arekoth's wings rustle, more that Vrianth might be aware that he is aware of her. « Sneaky, » might help with this, also. Or perhaps it's a comment on the situation. Shortly after, "How many wagons?" "Mountains." Vrianth, meanwhile, leans up to sniff at those wings as long as Arekoth's rustling them and all. She doesn't reply in words, though there's a vibrancy that encourages awareness of her awareness and so on. "Six with the skybroom. Another that wasn't, or not trunks, anyhow. Outriders." Leova leans her knuckles on the stone, leans on them. "Interest you?" "There is nothing major between Crom and Telgar," H'kon says, a statement of fact. No more insight than that is offered. He's looking back down to the wagons below in no time. One wing twitches a bit more in Vrianth's direction. In her nose's direction. Perhaps in her nostril's direction. Leova's is a one-cornered smile. She does not, as it happens, object. Vrianth's nose, her nostrils even, do let out a snort. Then the greenrider's moving to that pulled-up knee, to a crouch, to standing. H'kon turns to watch Leova's stand, though this time, the turn warrants the raising of his hand to his neck. The muscles have started to cool already. Arekoth is well-pleased with that snort, and now turns an eye to the green behind him. "Don't," but Vrianth's already extending her long neck to lick that wing. Leova frowns, and rounds the brown towards her. "Done?" Might be to H'kon. « Do that again. » The other wing is extended. H'kon shifts, uncomfortable. "No," is a simple response to Leova. "There is more to do." « Later. » She will breathe on that other wing now, more heated than the summer air. Leova lifts her hand to H'kon, acknowledgment, and she and Vrianth leave the other two to it. |
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