Logs:Meeting Of The Minds
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| RL Date: 29 October, 2015 |
| Who: Edyis, T'gar, Ulyana, Asaroth, Qhyluth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: T'gar runs in Edyis and Ulyana and gains a possible mentor in dealing with Asaroth. Asaroth meets Qhyluth - a dragon that speaks his language. |
| Where: Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 19, Month 2, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Quinlys/Mentions, A'rist/Mentions, S'rin/Mentions, Jocelyn/Mentions, Pia/Mentions |
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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.
Steady, today's snowfall sticks, creating dunes on the bowl floor. With there being snow, it's a cold day out on the bowl in the Weyr. There's weyrfolks bundled up, quickly moving on their way from one end to the other. In the midst of the bustle is T'gar and Asaroth - settled to the side closer to the weyrling area and....people watching. At least the little bronze seems to be focused on it. Rat seems to be more focused on shadowboxing, his fists hitting the air in rapid sessions while he dances about. Darkness approaches from the direction of the lake, the deep blue beast still dripping with water. Qhyluth's pace is measured, each stride deliberate - if not precisely economical. As he draws nearer, the reason becomes clear; his rider, tiny thing that she is, is walking alongside him - and he's the one who seems intent on keeping up. For her part, Ulyana's bundled up in a long coat and scarves, a mixture of blues and blacks that renders her little more than a shadow from a distance. And her steps are certain, carrying her without question in the direction of the weyrling area. Face mostly hid by the thickly knit scarlet scarf, Edyis seems to be one of those going about the normal day to day in the abysmal weather, bundled up in her riding gear sans cap and goggles. A shadow overhead might signify Akluseth's path from the direction of the feeding pens, but wherever the pair are going, Edyis at least stops, a curious glint as she catches the weyrling shadowboxing. Akluseth's warm seas extend greeting to the darker blue as he settles into a landing a short distance away when his rider's path diverts. It does beg to reason why the bronze weyrling pair would be loitering out in the snow without any other weyrlings present. Asaroth stands erect as the sneer caused by those shadowed eyeridges is in place for all that look his way. And really, if that doesn't garner a look, the heavily fanged mouth that's slightly open probably would. Rat is unconcerned by him nor those approaching as he works through a particularly complex set of jabs, not too far from the entrance leadning into the training cavern. Primordial waters stir, irradiated fog shifting subtly in a greeting to Akluseth, while twin moons in that perpetual night sky shift and narrow into crescents. Water never meets water, sickly foam sliding into that space where minds might normally meet. Qhyluth's eyes slide to a peculiar hue of green that's ill-fitted to his hide, a disconcerting color that's reflected in the haze of his mind. As the young woman's stride slows, so, too, does the blue's - though his interest manifests as much more than an intense regard for the young bronze. The slivers of moons transition in their orbits to fix on him. The waters ripple, shudder, and settle into mirror-like stillness beneath a heavy blanket of fog. Ulyana's regard of both weyrling and dragon is equally intense, though reduced only to a pair of eyes, eyes that do not seem to blink. All else is hidden. And where others might offer a greeting or even a word, there is nothing - from either of them. Edyis tilts her head oddly as she watches the little bronze, eyes narrowing for an instant before she resumes her approach to the shadow boxer. "It is rare to see a set like that outside the workout room. Color me impressed." Must serve as her greeting for the man, before she catches sight of Ulyana and offers something of a wave. Asaroth latches his gaze onto Qhyluth the longest. It's a heavy silence from the bronze, his grotesque form erect and barely moving as he openly studies the older dragon. Then there's images flickering through Qhyluth's mind - broken distorted images that shift and shimmer with the dank smell of mildew. When he turns his head towards Akluseth, something seems to prompt him to send the exact same pattern towards him as well. "I think that's him greeting you," T'gar voices as he continues to dance on the balls of his feet, his breath heavy as he tries a 4-punch combo that has him pivoting. "I'm still not sure. It's a good workout," he relates the last specifically to Edyis, finally pausing and dropping his fist to face her. "You sound like you've been around it yourself." Blue eyes turn to regard Ulyana now, meeting that instense stare with one of his own despite the sweat dampening his skin. He waits for her to speak, and when she doesn't, he gestures towards the entrance as he asks, "You were wanting to go in? I wouldn't have hit you." It takes a moment or two before Ulyana seems to register the wave. Edyis is given a stiff, mechanical nod in response; a gurgle from Qhyluth seems to suffice for a greeting. The blue takes a protective stance behind his rider by settling back on his hind legs, balanced on the balls of his feet. Forepaws come to rest on his knees, wings partially unfurled for balance, and head dipped down to rest just above his chest. The whole of him frames her - and she stands between his knees, one hand slowly extending to rest against a leg. The beast's mind is open - listening - but the images merely skitter across the surface of the black, unwholesome water. Something splashes toward the shore and a lobstrosity heaves itself to the shore as if to watch - but the ripples it produces simply shatter the shared images and other horrors in the water, as yet unseen, snap up the fragments to drag them under. His physical attention is fixed on the bronze, as unyielding and unblinking as his rider's own. T'gar's words are left to hang, unanswered, for a few moments - a few too long, perhaps, before: "He accepts it as a greeting. It is sufficient." A slow blink follows. "No. We wanted to see what Lythronath has produced." Her affect is queer and flat; her inflection isn't muffled, it simply isn't there. "Haven't seen as much of that particular style." Edyis admits, "but I have always found a good spar is one of the best ways of venting a little frustration. Even if typically I get my ass handed to me." The last a touch rueful despite her grin. Ulyana's clipped speech and the unsettling blue cause dark eyes to shift then. Akluseth seems keen to stay out of the draconic communication, it's not quite skittish, but there is a sense of distance as he settles himself out to wait. "Ulyana." It takes a minute to pull the name maybe but as far as greetings go it is warm enough. "Don't suppose you've been able to catch those two, I've been meaning to but haven't." Referring to the clutch's sire and his rider. Asaroth watches Qhyluth, his interest flickering up at what he sees within. The stench of mildrew grows as he shifts his attention between rider and dragon, and flicker of images don't return. Rather, the smell dissipates to something neutral, but the bronze seems bent on a staring contest as if he's waiting for something. "Not chatty, that one," T'gar comments to Ulyana with a look going towards Asaroth. "And he likes to bite. I learned the hard way. You know Lythronath's rider?" he asks of her now with a slight frown, and on styles to Edyis, there's a shrug from the weyrling. "Breaks up the boredom," he tells her easily. "Or all the work. Between feeding him and oiling him, it's a wonder we don't have much time for anything else. You spar?" Yes, there's skepticism now as he looks the lithe woman up and down. A sidelong look is angled to Edyis, gray eyes soon fixed on the brownrider. The words are parsed slowly, though Ulyana does respond with a bland, "We have not spoken to them recently." One shoulder rises and falls in a lopsided shrug. "If we do, we will be sure to relay that you have been looking for them." Another thick gurgle escapes Qhyluth, audible confirmation in lieu of a nod. To T'gar: "We are acquainted." It takes a moment, then another, before she issues a dull, "Qhyluth would never harm me in his youth - or now." A beat. "But. He was violent." Not that there's any immediate sign of such a temperament in him now, for as still as he is. As aware as he is. Akluseth's distance is respected; all of his inner focus transitions fully to the source of the mildew, to the other. To Asaroth. The lobstrosity on the shore shakes out its claws and clicks them in quick succession before scuttling toward the foam that's built up at the juncture of minds. Edyis is mild and listens mostly to the other two discourse, when she becomes the subject of that skeptical look however dark eyes focus oddly and she tries to hide a smile. "When he's older maybe I'll show you." The brownrider decides, before giving a nod of thanks to the bluerider. "I'm sure I'll catch him around eventually. " And mostly she just listens to stories of violent baby dragons, occasionally glancing over to her life mate appreciatively. T'gar's staring hard at Ulyana now, posed with his fists at his sides. He looks at Qhyluth for a long moment, then down at Asaroth and back again before, "Hm. So yours is cray-creative, too?" It's almost a statement, nodding slowly. "Does he talk?" Asaroth is still as that lobstrosity emerges, the mildew scent returning as the image of a dank cave appears. Two glowing eyes appear, personifying the bronze as something in the dark that watches raptly. To Edyis, "Unless it involves bedroom skills," Rat states on the bronze getting older. "I just don't see you fighting anyone, lady. Not that I have anything against women fighting," Yeah, that's openly sounds like a lie. Like his Bitran accent. "Women here only seem to have sharp tongues rather than fists." That stare is met with Ulyana's own, indifference tempering the intensity to a degree. "There are stars beneath the water," is uttered in startling contrast to her earlier blandness; it's positively a purr, there and gone in that singular utterance. Flat again: "He spoke when he was young." Her mouth twists beneath the scarf. "He does not typically utilize words. They serve his purposes poorly." Such as now, with the water stretching on into eternity and the fog settling, heavy and still, on the surface. The lobstrosity rattle-clacks rustily and shambles forward with a sense of fated resignation. It lives to die in Qhyluth's service - and it does so now, with limbs moving in disjointed articulations to propel it toward Asaroth's cave and the eyes that wait within. Edyis does not, perhaps to her credit, snicker at the almost slip of the tongue by the bronzerider. "If it were bedroom skills, would I be issuing an invitation?" Her attention shifts to Ulyana then, perhaps the difference between her startling flatness and that one purr is what draws the attention. Regardless there's a shift in weight from the brownrider, awkward. Her attention fixed on the bluerider. In mind, that Asaroth's momentarily shy in the face of such monstrosity is evident. The smell seems to even suggest awe - something iron-like and akin to blood - that revels in the emotion. As the lobstrosity approaches the cave, the eyes watch and slowly moves forward. This time, there's words. « Asaroth. » It's a hiss more than a voice, raspy in its delivery. "You're okay with this," Rat hazards a guess to Ulyana, looking at her blue. "The not talking? How do you communicate with him, though? How does he talk to you? This can't be normal." He snorts on something Edyis says as the weyrling responds to that with an amused, "I'm going with yes, just so you know. But unfortunately, Quinlys has my hands and dick tied. You'll just have to wait like everybody else." There's the assumption that there's girls waiting on him. To them both, though, "Have you met the other weyrling dragons?" The rattling construct of shell and bone and sinew stutters to a stop. Its head cocks to a side in jerking motions, stalk-mounted "eyes" swiveling to fixate on those that draw close. There is no reply, save for the distant murmuring of an ancestral ocean that stirs just enough to break up the foam at the edges. Qhyluth's name is not articulated, precisely, but there is a distinct sense of it, glinting in the low-hanging crescents of the moons and reflected in the slowly withdrawing tide. A bronze bell tolls in the distance - and a series of lights flicker into unnatural life under the surface of the water. "It took time. We did not speak for the first turn. I hated him well into the second." Flat. Honest. Heavy. "The taste of the water. The symbols. The smells. The colors. The creatures. That is how he 'speaks' to others." She folds her hands over her chest in a gesture that's slow and eerily dreamlike. "He speaks to me differently. He hears me differently. I did not understand. We can explain better with The Book." A smile is, fortunately, hidden beneath the scarves. "It is not normal. But we can help." The latter question is answered wordlessly, a mechanical left, right, center shake of her head. Edyis snorts, and simply shakes her head. "Must be so uncomfortable. for you. "I've met a few, S'rin's blue, Jocelyn's Gold, Pia's green, though she's from the earlier clutch. " Dark eyes shift to the smaller woman, studying her with a smile. "But I think, I'd better get going before I'm late and my sparring partner really does decide to kill me." She's only rubbing the sides of her arms because it's cold outside right? Or perhaps not. "You have no idea," is what Rat says to being uncomfortable, shaking his head at Edyis. "Anyway. I should come see what you can do sometime." It's a tad suggestive, too. "You get along, now. Can't have you missing that in this weather." There's a chuckle for her that dies in the face of Ulyana, the weyrling folding his arms across his chest as she speaks. "All I get is really nasty smells," he answers for his own. "He talks in smells. I've only just realized there's a pattern. And when he does want to talk, he sounds like one of those old farmers that fell out on the field and broke their hip. He doesn't want to acknowledge the other dragons. Shit, yours is the most interest I've seen him give so far. He barely gave L'rok's brown a passing glance." Frowning at what he's hearing, "If yours can get him to talk. I'll take the outside help, believe me. I don't want any of them," he nods towards the barracks' direction, "thinking things. Not that I care, but, the questions. You know. I'm surrounded by bright eyes in there." As for Asaroth, he seems to sense Qhyluth's name since the beast emerges more, all, bones jutting out at odd angles and claws and the tang of blood. Images flicker again of interest, mostly putrid colors with the lingering mildew scent. And then a burning scent enters, abrupt - signaling sudden hunger. "You should," is a dull confirmation. Ulyana regards Edyis askance, but the glance is fleeting. Not dismissive, but, rather, drawn back to T'gar. "Be well," is further intoned, intended for the brownrider. Qhyluth's interest in Asaroth has not waned throughout, the elder nightmare blue unmoving and looming and strange. The shambling lobstrosity shakes itself violently to pieces as the beast emerges - only to be forced back into unnatural life again. It seems to be mimicking the shape of Asaroth's mind, with what limited resources it has. It makes a chok chok sound and is silenced when the water recedes further. Distance is offered; respect for hunger given - and the creature? A small sacrifice. T'gar earns a lengthy silence, not as punishment - but, rather, she's processing what he's saying. Parsing it. Then: "We cannot get him to talk if he is not naturally inclined toward it." Clarification: "We can attempt to make it easier to understand him and communicate with him." A breath is taken and released, a plume of condensation preceding a flat: "It will take time. But. You will need to be patient. Have him ask for Qhyluth when you are not otherwise occupied." "I'll settling for getting to stop biting me like some canine on the loose," T'gar notes with a sniff. "That might even be worth paying for, if I had marks at all. I'll be patient," he focuses on Ulyana now with Edyis moving away, the hint of 'for now' hanging in the air. "It's all just....unnerving. Strange enough he's in my head. Might be useful to have him around your dragon. He doesn't seem all that interested in any others. Something tells me he won't be so popular with the females." Because that matters, right? As for an unconcerned Asaroth, he seems content in watching the lobstrosity much like a baby being focused on a rattler. The rancid meat smell intensifies, its sharpness seeming to be a question to suggest that he's asking if they are hungry too. The small sacrifice is looked upon with hungry intent. "I see," says she and there's a brief look up at the blue. "Before I understood, I used chains. They are still there." She taps her temple with a gloved finger, then her arms drops bonelessly to her sides. "But I have no need of them. I would not recommend them, unless he is a danger to others." Qhyluth rolls forward slightly, enough to plant a forefoot on the ground and adjust his crouch. It's a slow process, this uncoiling, but deliberately done. "Learn to listen." A beat. "Or smell, as this case may be. If he will let you into his head, go there. Do not show fear." Her head tilts, the gesture a stiff one. "They are kindred spirits - in a sense. He has not encountered another that does not speak. It is fascinating to us." Her mouth pulls to a side. "It may surprise you. But, do not be surprised if he has little interest in chasing when he is mature. He has only chased twice." A detail that sends a sick shiver down her spine, oddly enough. The water shudders - and flicks out, sending the lobstrosity tumbling. The moons skew red, dripping their light onto the water. The acrid smell of sea water mixed withe something else, something unspeakable, rises. In the water, the lights wink out - but an image emerges, a fresh kill that has been neatly eviscerated; a wherry gutted and displayed in a way that can only be described as ritualistic. Offering. "Chains." T'gar steps closer to her, studying her gaze. He looks up to Qhyluth, eyes narrowing slightly. "Not sure if getting into his head would be something I can do right now," he admits with a look down to the little bronze. "I can try, but, I'm not even sure he wants me there. Some days, he doesn't even seem all that interested in me." Which seems to miff the weyrling. On kindred sprits, "You seem young," he observes now, studying her. "How long have you and him been together?" As for chasing, there's a head shake and a, "Well, he and I will have a talk when it gets to that time. I aim for him to chase queens and I don't need him scaring them off. You don't like it when he chases." Yeah, he caught that shiver from her. He doesn't miss much. As for Asaroth, the revealed beast in its current infancy watches as that offering is presented. There's a creel from him, the sound distorted but delighted for Qhyluth. It's what gets him to stumble forward from the cave into the light to set upon the gutted wherry, his claws deep into its blood an guts with a hissing sigh. It's enough to send something sharp through T'gar, the man clutching his stomach with a grimaced, "This is what I'm talking about. He's hungry." "Bring an offering," is intoned - almost purred. Almost. Ulyana steps forward and, in that movement, Qhyluth is free to drop to all fours. He turns toward the feeding ground - and while his physical stare is now broken, his mental presence remains solid and undeniable. "Sacrifice a small part of yourself," is definitely a purr. Short-lived - and blissfully so. Matter-of-factly, she responds, "Almost three turns. I was sixteen when he chose me." She hesitates a little on the sixteen, as if there's a desire to add something, but it's quashed in favor of answering the rest. "You cannot force him to chase if he is not inclined. But, if he does," a shoulder rises, falls, "females do not tend to be easily scared. Their interest is singular. If he is dedicated, he will succeed." A beat. "I do not enjoy it when he chases - and he does not enjoy it, afterward." But, for now, Qhyluth is likely not listening - or he simply doesn't care. He's off to hunt something - and seems satisfied enough that the younger dragon is settling into the offering with gusto. The lobstrosity twitches upright and totters over to the kill, but only to push pieces this way and that, closer to Asaroth but clearly with some inexplicable intention behind it. "You should feed him," is dull. "They all share that at first. It is the clearest way to explain their hunger. Does your skin crawl when he itches?" It's obvious now that Ulyana intrigues T'gar. That he hasn't insulted the girl.... "What part is that?" There's a hesitance in him on sacrifice. An uneasiness. "What does he want? To own me? To use me? Even at that age?" It's incredulous, that, he's rapt at listening to her words on flights. "Quinlys and them seems to think these dragon minds absorb all things pleasant or not," he says with a nod to her. "When he's old enough, I want to ask you why you don't like them. Flights. Other things. As much as he seems to not care, I know he's listening to us right now." He steps back from her now, arms unfolding as the blue heads off. Asaroth feasts with gusto, and it only sends mroe hunger pains to his weyrling. As the bronze feasts with the lobstrosity with the infant creels of delight, Rat answers on itches with a brief, "It's creepy, the itching. At least yours seem to have calm him. He's been fidgity lately. Like minds, I guess. He must be relieved to talk to someone not using words for once. I should probably take him in and feed him. Ulyana, right?" There's another of those singular headshakes - left, right, center - and Ulyana takes a half step back. "It will be different for you." Her gaze tracks after the blue as he, at a safe distance, takes wing with nigh obscene fluidity. And so it goes - the meaty offering remaining in place until the bronze loses interest or dismisses it. The ocean, on the other hand, recedes in earnest, sickly luminescent fog swallowing the world and leaving no trace of his presence. "He may only want a show of trust. He may want more. We cannot say - because we do not know." She blows out a breath and the mask cracks, exposing a furrow of brow and something else that slides across her eyes. "It took me nearly three turns to figure it out. To learn. I will hope it does not take you that long." She hugs herself, nods once - up, down, center - and intones, "We are here to answer questions, even if we are not a part of the Weyrlingmaster's wing. Ask what you desire - when you wish. We will be here." In an unofficial capacity, of course, but the offer remains there. Another smile, hidden though it is, and while she doesn't yet move, she will. But not before, "The shared sensations will pass. Perhaps not quickly enough - but, they will." An inhale. Exhale. "But he will always be listening. Sometimes," her brow furrows again, "it helps for them to hear the echoes of others - whether they are similar or not." And then the first step is taken. "Yes. Ulyana. He is Qhyluth. We hope you enjoy your meal." T'gar watches the blue with her, all that she says being taken in in earnest. The weyrling is unnaturally quiet, watching her and watching Asaroth while the bronze inwardly seems content with something. Whatever it is, he's not sharing with his weyrling. But still quite hungry. Finally, "What you say....Yeah. I'll take you up on your offer, Ulyana. It'd be good to understand him sooner rather than later. It's T'gar," he gives now, "but call me Rat. We'll meet again. Definitely." His stare lingers on her before he nods after the bronze and starts to head back inside. |
Comments
Alida (01:33, 30 October 2015 (PDT)) said...
Okay. it's now official. I want Qhyluth, Virisceth, Asaroth, and Zoth to all meet up at once very soon. Cthulu, Alien Newborn, Basilisk/Demon, and Hannibal Lecter. EPIC level Halloween nightmare-fest! :D
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