Logs:Welcoming Irianke
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| RL Date: 3 February, 2015 |
| Who: Azaylia, Irianke, Hraedhyth, Niahvth, Cadejoth, Leiventh, Solith, Ilicaeth, Reisoth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Igen transfers Irianke and Niahvth arrive at High Reaches Weyr. |
| Where: Weyrleader Complex/Ground weyrs, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 27, Month 12, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Aishani/Mentions, A'rist/Mentions, Iolene/Mentions, Nimae/Mentions, Teris/Mentions |
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| Weyrleader's Complex Only about a man's height from the ground, this low ledge is wide and flat, reached by a set of timeworn steps that hug the cliff face. As the ledge stretches back away from the head of the stairs, it simultaneously broadens out over the bowl and tunnels into the mountain to become a sort of antechamber, from which a passageway winds back to the Weyrwoman's weyr, the council room, the records room and the hatching sands. A small round table is set in a shallow alcove here, surrounded by four chair that provide a waiting area for those seeking one of the weyrleaders. Another short flight of stairs leads upward from the tapering end of the ledge to the Weyrleader's quarters, while others lead to the further recessed junior queens' weyrs. While it's hard to get a good look at the lake from here, the view does encompass the majority of the bowl and the comings and goings across its span.
What is normally a steady and relaxed rhythm has become more, Hraedhyth's drums rising to be heard. The rumble could be mistaken for a low growl in the minds of her tribe. Her pack. Her family. The warrior queen is not angry, no, but protective. Expectant. (To High Reaches dragons from Hraedhyth) It's Cadejoth's pack, too, but he's relaxed; he reclines above the Weyr, looking down from the rim, and adds a clattering rattle to his mate's din, though it's nothing more than affection. « All is well, » he assures-- her? The Weyr? Everyone? (To High Reaches dragons from Cadejoth) To High Reaches dragons, Leiventh, too, inhabits the rim, as is his habit -- not that far from Cadejoth: there's no noise from his direction, no reassurances. He watches, the chill of of wind occasionally drifting about the Weyr, here and there, in subtle, almost unnoticed touches. Summer in the form of Niahvth's buttery cushioned body emerges from between. As courtesy, maintains her height in the air in lazy spirals as she sends a greeting first to the watchrider on the Stones and then to Hraedhyth herself. The summer warmth of her mind reaches out with a bright, « Hello! » as she sweeps downward into the bowl. Irianke dislodges her helmet, first, with an up turn of one shoulder and catches it neatly in her other hand, before sliding down her dragon to the ground. "Ooof, there really is just no elegant way to handle that." The responding rumble is giving the sharpest dubious look. "I don't believe you," is Iri's rejoinder, complete with a head toss. A large canvas bag is untucked from one of the ring things along the dragon's straps, and she turns to survey her new beginning and pick a path. "Well, then. That way, I think." The steps leading up to the ground weyrs it is. To Hraedhyth, Niahvth's greeting lingers in warm stretches of a spring to summer sun that pays court to the Reachian senior's domain. It remains, respectfully, on the peripheral and then recedes, but with the "air" that it would return, whenever beckoned to do so. She waits. Hreadhyth is quick to answer, her rich contralto a low rumble, « Niahvth. » It's a greeting, of sorts. Her flames, though they crackle with what could be seen as agitation, are warm in their welcome. Her eyes are for the other gold only, locked as those muscles ripple and tense beneath golden hide. Azaylia has a small smile that manages to blossom into something larger at Irianke's descent, boots crunching in the snow as she approaches the new arrival. "High Reaches' duties to Igen," Her lips twist in some amusement, "I wonder how that works, now?" Given the transfer. "How're you, Irianke?" Still testing the name, becoming familiar now. To local dragons, Cadejoth extends his thoughts further, reaching past his pack alone to include the newcomer; the buttery queen, so newly arrived. « Welcome! » he enthuses, sharing the greeting to all those alert to it. He's puppyishly enthusiastic, eager to engage with the rattle of chain and bone. There's a mere hint of sunlight, different sunlight, filtered through cool green: curiosity, from well behind the rattle and rumble. (To local dragons from Solith) He's the near-perpetual guard on duty, his home Weyr falling under Ilicaeth's jurisdiction. With the arrival of a stranger comes the burly blue's more tangible presence, his furnace-hot golden sands whipping in many eddies around the other dragons'. Watching... assessing. (To High Reaches dragons from Ilicaeth) Though she is far from quiet, there is a predatory tension to be felt in Hraedhyth's thoughts. It's interrupted by a moment of sharp, metallic harmony, bone clubs wrapped up in Cadejoth's chains, striking drums in an echo of her mate's greeting, if not his excitement. (To High Reaches dragons from Hraedhyth) In the bowl, Niahvth sprawls herself with the grace of an elephant, if Pern had such things. But she seems cozy and content to just sit in the bowl in an unladylike heap to await what happens next. "Mine and my Niahvth's duties to you and Hraedhyth," is Irianke's simple response, the smile that's initially only heard sharpening as the seconds pass. "I'm quite well in spite of this chill. And it's a pleasure to finally meet you." Two hands reach out with palms up, the straps of the canvas bag threatening to fall off her shoulder with this gesture. The smile softens, and with it the stone blue eyes melt, "I'd like to express my deepest sympathies for the tragedies your Weyr has endured this past turn. I hope you'll accept my presence at your Weyr." The emphasis, however subtle, is distinct nonetheless. Physically, Niahvth is a sprawled, unladylike heap in the bowl. Relaxing, for sure, after such a tryingly long journey. Mentally, however, a burst of Igen humidity and the innate summer warmth of her touch stretch forth to dance between all the welcomes and curious sparks here and there. « Hello. » Oh, and « Hello, » to you too. Is that another dragon who needs a hello? « Hello. » (To local dragons from Niahvth) To local dragons, Reisoth is a silently distant presence but a presence nonetheless, observing the unfamiliar queen as an as of yet not boring novelty. To High Reaches dragons, Ilicaeth takes his cue more from his dam than grandsire, Hraedhyth's caution echoed by the blue in the measured scour of his rasping sands that unconsciously echo and compliment the new gold's Igenite heat. Though his bedrock-firm mental presence might be more ponderous than usual right now, but his rasping baritone is nothing if not genial in the return welcome of « Hello... Igen. » Peer. Niahvth. To local dragons, Cadejoth won't let his enthusiasm be diminished by his mate's disquiet; he lets out another clattering rattle in answer to Niahvth, and adds, brightly, to everyone else: « She's going to stay with us and be one of ours. » Maybe. Hopefully. That's the plan! Right, Hraedhyth? RIGHT? She doesn't sparkle back, yet, the little curious one. She notices, though, and brightens; if there's a moment's shivery chill, it's not like it's hers. (To local dragons from Solith) Azaylia is quick to meet those hands, palms rough from more than paperwork and fingers chilled. Clumsy manners give way to something far more sincere, "Thank you. You and Niahvth are more than welcome." A press of her hands atop Irianke's, "Truly." And yet, just as those words leave her lips Hraedhyth is on the move, leaping from her ledge with a heavy 'whump' and a scattering of snow. Her dark wings are spread as she lumbers over to where the foreign queen has flumped, edging in on Niahvth's personal space. That pale head bobs once. Twice. "Oh Faranth," A soft oath, somewhat embarrassed, "Of course you'd pick that up from him." Her scold is ignored, but other than noticing the Weyrwoman doesn't seemed alarmed, "We've a few empty weyrs for you two to choose from. I can show them to you, if you'd like?" It would take a lot of effort for a mass of Niahvths's size to skitter away. And yet... Hraedhyth's approach is watched, curious up until the moment she realizes it's to her the younger gold is lumbering. The new arrival's forelimbs back up against her back limbs and she suddenly straightens. At attention or just attentive? "Oh, lovely. Back at home, I mean Igen," is the quickest of corrections, "Nimae threatened the lowest on the totems to share a weyr. I grew up sharing a tiny caravan with my siblings, but I, and Niahvth, have had our own spaces for so long it seems unfathomable. I'm sure anything you have here will be absolutely lovely." Irianke presses at a nonexistent wrinkle in her riding pants with a flutter of her fingers. "How has this winter been treating you so far? Once you've assigned me a place to live, I can ask for the rest of my belongings to come. Nimae has a few select packages for you expressly. Some bolts of fabric she thought you might like." From the bowl, Hraedhyth is lumbering toward the other gold. Not quite stalking, but certainly intense. While her head moves, the rest of her is stone still, tense, though there is no change in either drums or fire. There's a rumble of agreement for Cadejoth's words, the queen otherwise too focused to add her own. (To local dragons from Hraedhyth) The Weyrwoman's eyes flick back to the golds, and where one might worry she is only amused. Suddenly, "Niahvyth is lovely." Azaylia is quick to shake off the draconic distraction, brown eyes flicking back to Irianke's blue. Turning, she invites the older woman to follow her up the steps, "No? Honestly, I would've loved to have shared a weyr when I was newly graduated. I missed sleeping in the barracks." There's no shame in admitting it, only wistful amusement for the past. "It's been an easy winter, I think? It depends on who you ask, I imagine." Once up the steps, she waits. Out in the boll, Hraedhyth straightens as Niahvyth does, muscles bulging and wings half-cocked as she assesses the other dragon. Hm. "Thirteen turns ago, I'd have agreed," says Irianke affably. The wrinkle she was fixated on isn't going away to her standards and a hand drops to conceal it. "But thirteen turns later, I love the quiet it can afford. Did you grow up with a big family as well? I'm sorry to assume. Missing sharing is something I've found people with siblings do occasionally. Or a lot. Except when there's the last piece of watermelon and everyone wants it." The canvas bag hitches up the shoulder with a shrug, and long easy steps follow after Azaylia with the slightest shimmy in them. Niahvth cocks her head to one side for a few of Hraedhyth's drumbeats, and then to the other for a few more. Then back and forth. "She finds your dragon's thrum drumming fascinating and is telling me I'd find it fascinating as well by the way." Finally, « So.» So. So. So. « Niahvth. » Ni-ah-vth. Her thoughts are echoed by those drums. There's a pensive crackle and pop within her heart's hearth, not allowing for there to be an awkward silence, not with a mind so intense. « You wish to join my, » Chain rattles against bone, « Our tribe. » A question that fails to sound like one, and yet she's expecting an answer. (To Niahvth from Hraedhyth) A hint of his dry focus is divided, just enough to add a bit of rocky underpinning to his green sister's warm brightness - backing Solith subconsciously - while Ilicaeth observes the new queen, acknowledges both Cadejoth's and Hraedhyth's input on this new 'situation.' While the senior gold 'stalks' out to look over Niahvth, *he* moves out to his ledge, standing there like a sentry and focusing rapidly-whirling blue eyes upon the pair of queens down there in the Bowl. Hopefully all will go well; but if not, he's there for backup. Never hurts to watch things go down with one's own eyes. (To local dragons from Ilicaeth) To Hraedhyth, Niahvth's warmth stills in the way a humid afternoon suddenly seems void of sound or motion. « Yours. Ours. » She considers those pronouns each with a magnitude that speaks of turns working past her seeming flighty brightness. « Ours, » she agrees, movement felt once again as a breeze cuts through and breaks apart the humidity, bringing with it a beautiful summer afternoon. « If you will agree to my presence here to aid you in what ways I and my Irianke can. » "My family was small, or so our neighbors would say. But I grew up sharing a room with my older sister and the babies." Azaylia is happy to answer, even as they make their way to the first ground weyr. "It was more that Hraedhyth and I missed being so near the others." Poking her head in, "Oh, this is the one with only one chamber. Still, it's nice." She gives Irianke plenty of room to look around, "We could even stop by my own weyr, if you'd like? I, ah..." There's a soft clearing of her throat and an embarrassed curl to her lips, "I think I'll take your moving in as an oppertunity to finally claim the Senior's weyr. Since there'll be so much hustle and bustle already." Now, Hraedhyth has begun to mimic Niahvth's heat tilts. One side, then the other, even as those drums never miss a beat. Azaylia gives a soft laugh, "I'm glad. Fascinated is much better than... well, frightened." A legitimate concern. To Niahvth, Hraedhyth's drums settle into a deep rumble, a savage sort of pleasure carried in the rasp. « Mine. » A fond claim of Azaylia, and as her flames are stoked they begin to envelope more: the Weyr. The dragons. Cadejoth burns especially hot, affectionate and posessive of the best bronze-- for he is the one who caught her. Slowly, those flames reach out to the Igen born queen, intending to drawn her in. And now, Niahvth? "You haven't moved in yet? That's refreshing." Irianke looks to Azaylia in mild surprise on her way in to the main part of the weyr. "So many people seem driven to clam status and stature. I'd be more than happy to offer Igen's riders in helping you move in to your weyr. They'll be here anyway and many of them owe me a favor or three." The weyr receives more than a cursory inspection. Irianke moves in, her hand sweeping across the table and coming up with dust that is rubbed between her fingers. The walls and the way they quarter the cavern garner a step back and a dubious look rising up to their unfinished heights. It's the bath that gets the most praise-filled look. "You have baths inside your weyrs with," the hand that reaches into the pool is followed quickly by lit eyes, "Heated water? Amazing. The luxuries of living in one of the earliest built Weyrs, I'm told." When the flames reach for her sunlight, Niahvth pauses, one iota of uncertainty flickering in a tendril of Igen heat. Slowly, it's subsumed by Hraedhyth's tribal possession, relinquished as an offering to the Reachian queen. Hers. (To Hraedhyth from Niahvth) Azaylia blinks at Irianke's surprise, smile quick to bloom at the offer. "We were comfortable, I didn't really see a need." Until now. "Any of your friends would be handsomely rewarded with warm drinks and food. And we've the Rider's Lounge or Snowasis for drinks. Hraedhyth can handle an Igen invasion for at least one day." Oh the drums that will be heard then. The goldrider can't help but beam, "We do! It's wonderful, especially during winter. A warm bath, a big fire... very cozy." As if Irianke isn't already sold on staying. There's a glance aimed outside, although it's with some hesitence that she mentions, "We have another empty weyr... if you're curious?" But by all means, inspect away. In fact, stay in this one, where it's safe. She does her best to shake off that discomfort, "And if there's anything you need, you're welcome to peek at our storeroom." Hraedhyth has a hunter's patience, fire brushing against the very edges of Niahvth's thoughts. Waiting. When the other queen accepts, there is no violent rush or all-consuming inferno. Instead, the flames trickle along that beam of sunlight, wrapping Niahvth up in a welcoming warmth and the brush of coarse fur. Acceptance comes in a low growl, « Niahvth. » For the first time since meeting, Irianke's age shows and the inability to hold back the approval of such reasoning is all too transparent. "It would be wise for you to move into the Weyrwoman's weyr," she says with mild kindness, bringing the pink wherry in the room into the light, "Otherwise, your people might wonder and it'd give them confidence to see their Weyrwoman protecting their home. I am here by duty and it's my pleasure to be here for both you and Nimae, Azaylia," the dark haired woman inclines her head, "But I would be most pleased to consider you my Weyrwoman and will assist as you see fit. And yes, I'd love to see the other weyr in order to make a decision. It's kind of you to allow me to decide rather than just assigning one." Wait what? Safe? Safe??? For a moment, the senior's fire envelopes that foreign Igen warmth, turning it above her flames. Considering. It's sudden, when Hraedhyth adds her intensity to Niahvth, amplifying summer's heat rather than stifling it. « Welcome, Niahvth. » And while she still can't compete with Cadejoth's exhuberance, she is pleased. (To local dragons from Hraedhyth) To Hraedhyth, Niahvth stills for the warmth and acceptance. It's as if a breath was held she wasn't even aware of. It wouldn't be too impolite to show relief, would it? « Thank you. » With the catalyst of the senior queen's touch, her own buttery warmth pulses in a cheerful radiant beat that, in its light show, matches Hraedhyth's drums. « My queen. » Well, if Hraedhyth winds up being 'pleased...' then Ilicaeth can slowly settle down from yellow alert, and move back inside his wallow, where it's warmer. He'll pick his own time and place to meet this new gold, and in his own manner. But for now, with the formal greeting squad in motion, the blue settles for a laconic, though still congenial, « Welcome ta 'Reaches... » before he dips into various draconic conversations to get the lay of the land in regards to Niahvth. (To local dragons from Ilicaeth) To local dragons, Cadejoth, too, is pleased. His pack - now slightly enlarged - can rest at ease. All is well. It's the first hint of edge in Azaylia's expression, puzzled, smoothing at the advice-- or is it support? Both? "Ah... yes. That, too." In agreement, she folds her hands in front of her and gives her own gentle nod. "Thank you, Irianke." Just as sincere as the last, as well as surprised. Inexperience is subtle but there in her slight discomfort at such a pledge, "You and Niahvth are of High Reaches Weyr, for now." Another soft laugh, "Hraedhyth said so." And what the warrior queen says, goes. She slips outside, confident strides faltering when faced with Brie-- Aishan-- the weyr. "There's plenty of room." Morbid but true. "I want you to be comfortable in your stay. This... is the other one." It could be manners that allow Irianke to enter, first. "So Niahvth tells me. She is pleased and still hopes that I may hear those drumbeats myself, though she did try to mimic and share." If Irianke notices that she's allowed in first, she doesn't say much. She might still even be stuck on the word safe of all things. "This is beautiful." It's the glass beads she kens to first, traveling through the weyr to inspect them most closely, a delighted sound escaping unbidden. "And there are separate rooms, a bath," is noted. "And a tiny room." Somewhere there. The Igen, now Reachian, goldrider's face struggles with composure as she eyes that smaller room, set up as an office. "You mentioned safe?" Her fingers trail the table in this one too to pick up what dust is there. "Did I?" Azaylia squeaks her uncertainty from the entrance, not quite inside. She may have been thinking the word. Very loudly, in fact. "It's honestly a wonderful weyr." And from Irianke's sounds, she agrees. There's a slow inhale, the Weyrwoman straightening as she finally follows her new junior inside. It's not like her to withhold the truth. "This was Aishani's old weyr." Beat. "And Iolene's." The last is uttered much more quickly, "And I also believe Teris lived here, before she was transferred." She leaves it at that, sliding a curious glance over at the older woman. Outside, Hreadhyth's wings are neatly tucked up against her back, pale head lowered toward Niahvth. Waiting. The mental tick down of names and their ultimate fate's dawns quickly on Irianke's face. An audible, "Oh." Then a louder, "Oh!" The weyr in question gains another much longer, much more lingering look. The former Igen rider spins in place and considers everything about the weyr. She ultimately decides, "I'll take this one," in a firm voice. "If there's any bad karma related to this weyr, I'll make sure to stamp it out. Something's got to change right? And it's too nice of a home to stay empty. Besides," Irianke adds, a devil-may-care grin lighting her face, "Might as well the foreigner get the weyr rather than any future golden child of yours." There's a subtle grimace once it dawns on the other weyrwoman, though Azaylia eventually manages a thin quirk of her lips. "It didn't feel right not to saaa- what?" Squeak. It has to be shock that sparks that sudden, breathless laugh, "Really?" There are no attempts to talk Irianke out of it, palms lifting in pleasant surprise, "Your reason is as good as any. Better, even." The grin is infectious, and Azaylia brings her hands together in a final clap. "Alright. I'll let the Headwoman know, and you can start moving in as soon as you'd like!" Hraedhyth is no longer patient, finally bringing her head to Niahvth's in an affectionate headbutt. Bonk. Niahvth is bonked, and shakes her head much like a puppy splashed with sudden water. The lazy, if upright, vision she makes in the bowl suddenly animates as a home is decided on and she takes a few massive steps away from Hraedhyth, and then snaps her wings wide. « Home! » she declares in practically a crow to the senior queen. "I'll need piles of sage to help cleanse the weyr," the once trader says. "And the wing bringing my things should be here soon." The grin turns into a more professional smile, though there's a twinkle in her eyes. "I think we'll get along marvelously, ma'am. Do you have any requirements of me tomorrow after I settle in today?" Meetings? Agendas? Work? It'd be hard to miss those fingers flexing for work to do. "Sage? Interesting." Azaylia, once farmgirl and herder, knows not of these trader traditions. "You'll have it, certainly. And I'll inform the kitchens." Those big Igen riders will likely work up an appetite. If a dragon happens to linger on Hraedhyth's ledge, well. That's just 'Reachian gratitude for you. For now, Azaylia's smile is optimistic, "I think so, too." Think or hope, it's tentative. Still, "You can call me Azaylia, if you'd like. Whatever you're comfortable with." As for requirements, the Weyrwoman is relaxed as she deligates certain tasks that Irianke can get to right away. Niahvth's sudden declaration earns a startled snort from Hraedhyth, followed by an amused chuff, « Yes. Home. » Home. The sentiment her dragon expresses relaxes Irianke. "Home," she echoes aloud, looking around again. "Thank you, Azaylia. I'll get right on it after I settle in." Home. |
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