Logs:Tithe Games
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| RL Date: 15 January, 2016 |
| Who: Farideh, Gelstad, Jocelyn, Lys, T'gar |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Nabol Hold |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh and some weyrlings help with harvest. It goes... interestingly. |
| Where: Nabol Area |
| When: Day 1, Month 11, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Rone/Mentions, Tevrane/Mentions |
| Storyteller: K'del/ST |
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| Nabol. It's not as wet out here, down at the very southern end of the region, close to Ruatha, as it was back at High Reaches this morning. Still, there's been plenty of rain out here, too, and the ground is sloshy and chilled. Holder Gelstad lost two sons and his only grandchild in the plague, and it's plain that he's been suffering as a result: there's an air of disrepair about the small set of stone buildings, and perhaps something more sinister-- despair itself? At least he's a genial host, always quick to make sure his loaned workers have a warm drink, and very clearly determined to make sure that what's left of his family lends a hand. For the most part, the few hours spent here have involved lifting and carrying rather than actually harvesting: wheelbarrows brought back to the main hold buildings, and great grain sacks filled in preparation for transport. It's not fun work, but it's obvious that Gelstad and his family are enormously grateful, which may (or may not) count for something. The afternoon is wearing on, but it doesn't seem like there are many trips left: soon, it'll be time to head home, just as long as nothing goes wrong in the meantime. It might be a surprise to some that Lys has been a friendly worker. While not exactly cheery (who is, really?), but she's had a ready smile and quiet words exchanged with those new faces she's worked alongside. Anyone giving her looks for her arguably odd behavior gets pointed odd looks right back. She's even been productive, which might be chalked up to her former lots in life. Evyth, for her part, has predictably been a source of talk and encouragement. High Reaches' youngest goldrider is assisting in the repair efforts at the Hold alongside the weyrlings and other riders, wearing clothing more suited to a gardener than a woman of prestige. Her shirtsleeves have been rolled up to the elbow and her hair has been pulled back, and on her forearms, hands-- really, all of her-- are covered in different types of dust, dirt, and sweat. She doesn't make the ordeal easy, complaining a fair bit to anyone around her and giving the brunt to whomever she can wrangle (or with the bulkiest arms), but she does persevere, especially with the Holder overseeing. Now that the workload is lightening, and the end is in sight, Farideh stops to grimace, stretching side to side, and pass a wary eye over the oncoming activity. T'gar is here, working moreso with a few of the weyrlings with strength enough to lift whatever heavy things need lifting with other strong holders scattered around. He's not chatty at all as he works, splitting his attention between working and watching all the other activity going on around him. Even though it looks like the day (and work) is coming to an end, he and the few weyrlings with him are still going strong without tiring. Jocelyn has been putting in hours working at Nabol when and where she can the past couple of sevens; clearly, she doesn't consider herself an exception to the draft of senior and almost-senior weyrlings who fly over from High Reaches to be of assistance as their duties permit. Aidavanth, too, has been lending her strength and wings to the holders where necessary during their shifts, and otherwise keeps an eye on the other dragons and riders who are still in training, ever-warm presence steadily observing. It probably isn't too surprising to the contingent from the weyr that this particular pair doesn't mind getting hide and hands dirty to pitch in - and while Jocelyn certainly looks as though she'd prefer to be coordinating the efforts rather than being in the middle of the carrying, filling, transporting, she does so without complaint. She's all business in the few words she exchanges with her fellow workers, managing to remain polite enough as the day wears on. "Weyrwoman," says Gelstad, stepping forward to meet Farideh, as he wipes his forehead off with a scrap of linen-- a rather battered looking handkerchief, really. "I wanted to thank you all for your assistance. It's been-- the Weyr has been so very helpful. It's just such a nice change." There's something uneasy about the way he glances at Farideh, then at the weyrlings, and then back again. Further out in the field, Gelstad's one remaining child (a daughter), hangs back from the others. Oh, she's pulled her weight and then some throughout the day's efforts, but now she rolls her shoulders, planting her hoe in the ground, her face lifted towards the sky. "Is this the kind of thing you dragonriders often help with?" she wonders. There's that ready curl of a smile from Lys as she helps load her designated wheelbarrow for her next trip: no idle hands here. "No," is candid answer, "but this turn, protecting the Holds means helping where we can help." She glances toward Jocelyn and cocks a brow as if silently asking 'how was that?' If someone's going to get them in trouble, it might as well be a greenrider? "Most of us are used to lifting and carrying though. Firestone usually, less bruiseable than all this." A gesture to the rest. T'gar gets a briefly thoughtful look, but no words from the greenrider to him just now. "Holder Gelstad." All of the exhaustion, grumpiness, and wariness is whisked away in the blink of an eye and a respectful step forward, her posture as straight as if she had been wearing one of the weaver craft's most expensive gowns. "We will do whatever we can to assist Nabol, of course. It has been a trying time for all of us, but none have quite felt the loss and upset more than the holds have," is Farideh's gentle reply, though she does look perplexed by his back-and-forth stare. The weyrlings with T'gar only now start to idly talk as the holders with them start to slow down in passing them crates. The bronze weyrling passes a glance over to where Farideh and Holder Gelstad are, seeming to be eavesdropping on the closest holders that are openly talking quietly and nodding in Farideh and Gelstad's direction. Rat also passes a few glances towards other weyrlings like Lys and Jocelyn present, but for the most part he's still keeping to his current task. Taking the time to pause and wipe briefly at her brow with a wrist after filling another sack, Jocelyn happens to catch Lys's glance and gives the smallest dip of her chin in approval; perhaps it isn't likely that she, herself, would have given a different reply. Gelstad's approach and subsequent interaction with Farideh gain her attention afterward, pale eyes evenly studying their body language as she shifts so that she can keep them in view while resuming her work. There's a faint wrinkle to her brow, a cautious set to her mouth as she continues on, leaning over to help the person next to her heave their latest grain receptacle up into their wheelbarrow. "That's true," agrees Gelstad, a little flustered in his reply, and now, increasingly nervous. "To put it bluntly, ma'am, we're beginning to feel like we've been abandoned by our Lady. That's why it means so much to us, that you're stepping up like this. They haven't." Around them-- from those in earshot-- is a mumbling acknowledgement from some of the other holders, albeit one that Gelstad's daughter ignores. "Dad wants you to take our tithes for us," she says, bluntly, and in a lowered voice. Dark blue eyes slide from Lys towards Jocelyn, then towards the other weyrlings in close proximity. "Rather than us sending it to Nabol. He thinks you should care for us directly." Lys doesn't have to fake her surprise. She stops what she's doing to blink at the daughter with raised brows. "That'd be quite a change from what's been traditional for time beyond counting," the weyrling says after a moment, brow furrowing. "Wouldn't like to be the one who has to make that kind of decision," her blue-green gaze flicks to Jocelyn and then beyond to Farideh. So nice they're here! With the man's words, Farideh's head tips to the side and can't quite help staring at the holder intently, her expression a mixture of overt politeness and puzzlement. "I can't speak for Lady Tevrane, but she has always been quite gracious. I'm sure she has every concern for your Hold. What with everything that's been happening-- the plague and beyond-- I can't imagine how split she must be. I can appreciate your standpoint, Holder Gelstad-- but for now, is there anything we can help you with?" If she hears those mumblings, she's not letting it be known, since her head has righted itself and she's back to pure politeness. T'gar might not be close enough to hear the exchange between Farideh and the Holder, but with some of the holders near him talking in secret, he seems to know that something's going down. It doesn't stop him from passing on the next crate to one of the weyrlings with him, but the look he passes has his brows raising to those near that could see it. Bluntly: "Kept herself and her family safe while my boys didn't, didn't she? And now demands our full tithes even though she knows--" Gelstad's sharp tone breaks off towards the end, and his gaze drops to the ground; embarrassed. "Weren't for you, there's no way we'd make our tithing this turn, ma'am. And that leads us to thinking... why should she get it?" "Dad says we don't need big holds like Nabol," says the daughter, with conviction. "He says we'd do better dealing with you directly. Avoid the middleman, right?" She smiles, showing far less uncertainty than her father-- perhaps it helps that she isn't speaking to one of High Reaches' weyrwomen (at least, not directly). "Seriously, though. You can have it. We can just... attach the grain bags to your straps, right? And off you go. Won't that send a message." She is clearly, plainly, absurdly pleased with this prospect. Near T'gar, one of hold's few men grumbles, "They're not going to go for it. Too hidebound. Fuck." Jocelyn's steady motions draw to an abrupt halt, hands halfway between grain and cart as the goldrider's gaze slowly lifts so that she can stare at the holder's daughter. It's the only immediately discernible sign of her surprise, a quick look darting toward Farideh and Gelstad before she settles a neutral one on the blue-eyed girl. "Why?" It's a quiet, wary prompt, even as she slowly resumes her work. Farideh's carefully kept, polite smile falters and her eyes narrow on the anxious holder. "Because she is your Lady Holder, Gelstad. That is the hierarchy. From you, to her, to us. Would you condemn her to starving, to being cold and naked, because you felt she didn't do her part and suffer as much as you did?" Stepping closer, she aims to place a placating hand on Gelstad's arm and whispers (not quite loud enough for another around to hear), "I am terribly sorry for your losses. I can't begin to fathom your pain, but I do not think this particular route is the way to go about expressing it. Would you like a meeting with my weyrleaders? They know Lady Tevrane better than I, and perhaps they can assuage your fears." Lys's eyebrows creep a little higher as the zealousness becomes more obvious from the daughter. "Can't imagine the big Holds would like to be thought of that way. What do you suppose they'd do to you or to us if we spirited off with your grains?" Her tone is still conversational, even, easy. It's not really criticism, just explorative inquiry. T'gar eyes the holders near him, their words causing him and the weyrlings by him to exchange looks. "Hey, what's going on?" he breaks his silence to ask the men grumbling, seeming to take up the role as spokesperson of his little heavy-lifting band. He even jerks his head towards where the weyrwoman and the Holder talks, indicating them. Gelstad stands tall. "I don't want your sympathy, weyrwoman. Sympathy won't bring my sons back, and it won't make Tevrane any less of a bitch." Increasingly desperate, by the look on his face, he seems abruptly resolute. "Either you take my harvest, weyrwoman, or I'll burn the lot of it. All of it. That whore of a lady is going to know what it feels like to lose things, one way or another." "Dad doesn't care," says the girl, very nearly cheerfully... though the glance she aims in her father's direction is a little concerned. "He's tired of it. She's a shitty lady, and why should we have to do what she says? What's she ever done for us? You should just take it. It'll be dad's fault, not yours." The man nearest T'gar abruptly straightens his shoulders. "You need to start packing the sacks up onto your dragon, lad," he says. "That's all. You're taking it back with you. It's a done deal." Really. Farideh flinches at the holder's threats, but there's a slowly-gathering storm brewing behind her wary hazel eyes. "Very well, Gelstad," she says, after a long pause. "If that is what you wish, for us to take your tithe from this Hold, or you will burn it, I can't see how we could refuse." While she's unsmiling, she remains perfunctorily polite, and half-turns from the holder to motion to the nearest rider. "Are you prepared for us to take the tithe now?" seems to be the obvious question, as the confused greenrider stands at her elbow, waiting. Lys can't possibly have heard Gelstad, so it's merely coincidence that she's giving the daughter a dubious look and asking, "When Rone's men burnt crops, was Rone the only one to shoulder any blame?" It's a quiet inquiry, but a shrewd one. Certainly, if they were complicit in this action, wouldn't they be as much to blame as anyone else? Jocelyn makes no pretense of not studying the daughter in the wake of Lys's own query, considering her silently over the top of her wheelbarrow as she pushes it, with help, a little closer to her classmate. No, says the taut set of her jaw, which continues to firm. "Yet, she is your lady, " comes her emphasized agreement-that-isn't. Matter-of-factly, "If you destroy your relationship with Nabol proper by doing something like this, regardless of your opinion on the current leadership, it won't help you in the long-term." "Taking it back....?" one of the weyrlings standing helpless by T'gar speaks when the holder men make their suggestion for them to load up. Rat himself frowns at the man before asking, "Why should we be packing this stuff up on our dragons back? What deal?" He looks back over towards Farideh and Holder Gelstad with a small amount of concern. To nearby dragons, Evyth is puzzled, plainly so. « Why is she- » the daughter, briefly pictured, « - happy for something that would destroy them? » It's madness and there's horror in the green's realization of that. "You'll take our harvest back to the Weyr?" Gelstad is seeking a promise, his body tense with anticipation and determination. He stares down Farideh; he'll stare down anyone he needs to. "Rone?" The daughter frowns. "This has nothing to do with that bastard." She wraps her dirty arms about herself, abruptly uncomfortable. "Why would you mention him? He burnt other people's crops. It was under his orders." Lys is a better person to talk to than Jocelyn, it seems, because the girl's glance at the redhead lasts only a moment; her gaze is dismissive. "It can help us. It will help us. She needs to know that we won't tolerate being treated like this. Like we're nothing to her." "You're taking our harvest. Back to the Weyr. Straight back to the Weyr." The holder is determined. "And if you want to get it done by dark, you should get started." The warmth and sunshine Roszadyth typically radiates is subdued, and the petite queen seems somewhat uncertain in her approach. It is from a far, but so near. « They seek to have us take their tithe or they will burn it, » is followed by an image of the minor holding and its holder. « We are taking it. » That much seems resolute, but how much is from Farideh and how much is from Roszadyth is hard to say. (To Cadejoth from Roszadyth) Roszadyth is all steel, and not her usual warmth: « Take as much of the tithe as you can carry. » It seems this is non-negotiable. (To local dragons from Roszadyth) "And if other Holds don't make the same choice you do and Nabol decides the Weyr oughtn't be given the rest of their due tithe, whatever there is of it, because we did what you wanted, because you wanted to make a statement instead of going through proper channels to express your frustration and anger and we end up starving come winter, all of us, not just the Weyr," Lys is including the Hold, "would making the statement be worth it?" The greenrider is making an argument, but her expression and tone are dubious, not hostile. Convince her. Go ahead, daughter~ "I swear on my dragon," who is watching from her perch yards away, "that we will see your harvest back to the Weyr." Notably, Farideh does not say what will happen to the tithe after that, but that's hardly the holder's problem once he's washed his hands of it. Her stare is somewhat full of loathing when she gives him a glance before turning to murmur to the greenrider, who in turn hurries out the other riders and weyrlings, spreading the news: they will be taking the tithe back with them, until all is back at High Reaches. To Roszadyth, Cadejoth is confused. Burn the tithe? Why would anyone...? « As you say, » he allows, after a few moments. Better to take it than burn it, though... though. « Why? » Roszadyth relaxes with the agreement, and some of her sunshine returns with her next words. « The holder thinks Lady Tevrane has abandoned him and seeks revenge, » which is a foreign concept to her, really. « We tried to talk him out of it, but he is determined. Will we return them to Nabol, eventually? » They await the weyrleaders' commands. (To Cadejoth from Roszadyth) T'gar is only at a stand-still until a number of things happen - the call from Roszadyth and the news traveling through the weyrlings that reach him before he drops the latest crate, turns with a frowning look at the holder men and goes for the sacks and his dragon. Since the other weyrlings watch him walk off for the sacks, they are slow to follow. To Roszadyth, Aidavanth's presence is clear, immediate, stark for the delivery of the weyrling pair's opinion. « It must also go to Nabol, » rebellious holders be damned. It will - won't it? Roszadyth meets the other gold's starkness with calm. « It must go to the weyr now. » (To Aidavanth from Roszadyth) The other goldrider's mouth opens, then promptly closes as she moves to begin hauling sacks toward her own lifemate, tight-lipped save for brisk instructions to have someone nearby help pass each one up to her while she works to get them secured properly for transport. Jocelyn's all efficiency now that there's an immovable directive in place, but to say that she looks less than happy would be a generous understatement. Gelstad's shoulders slump in relief, and a long, hard exhale escapes. "Thank you, weyrwoman," he says, simply. "We appreciate this more than we can say." Around him, there's a low buzz of comment; of pleasure. The same can be said of his daughter, who peers at Lys for a moment, shrugs, and then turns abruptly on her heel. "Guess we'll find out," is radiantly cheerful. Around them, the holders all seek to be helpful, though it's hard to say how helpful they can be-- several of them seem a little nervous to approach the dragons. From one, "We're so grateful to the Weyr." And, "This'll show her!" Lovely. "Guess we will," is neutral rejoinder for the daughter. It's easy to be neutral since Lys has no say in what's happening, she has only to lend her movement to the rest. Even Evyth clamps tight on any opinion she might have. They'll do their duty to their queen and their Weyr, impassively. Now that the whole nightmare is underway and their future alliance with Nabol is in question, there's no politeness in the way Farideh looks at Gelstad. "I'm sure you do," is all the goldrider says, before she turns on her heel and heads out towards her fellow riders, pointedly ignoring the questioning stares of many. Jocelyn, once Aidavanth is loaded with as many bags as she can comfortably carry, mounts with another glance back for Farideh, frown a deep furrow in her brow. Nightmare, indeed. But she's still yet a weyrling, which leaves her silently following the younger goldrider's lead - and so, too, does her dragon reinforce Roszadyth's directive after a pause, should it be needed before they're prepared to depart. T'gar, with the other weyrlings near him shrugging and shaking their heads as they haul up the heavy sacks towards their dragons, takes as many of the sacks as he can with a slight frown going towards Farideh. Once he feels as though Asaroth cannot handle anymore, he wordlessly mounts up and prepares to depart for home. |
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