Logs:Of Threats
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| RL Date: 2 April, 2006 |
| Who: Ad'ion, Harley, Maja, Moll, Rathin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Moll played by Satiet. |
| When: Day 28, Month 2, Turn 7 (Interval 10) |
| Your location's current time: 15:24 on day 31, month 2, Turn 57, of the Tenth Pass. It is a winter afternoon. You suddenly emerge... Sky High in the Bowl, High Reaches Weyr As you soar high above the bowl, you find yourself at a most unique point in the sky; here, near the lip of the bowl, the southeast is fully visible - the open sky stretches to the Western Mountain Range. Behind you, though, to the northwest, you can catch only occassional glimpses of the landscape through the spaces between the Seven Spindles. Through the first and second spires, you can see out to the mountains surrounding the weyr. If you know just where to look, you can also glimpse part of the winding road leading to the Weyr. Ledges are hewn into the rock face in all directions, each with a dragon's weyr behind it. The winds here are usually calm, with the protection of the Weyr's walls to keep the worst gusts at bay. Still, flying can be a little difficult as an errant thermal sometimes crosses the bowl. Views: Weyrs Contents: Teonath Verenth Obvious exits: Lower Western Sky Lower Eastern Sky Star Stones Up » Vmireth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air! » From a distance, Ulanoth bugles loudly, welcoming Green Vmireth home. Experiencing between is far different than a joy ride from a great height. As Vmireth emerges from between, Rathin looks as white as a sheet, breath shallow. Even with the thick jacket he's wearing, Moll can feel the young trader trembling beneath. For once, there's no cocky comment, just white-knuckled fingers holding tightly to those straps. "There, there," says Moll, soothing where once she was flirtatious - the trembling is a good indication without having to see the state of Rathin's face. "It's always a shock the first time. S'why a lot of weyrlings don't ever come out." And if that's not a stamp of absolute reassurance, what is? Still, Vmireth glides down slowly, arcing once to allow a view of the Weyr from this height vantage. You spiral downward in the bowl, towards the east wall. You swoop down to a landing on the ground. Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr(#840RJs) It's a good thing that Vmireth glides down slowly; the time gives Rathin the chance to recover enough to be able to speak again. "That was... that was... -shards-," is all he can come up with. "How do you -do- that all the time?" He shudders briefly, a little bit of colour beginning to creep back into his face. » In the feeding grounds, Mazinth flies west, over the fence, and out of the feeding grounds. » Ad'ion is just hanging out with his blue, Mazinth. The man is speaking quietly to the dragon about something apparently of substance, since he's gesturing as he speaks. Mazinth, however, is simply lying there, listening but not really responding in any obvious way. Good-naturedly, Moll's white teeth appear in a wide grin. "Y'get used to it. It's life, it's a job, it's what happens." The flamboyantly dressed greenrider unstraps herself and then leans forward, her arms poised to help Rathin out of his straps. "Mmm, can you handle that on your own, or need the hand of a good woman there, lad?" Rathin isn't even concentrating on his surroundings at the moment, still getting his bearings after the shock and cold of between. Grimacing, he responds to Moll: "I'm not sure I'd -want- to get used to that." He releases his hands slowly, the white fading out of them, and moves his arms out of the way with a brief look over his shoulder at the greenrider, "If you wouldn't mind, I'd love the help." There's a hint of his former tone beginning to creep back, evidence he's recovering his equilibrium. Moll's arms descend once given his assent and bear hugs the man again - she really doesn't mean to do that, really - and undoes the straps. "There ya go, let me dismount first, and then you can use my hand down again." As the greenrider dismounts, she loops Rathin's bag off the hook and over her shoulders before landing with a soft oomph to the ground. "It's a mite cold, but thankfully not as cold as between no matter what the aunties might say. Here," she shakes her hand as it's extended up to the young man. » Ad'ion looks over his shoulder as he hears the conversation between rider and passenger, Mazinth just snorting about something and laying his head back down. Ad'ion doesn't even need to look at the blue, just rolls his eyes in affectionate exasperation. Instead, he turns his gaze to the pair of newcomers. Moll hops down Vmireth's side to the ground, the dragon's sparkling eyes watching closely. Moll has left. Rathin doesn't much seem to mind the bear hug, and indeed his tone seems more cheerful again, "I always appreciate the help of young woman." He half leans over the edge to watch Moll's decent - the height doesn't seem to bother him as between did - and swings a leg over to copy her, reaching for the greenrider's hand as he does so. It's not completely graceful, but he manages to land on his feet. You hop down Vmireth's side to the ground, as the dragon warbles a greeting. Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr(#840RJs) "Heavy, arencha?" Moll notes, as a wince tightens her features when Rathin uses her hand for assistance. "There ya go, there ya go. It's not so bad, the creepy feeling disappears from your shoulder after a while, and a good mug o' klah or a klah bar truly does help with that chill." Dragons are a dime a dozen in any Weyr's bowl, but towards Ad'ion and his blue a slight nod is bobbled in greeting. "Here," once Rathin's gained his footing, she holds out his bag, "And let's get ya situated in the barracks, yes?" Ad'ion watches the pair a little longer and then raises a hand to them, saying with a crooked smile, "Hello there." There's a pause and he adds, "Found us another victim, Moll?" He's in a good mood and apparently doesn't mind teasing the wouldbe candidates, even if it's just a little. "You wound me! It's all muscle," he protests with a grin, accepting his knapsack from Moll and swinging it over his shoulder, fingers still hooked into the strap. Only now does he take the opportunity to look around, studying the occupants as much as the bowl itself. "Klah sounds good right about now," he agrees, before the greenrider's words belatedly sink in. "Barracks?" he echoes. "How many candidates are there?" Ad'ion is studied briefly, the erstwhile trader offering an easy smile. "Hey. No victim, sorry. Guess you'll have to try again?" Harley wanders in from the candidate barracks. Harley has arrived. Moll bounces in those brightly-colored boots of hers and swings her free arms loose. "Sadly, we don't have 'nough private rooms on top of what we have for residents for thirty candidates or so. We try'n Search double the number of eggs on the sands. Gives the dragonets lots of choice." A speculative look swings from Rathin to the barracks, and with a grin she reassures, "At least you don't have to share the barracks with eighty some, and there'll be a nice choice of cots to pick from. Heard the coordinators went around to cleaning things up, no spinner webs and repaired a lot of the cots. Barracks, aye, you'll have to learn to share, trader boy. Ahoy!" she calls over cheerfully to Ad'ion as they're hailed, "Victims? More like willing ovines to the slaughter. But still, least this'uns a handsome one to set all the girly candidate hearts a flutter." Ad'ion laughs at Moll's comment, looking the other fellow over for a moment before his attention returns to the other rider. "I remember when I was a Candidate, I got a cot that had a crawlie nest underneath. They wouldn't let me move it, either, in case I bothered the nest. Got bitten a bunch of times in the nights..." he muses, chuckling softly at the memories. Sticking out a well-calloused hands, the bluerider says, "My name's Ad'ion. Welcome to High Reaches." One of the girly candidate types steps out of the barracks and can't help but hear at least part of what the rider says. It causes Harley's gaze to wander straight to the one person she recognizes as a stranger and nods a greeting. "Hello" she offers quietly. "I'm Harley." turning her attention back to the riders, she nods "Hello Ma'am, Sir." "So, how many eggs are on the sands?" Rathin asks, before grinning a little at Moll's words. "I don't mind that much. It'll probably be an improvement over sleeping in the creaky cots we have in the wagons. I'm still waiting for the day when one collapses while I'm in it." He keeps pace with the older greenrider, attention on their surroundings but for the most part focusing his attention on Moll. "Garain couldn't wait to get rid of me. It's more about the look on his face when I go back in... how long -am- I here for, anyway?" It doesn't seem like the newest candidate notices Ad'ion's hand, given his easy response and lack of hand in return, "Rathin, of the Beowin Traders out of Nabol. Appreciate the welcome." His attention is distracted, however, by the appearance of Harley. "Hello, Harley. Lovely name." "Ah," Moll suddenly looks exceedingly embarrassed, "Well look at that. A girl taking a boy home and not even introducing herself properly. Moll, Vmireth's rider, and it's good to know who you are Rathin, 'case I need to look you up and return you to the Beowin's." The greenrider fishes around her pockets a moment and then frowns, "Well, iff'n you see Satiet or Thiana, the other coordinator, be sure to ask for a knot. I seem fresh out, though come to think of it, I don't think I had any in the first place. You'll need it so people'll know you're a candidate. Oh! And ten, ten fine eggs last I counted, unless she's secreted a few behind mounds of sand. If you haven't seen eggs, they're surely a sight to see. Would you like to rest? You've the rest of the day off from chores and anything and tomorrow's a bright-eyed fresh day." Ad'ion nods politely to Rathin's introduction, chuckling softly at Moll. The bluerider is about to say something when Harley addresses him as 'sir,' and instead, he rolls his eyes a touch at Harley's greeting. "Harley, good to see you again," he intones, pausing to check his pockets to see if he's got a knot for the candidate, but shrugs apologetically to Moll. About to pass on by towards the living cavern, Harley stops in her tracks and turns slowly to stare at Rathin. "My name?" It's obvious she's never thought of her own name as anything special. More of an annoyance actually. Another blink, and she takes a second, longer look at this new candidate as her hands slowly draw her cloak more closely about herself. She remembers enough of her manners to add a "Thank you." though her expression says she's going to have to think about that. "I might be able to get a knot from Thiana's office, though it might be best to wait." she adds to dragonriders. "Since I'm now a lowly candidate I might get in trouble." She can't resist grinning at Ad'ion. "Hey, I've been told all riders are 'sir' and 'ma'am'. Unless otherwise told. Sooooo" and she shrugs. "It's all right, it's happened to me a few times." Rathin says in response to Moll, though a slightly facetious tone might tell the real truth of his words. "Ten, eh? So about twenty people in the barracks... I can live with that." His feet shift slightly, and he readjusts the weight of the bag on his shoulder briefly, deliberately drawing attention to it. "I'd like to put my things somewhere first, maybe take a bit of a look around. I've never been here before. Maybe Harley could give me a bit of a tour?" he suggests, glancing towards the other candidate. Her words, however, induce a slight frown on Rathin's part. "Ma'am and sir? Really?" He looks at Moll inquisitively, then testing the word, deliberately drawing it out to be as an annoying title as possible, "Maaa'aam?" "Ma'am," Moll reaffirms with another bright grin. "Well then, I'll leave you to the kind hands Harley, was it? Harley provides. I need to set up my new looking glass in my weyr." Jaunty in her wave, the greenrider makes her way back to the dragon with only one last lingering backward look for Rathin to ascertain that he really doesn't need her well-meant assistance anymore. "But y'know," she adds after a moment, "Just call me Moll, both of ya." Ad'ion smiles that crooked smile of his and says, "I believe I told you to call me Ad'ion as well, Harley. At least, I think I told you. If not, well, then let this be my doing so, eh? I'm fine with just calling me Ad'ion, or if you feel you must use some title, 'bluerider' will work fine, I imagine." Harley bites her lower lip to hide the smile at the drawled out 'ma'am' from Rathin. Kind hands? Her eyebrows almost disappear under her bangs. Straightening up and smoothing her face she nods to Moll. "Yes Ma'am." she answers. nods to Rathin. "I could show you around if you like." Her warm smile returns as she looks at Ad'ion. "Yes Sir" she can't resist teasing. "Ad'ion." Sighing dramatically, as if put upon, Rathin gives Moll an endearing look. He cheers considerably at her final concession, looking well pleased, "Moll it is then. You're far too young for me to be calling you ma'am." The scruffy-haired candidate manages to say that with perfect seriousness, despite the greenrider being over twice his age. Attention shifts to Ad'ion, and he ventures with a wry smile, "And what would you prefer -me- to call you?" A grateful tip of head is sent Harley's way, before he adds, "Barracks were mentioned? I'm carrying -very- heavy clothing here." He's deliberately overplaying it, hefting his knapsack briefly, grinning. "G'wan with you." But despite the expressive roll of her eyes, Moll's all too pleased still at Rathin's flattery. Vmireth awaits her, and with an ease that belies her small stature, she swings aboard the dragon, who needs no other urge to rise towards a little ledge far along the bowl's wall. Moll climbs up onto Vmireth's back, as the dragon warbles a greeting. Moll has left. In the sky directly above, Vmireth launches into the sky from the ground below. In the sky directly above, Vmireth flies up in the bowl sky. High in the bowl, Vmireth glides to a swift landing on Vmireth's ledge, high on the eastern bowl wall. Harley rolls her eyes at Rathin now. Heavy clothes. Right. "Yes, the barracks are this way. There's plenty of cots to choose from." She shifts her cloak as she turns and starts walking back towards the barracks. "Follow me." Rathin moves to keep pace with Harley, eyeing the other candidate sidelong. "Which one's yours?" he asks. "Just... as a point of interest." A wry grin is offered as he moves towards the barracks. Harley heads back into the barracks, repeating herself and frowning a little when she realizes she has. "This way." Harley strolls into the candidate barracks. Harley has left. You walk into the candidate barracks. Candidate Barracks(#430RAJs$) Rows of unclaimed cots fill the barracks in a multitude of sizes and conditions, some with foot chests while others sit near clothes presses. To claim a cot for yourself please type 'claim cot' This is a new concept at High Reaches Weyr and can be used as an RP tool to start you off with. Rathin claims a rope bottom cot that wobbles from side to side much like a hammock. The ropes that wrap about the frame make it impossible to make this bed so instead jungle patterned sheets are tossed over it. A flat pillow lays at the headboard and an earth brown blanket at the foot. A foot chest rests to one side. "So you're a local." It's a statement, not a question, as Rathin follows Harley into the barracks. He studies the room for a bit, eyes running over the cots. "Which one did you say was yours?" Looking up Harley smiles and points off to an old iron cot that looks pretty sturdy. It's also the only cot made up in that area and also has a small trunk being used for a bedside table. "That's mine." She obviously enjoys the space this smaller clutch is giving the candidates. She shoves her cloak over her shoulders but doesn't take it off. Harley remembers to answer Rathin's comment. "Well, partially. I'm from a hold northeast of here. I've been at the weyr for a turn now though." She nods to Maja when she noticed the other candidate. It shouldn't be any great surprise that Rathin moves in the direction of the indicated cot, under pretense of examining and admiring it. "Nice," he says, before examining some of the nearby cots. One in particular catches his eye, and with a chortle, he moves towards a rope-cot that looks more like a hammock. "Oh, this is -perfect-. Don't even have to make it." He drops his knapsack beside, then tries to figure out exactly how to get in without setting the whole thing swinging. The first attempt ends with him dumped on the floor unceremoniously, though the second is more successful, the ropes swinging back and forth under his weight but holding. "What do you think?" he half turns to grin in Harley's direction. "So you know all the secrets, right?" Harley chuckles as she sits down on her own cot. "Not necessarily all the secrets." she admits. "But I know my way around for the most part." She eyes the rope cot warily. "Are you sure you want that one? It looks like the cold air will get under it and freeze you at night." You can see her mind already turning over the supplies she knows are in the storage caverns. "Maybe we can get you another quilt to, uh, insulate it a little." Maja strides in from the bowl, yawning widely with a hand to her mouth. Ignoring most of the noise and conversation in the room, she heads to a very sturdy cot near the back of the barracks and sits down in the middle of it. It squeaks, but not nearly as badly as some of the others. Rathin squirms around until he's more comfortable, folded hands supporting his head as he swings back and forth gently. "I've been in worse beds. If you wrap furs or blankets around enough, it traps the heat in." He seems quite taken with his choice. His grin widens, as he presses, "But -some- of the secrets. Care to share? Us being fellow candidates and all, I can invoke the fellowship clause, right?" He's positioned with back to the entrance, so that he only sees Maja when she passes by, studying her from behind. Harley's lips curl into a little grin. "Well, I don't know if they're actually secrets. I know if you have kitchen duty and get on the cooks good side, they'll fry up the last of the days batter and pour sweetener all over them and give you a big bowl full. Shaylar calls it Crumblies. Yummy." She watches Maja as she walks by. "How are you today Maja?" she asks. Pulling her dark hair out of her bun, Maja takes a deep sigh. When addressed, she turns Harley's direction. "Tired. The elders, however wise they're supposed to be, are tiresome." Her eyebrows raise. "Crumblies? That much sweet in one go will make you sick." "It's all useful information. Granted, the idea of eating fried batter and sweetner..." Rathin shudders. "But if I can secure some for you, well, it might be worth it." He shifts around in his hammock to better be able to see Maja. "Elders know the -best- secrets," he offers, before adding, "Rathin. Newest candidate. I guess that means I receive all the bad chores, right?" Harley grins. "I only managed to get a handful myself. It was good." She grins. "We've all had the worst chores. I had laundry and mending today which is fine, but I bet I get to muck the runner stables tomorrow." and she rolls her eyes. "I haven't taken care of the elders yet though. I wound up copying the ancient moldering skins that smell really bad a few days ago." she shudders. "It was nasty." "The definition of bad is up to the candidate, Rathin. My name is Maja." Maja takes a comb to her hair, going through knots. "I wouldn't mind mucking the stables or sweeping the floors so much as using a needle and thread." Catching a particularly bad knot, Maja works at it and after a few seconds becomes so fed up with it she quits, muttering "I should just cut all this hair off." Rathin tries to sit up a little, though that doesn't work so well; the hammock swings alarmingly and he's almost dumped out of it before he manages to stabilise it. "Can you swap chores?" he queries. "I wouldn't mind working with the elders. And mucking stables... well that's not anything I haven't done before." He glances over at Maja at her comment, looking bemused. "Cut your hair off? Sure, if you want to totally look like a guy." It's hard to tell whether the comment is a deliberate or accidental insult, but insult it plainly is. Harley looks at her own long blonde hair, combed just before she left the barracks earlier and some of which is hanging around in front of her shoulders. She turns to look at the tall former guard. "If you have the patience to keep combing it out, you should keep it." is all she says. She nods at Rathin "I know Shaylar has swapped chores. I don't see a problem with it though someone who overheard her telling me about it looked pretty disapproving." "You can most certainly swap chores. The hard part is finding someone who's willing to swap. --I don't mind mucking, but I'd rather not mess with children." Maja works at the knot with her fingers. Rathin's 'insult' provokes a raise in eyebrows from the woman. As she finishes going through the knot she stands up, walks towards him, the entire time keeping a humorless stare fixed on him. "And perhaps if you grew a few inches you'd look like one to me, too." "Got it. I'll keep it on the down-low." Rathin grins briefly, before swinging his legs out of his hammock, attempting to look graceful about getting out of it and failing for the most part. When he's finally extricated, he bends over the press and opens it up, dumping his knapsack in without bothering to unpack anything from it. Straightening, he turns to face Maja, though she has the advantage of height over him and he's forced to look up at her. "Oh, ho, that hurts deeply." He touches a hand to his chest. "Did you eat too many fingerroots when you were little?" Harley doesn't quite muffle the groan. "Cook them with the proper spices and it'll put hair on your chest." she mutters to herself in a passable imitation of one of her older brothers. Voice returning to normal, she adds a "Puh-leeze" and shakes her head. She stands up but next to two taller people, she feels itty bitty. "Maja, wanna trade heights?" she asks recklessly, even as she casts a curious glance at what's been dumped out of that pack. Not often used to being treated in quite this sort of manner (anymore), Maja is surprised at Rathin's courage for a come back. She doesn't, however, look any more or less upset than she has been. The woman looms as well as she can over Rathin. "My height is my advantage," she mutters, menacingly. Harley gets a glance and a shake of head. "Perhaps you should share your fingerroot recipe with this boy." Ceasing her loom, she turns around and heads back to her cot. "Don't push me, Rathin. You'll regret it before the hatching." Rathin's meeting Maja's gaze squarely, faint grin still touching his lips despite the tall candidate's menacing loom. "A threat on my first day! Such a warm welcome." His eyes follow Maja until she returns to her cot, looking oddly pleased for a moment. With a shrug, he turns back to his press, moving things around so the pile of stuff will fit in. There's nothing too exciting from his knapsack, really: mostly clothes, a few scraps of rolled hides, a number of slates - probably far more than your average person, but then he is, or was, a trader. Harley shakes her head and almost flops back onto her cot as Maja goes back to her cot. "I'm learning more every day. And I've been here a turn?" she grins suddenly. "And it's not my recipe actually. It's my brothers. My mother won't let him near the kitchen because he makes such a mess." "I'm much the same, not much of a cook. But I'm always willing to sample, if you ever need an opinion." Rathin offers a wry grin as he closes the lid of his press, fingers tapping at the top for a moment. "I think I'll go out for a stroll. I've probably ruffled enough feathers already." He glances obviously in the direction of Maja's cot. "I'll see you a bit later?" Without really waiting around for a response, the scruffy-haired candidate heads for the door. |
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